Elliot and the Goblin War

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Mr. Willimaker stood behind Elliot with a glass of water in his hands. He lowered his eyes and said, “I am a joke in Burrowsville, that’s true. I made a big mistake about a field mouse invasion a few years ago, but I’ve learned a lot since then. If you want me to leave—”

  “The Goblins would’ve gotten me tonight if it hadn’t been for you,” Elliot said. “No, Mr. Willimaker, I don’t want you to leave.”

  Mr. Willimaker’s ears perked up. “Whether they laugh at me in Burrowsville or not, I’ll still serve you the best I can.”

  “Your best isn’t good enough for Elliot,” Fudd said. He threw up his hands and kicked at the trunk, which bounced again on the floor. Then he looked at Elliot. “So you threw water on a few Goblins. Do you think that makes you prepared to be a king? Do you think you could fight off somebody like Kovol?”

  The air in the room seemed to change when Fudd said that name, as if a cold wind of warning was blowing through. Then Elliot looked at the wafting curtains over Reed’s bed and shrugged. “Oh, the window’s open.” He shut it and asked, “Who’s Kovol?”

  Mr. Willimaker’s eyes darted from side to side, and his voice shook when he spoke. “I’m sure Kovol is nothing to worry about, nothing at all. As long as he stays asleep, which I’m sure he will for another thousand years, then we’re fine.”

  Kovol wouldn’t sleep for another night if the Brownies visited him as often as they visited Elliot’s house, Elliot thought with a yawn.

  “Never mind about Kovol,” Fudd said. “You have enough trouble with the Goblins. Mr. Willimaker helped you tonight and you got lucky. I don’t think you’ll be so lucky next time.”

  “Next time?” Elliot said.

  “Oh, yes.” Fudd’s thin eyes widened until Elliot could almost see what color they were. Almost. “There will be a next time. And the next time will be far worse.”

  Mr. Willimaker rubbed his hands together nervously. “In the meantime, Your Highness, perhaps I could have the Brownies help out downstairs. There’s a squeak on your staircase we could fix. Or how about a delicious breakfast of fried eggs?”

  “No, thanks,” Elliot mumbled, moving from the trunk to his bed. “I’m not hungry anymore.” His trunk full of Goblins rattled again, reminding Elliot that, yes, they would be back. And, no, it wouldn’t be so easy the next time.

  Down in her hole, Patches was getting hungry for another carrot. Happily, she didn’t have long to wait before another one was lowered to her on a rope, again held just out of her reach. It smelled of turnip juice, and Patches’s mouth watered.

  Like me, Dear Reader, I’m sure your mouth began watering for some turnip juice when you read that. You should stop reading this book and get yourself some turnip juice right now. If someone in your family just drank the last cupful, then don’t be sad. You can make your own.

  To make turnip juice, get the biggest pot in your kitchen and fill it with fresh turnips. If you wish to add any of your other favorite vegetables, such as asparagus or Brussels sprouts, that’s fine too. Boil until they’re tender, and then dump them out on your kitchen floor. Smash the soft turnips with your feet, and gather up any juice that squishes between your toes. It’s a treat your whole family will enjoy!

  Patches wanted the carrot that had been boiled in turnip juice, but first she was ready to have some fun.

  “I don’t care what happens to King Elliot anymore,” Patches said, trying to sound angry and tired. “Just get rid of him so I can go home.”

  Actually, she wasn’t in too much of a hurry to get home. She had a lot of chores waiting for her there. Cleaning her room was the hardest job, since it was made of dirt and, therefore, was always dirty. Besides, the Goblins made very yummy carrots that she didn’t have to share with anyone.

  “Tell me how to get rid of the king, then,” Grissel said. “The not foolproof plan didn’t work.”

  “I was thinking about chocolate cake. It punishes Brownies, right? So it’s certain to punish a human.”

  “Are you sure?” Grissel asked.

  “Last time I was with the humans, I saw a mother put a chocolate cake on the table. She said it was bad for her diet and she shouldn’t have any. She finally took some, probably so her children wouldn’t have to eat it all. But I heard her say she only wanted a very small piece. It must have been awful for her.”

