Elliot and the Goblin War

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

  “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 sai
d. “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.

  Grissel knocked Fudd’s hands away. “How will he trap us?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because it won’t work,” Fudd said. “You and I will poof directly there and capture him, and then you’re free to get rid of him.”

  Grissel smiled. “You said Elliot has the Brownies in those woods?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll bring all my Goblins. Once we’ve captured Elliot, I’ll make sure that my Goblins finally destroy the Brownies!”

  Fudd rubbed his hands together nervously. That had not been part of his plan. “But we agreed that I’d become king of the Brownies.”

  “You can become king of anyone we don’t eat.”

  “And what about Patches?” Fudd cringed as he asked the question, worried about the answer.

  A wicked glint crossed Grissel’s eyes. “She’s fine. For now. But that will probably change tonight.”

  Panic welled inside Fudd, choking him. “No, Grissel. No, you can’t.”

  “Who’s going to stop me? You?” Grissel bared his sharp teeth and let out a low growl. “I’ll do whatever I want. Now come with me.”

  At this point, Fudd had no choice but to follow Grissel, but when they left Grissel’s home, he saw Goblins already poofing themselves away. Some of them licked their lips. Some rubbed their hands together in excitement.

  Grissel grabbed one of them. “Where’s everyone going?”

  “Can’t you smell the pickles? Hurry before they’re all gone!” With that, the Goblin poofed himself away.

  Grissel sniffed the air. The sour smell of vinegar and cucumbers filled his nose. It came from the human world. A line of drool ran down Grissel’s chin, and he grinned hungrily at Fudd.

  “Remember the pickles,” Fudd said, waving his hands and taking two steps back. “Goblins should eat more pickles and fewer Brownies.”

  Grissel watched as the last of his pickle-hungry Goblins poofed themselves to King Elliot’s woods.

  “It’s a good thing I already decided to let them go,” Grissel said. “Because otherwise they’d be in a lot of trouble for leaving without me.”

  Fudd sadly shook his head. He hoped the Goblins would find the pickles before they found any Brownies. He couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for what was happening.

  Grissel grabbed Fudd by the arm. “Now you and I will teach the human king it’s not wise to trick Goblins.”

  Grissel poofed himself and Fudd to a spot just outside the trees. From there they could see a large pile of pickle relish. Every Goblin from Flog was gathered around the pile, fighting for as many bites as they could get. Several of them were so busy clawing at each other that no Goblin could get any relish.

  “They’re not trapped here at all,” Grissel said happily. “Your king doesn’t know as much about Goblins as I thought.”

  “Maybe they’ll fill up on the pickle relish,” Fudd whispered. “They won’t be hungry for Brownies.”

  “We’re always hungry for Brownies,” Grissel said, licking his lips with his crooked blue tongue.

  Fudd didn’t like the sound of that, but he continued walking toward Elliot’s hiding place in the trees. Grissel followed closely behind him. Too close. Fudd walked faster. He thought he heard Grissel smelling him.

  When they arrived in the woods, they found Elliot facing them, relaxing with his back against a large oak tree. He didn’t seem surprised to see them. He didn’t look afraid either, which worried Fudd. This was the point in the plan when Elliot should have begun to look terrified.

  “You were the only one who knew where I’d be hiding,” Elliot said to Fudd. “And now you’ve brought the Goblin leader here to me.”

  Fudd still tasted the lemon pie in his mouth, which was a little sourer now than he remembered. It had been a gift from Elliot, and he repaid that gift by bringing Grissel here. Rule number four in the Guidebook to Evil Plans clearly stated, “Never accept a gift of kindness from your mortal enemy” (page 12). Fudd had never really understood the meaning of that rule…until now. He kicked a foot in the dirt, ashamed of himself.

  “You’ve been helping the Goblins try to get me,” Elliot added. “Why?”

  Fudd’s lower lip quivered. Ever since he learned that Grissel would be eating his friends, he’d begun to think working with him wasn’t such a good idea. “This is all my fault. More than anything I wanted to be king, but I know now I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, I’m not sorry,” Grissel snarled, pushing his way past Fudd. “I still want to get rid of