  Grissel smugly folded his arms. “Chocolate cake it is. And without the frosting or milk, of course.”

  “Of course,” Patches agreed. “You can call it the Chocolate Cake of Horror.”

  “Yes,” Grissel said. “The Horrifying Chocolate Cake of Horrible Horror.”

  Patches thought her name was better, but she let it pass.

  A short time later, Elliot found a round, double-layer chocolate cake waiting on his doorstep. The Goblins had added extra chocolate to the recipe, just to make his suffering even worse. They also put shaved pieces of chocolate bar on top. When he found it, Elliot showed it to his Uncle Rufus, who happened to have a shiny gold plate under his coat to set it on. Wendy added a few cherries around the outside, and Cole and Kyle even washed their muddy hands before eating it. It made for a beautiful dessert, even without frosting or milk.

  Patches was ready the next day for an even better way to trick the Goblins. It was clear that Goblins knew very little about humans, because she could tell them almost anything and they’d try it. As long as she kept this up, King Elliot would be safe. She waited all morning for them to come get her next idea. It had to do with tricking the Goblins into finding some Leprechaun gold to give Elliot. She thought Elliot would like that. But they didn’t come. Morning turned to afternoon, and now she really wanted them to come, because she also wanted a carrot.

  Patches stared up at the surface. Somewhere up there was a pile of carrots. She could smell them.

  Normally, Brownies aren’t very good climbers. Their plump bodies are better made for playing on the ground. However, a hungry Brownie is able to do many things a not-so-hungry Brownie wouldn’t normally do.

  She had to climb the rock wall. And she had to do it now, before anyone came to check on her.

  Patches stared up at the rock hole. It was about ten feet to the surface, which is pretty far when you’re only two feet tall. There were no branches to hold on to. There was no dirt she could kick at to make a step for her foot.

  Patches studied the rock wall. It wasn’t smooth and flat. The wall was like a climbing puzzle. Near the bottom was a chunk that stuck out a little. She could fit a toe there. To her right, if she stretched for it, there was a tiny little ledge. She could get a good grip on the rock with her fingers. She really could do this. Or at least she could try.

  Patches grabbed some rock and began to climb.

  Very slowly and carefully, she found more pieces of the puzzle. There was always another way to move higher. Sometimes it meant moving to the side. Sometimes she had to reach farther than her arm thought it could reach. The effort took all her muscles, some of which she didn’t know she had until they began to get tired and almost allowed her to drop off the wall. Patches told her muscles she was sorry for making them work so hard and promised to forget about them once she got home. Her muscles agreed to the deal and continued to help her climb.

  Bit by bit, Patches moved closer to the top of the hole.

  When she was halfway up, she stole a quick peek below her. She was farther up than she had thought, and the ground looked very far away.

  A few Goblins at the top of the rock hole began talking.

  Patches froze against the wall. The last thing she needed was to be found out now. The Goblins had kept her alive because they wanted her help in getting King Elliot. But they hadn’t come for her help today. Before long, they’d decide that the best help she could give was to sit quietly while they ate her.

  The talking at the top of the hole turned to fighting. She couldn’t hear everything they said, but she did catch some words like “guard the carrots”
and “your turn.” It sounded as if one of them had chased the others away from the hole, and pretty soon it was quiet again. Patches continued her tricky climb.

  She was so tired by the time she reached the top of the hole that she wanted to curl up and go to sleep right there on the surface. But there was a very good chance that if she did sleep, the next time she woke up it would be inside a Goblin belly. That thought gave her enough energy to crawl behind a pile of rocks and hide.

  Patches had never been in Flog before. The city was dark and dirty, and the wind had a smell of rotting fish. No wonder the Goblins were making war against the Brownies. Burrowsville was so beautiful compared to this place. Once the Goblins won the war, they could take over Burrowsville. It wouldn’t be long before they ruined it, just as they had ruined Flog. After all, Goblins were the only creatures she knew who had planted their garbage and actually gotten something to grow.

  Two voices were coming toward her.

  Patches quickly looked around for a better place to hide. These rocks wouldn’t keep a Goblin from smelling her. Behind her was a small cave. Her ears tingled. She was sure she heard carrots inside. Lots of fat, juicy carrots inviting her to come and hide with them for a while. What polite carrots they were. Such very nice carrots.

  Maybe that wasn’t actually true. Patches knew she must be very, very hungry if she thought carrots were talking to her. But she had to find somewhere to hide fast and couldn’t think of a luckier place. She ran into the cave only seconds before the voices came right up to the rock hole.

  “I told you Patches was tricking you,” the first voice said. “Humans happen to love chocolate cake!”

  Patches’s ears perked up. That was Fudd Fartwick’s voice! What was Fudd doing in Flog?

  “You also told me Patches knows all about humans,” the second voice said. “You want to get rid of the human king. I thought maybe Patches did too.”

  Patches knew that second voice. It belonged to Grissel. If Fudd and Grissel were here together, then Fudd must be helping the Goblins. How could Fudd do such a thing?

  Unaware that Patches was hiding only a few feet behind him, Grissel called down into the hole. “Do you hear that, Brownie girl? I’m not using any more of your ideas, and you’re not getting any more of our carrots. You’re not so smart after all!”

  Inside the cave, Patches barely breathed. She was sure the only reason Grissel couldn’t smell her in here was because she was surrounded by so many carrots.

  “She didn’t answer,” Grissel said. “Now that’s just rude.”

  But Fudd wasn’t interested in Patches’s manners at the moment. “I don’t know why you have bothered with these simple plans to get King Elliot,” he said. “Why not go and scare him to death?”

  Grissel sighed as if he were annoyed. “In the first place, scaring someone to death is not as easy as it looks. In the second place, you were the one who said Patches’s plans would work. And in the third place, scaring someone to death is not as easy as it looks.”

  “You already said that one,” Fudd said.

  Grissel paused and counted on his fingers. “Oh. All right, then, there’s only two reasons. So that’s what we’ll do. The Goblins will scare the human king to death. It’s what I wanted in the first place, before Patches talked me out of it.”

  Fudd clapped his hands together. “This will work. I know it. By tomorrow this will all be over!”

  Inside the cave, Patches got ready to run. As soon as Grissel and Fudd left, she had to find a way to warn King Elliot of how much danger he was in.

  Fudd and Grissel began to walk away, and then Grissel called to a Goblin who passed by. “Hey, you! Why isn’t this carrot cave being guarded? Who’s supposed to be here?”

  “I dunno,” a Goblin with a deep voice answered.

  “Then you will stand here and guard these carrots until you can find the Goblin who belongs here!”

  “Yes, sir, Grissel. I won’t let you down.”

  Patches sunk onto her pile of carrots. What good was it to be free of the rock hole if she was now trapped inside this cave? Trapped, and the only one who knew the terrible danger that awaited King Elliot.

  Even though he was now king of the Brownies, Elliot still had to go to school the next day. He was just about to start a spelling test when he suddenly screamed out loud.

  “Mr. Penster?” Ms. Blundell, his teacher, stood up from her desk. “Is there a problem?”

  As a matter of fact, there was. Elliot had screamed out loud because Mr. Willimaker appeared on his desk. Elliot had nearly written his name and the date on Mr. Willimaker’s foot.

  “They can’t see or hear me,” Mr. Willimaker quickly said. “Brownies can be invisible when we need to be. But only for a short time, because it uses a lot of magic. Besides, invisibility makes my head tingle, so it would be helpful if we could talk in private.”

  “Elliot?” Ms. Blundell prompted.

  “There’s no problem.” Elliot had to tilt his head around Mr. Willimaker to see his teacher’s face.

  “Are you okay?” Ms. Blundell asked.

  “But there is a problem, Your Highness,” Mr. Willimaker said.

  “Hush,” Elliot whispered, but not quietly enough.

  Ms. Blundell folded her arms and walked down the aisle, where she stopped at Elliot’s desk. “What did you say to me?”

  “Er, I meant hush-choo!” Elliot faked a sneeze as he said it. A few kids in class laughed. Ms. Blundell wasn’t amused. Harold, the class hamster, wasn’t amused either. But, then, nobody expected Harold to be amused. After all, hamsters are known for running on wheels, not for their sense of humor.

  Ms. Blundell gave Elliot a warning glance and then walked back to the head of the class. “The first word on your test is ‘secret,’” she said. “As in, ‘Someone in our class has a really big secret.’”

  Elliot looked around. Did anyone suspect he had a secret? “Move,” he mumbled as quietly as he could to Mr. Willimaker. “I can’t see the teacher.”

  “Too bad,” an annoying, toad-faced girl sitting in front of Elliot said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes and then stared at Mr. Willimaker. If he wanted something, he’d better say it, because Elliot wasn’t going to speak another word.

  Mr. Willimaker did have something to say. “Your Highness, you have some official business to attend to.”

  Elliot shook his head.

  “I know that you’re in class, but this is very important. We’ve had a stray wander into Burrowsville. She won’t leave, and she’s upsetting the Brownies.”

  “I’m taking a test,” he whispered.

  “Yes, Mr. Penster, we know,” Ms. Blundell snapped. “Now be quiet. The second word on the test is ‘annoying,’ as in, ‘Someone in this class is being annoying.’”

  “She said she’ll only talk to our king,” Mr. Willimaker said.

  Elliot huffed. Whoever she was, her problem had better be important. He raised his hand and asked, “Can I please go to the bathroom, Ms. Blundell?”

  “Can’t this wait until the end of the test?”

  Elliot glared at Mr. Willimaker. “I guess not.”

  “You can’t make this test up later. If you use the bathroom now, you’ll get a zero on the test.”

  “I’ve really got to go,” Elliot said. The class laughed again, even though he wasn’t trying to be funny.

  Ms. Blundell pursed her lips. “Then you’ll get a zero,” she said. “You need to be back in two minutes.”

  Twelve seconds later, Elliot was in the hall with Mr. Willimaker, running along beside him to keep up. Mr. Willimaker ran so fast that he kept tripping over his own feet, but Elliot didn’t slow down. He wanted to get this over with. He had only two minutes, after all.

  “I thought we could all talk in the boys’ bathroom,” Mr. Willimaker huffed, already out of breath from running.

  “You brought a girl into the boys’ bathroom?”

  “Better than ma
king you go into the girls’ bathroom.”

  That was true. Few things could ruin a boy’s entire life faster than being caught in a girls’ bathroom. He pushed open the door to the boys’ bathroom. Luckily, it was empty.

  Or was it?

  It sounded as if someone was crying in one of the stalls. Specifically, the disabled stall. He glanced at Mr. Willimaker, who nodded that, yes, this was the person whom Elliot had come to see. Great. Not only a girl in the boys’ bathroom, but a crying one.

  “Hello?” Elliot walked toward the stall. “Are you okay—wah!”

  The crying had been so gentle, he had expected to see someone more, well…gentle. He froze, knowing it was rude to look but too horrified to turn away.

  The woman in the stall looked a little like Dorcas, the really mean school lunch lady—but only if Dorcas had been turned into a zombie, and only if Dorcas wanted to serve children for lunch instead of the mystery meat they usually served. Except this woman was way less cool than zombies and, if possible, even uglier.

  She was a woman whose face looked like one of those shriveled apple heads. If you could count the age of a tree by its rings, then maybe you could count her age by her wrinkles. If so, then she was at least seven hundred years old. She had wrinkles on top of her wrinkles. Her tattered clothes were wrinkled. Even her white hair was wrinkled.

  “Her name is Agatha, Your Highness,” Mr. Willimaker said. “Agatha, this is King Elliot.”

  “Stare if you must,” Agatha said, wiping her tears with a fistful of toilet paper. “Few people can turn away from my beauty.”

  Elliot giggled and then stopped himself by clasping a hand over his mouth. He didn’t mean to be rude, but that wasn’t what he expected her to say. Beauty was definitely not the word running through his mind.

  Her withered skin looked as if it were made of dry oatmeal. Her face had no less than a dozen warts. Her right eye bulged out from her head so far, he wondered why it didn’t fall out. Her hands reminded him of the display skeleton in Ms. Blundell’s classroom. Her fingers looked twelve inches long.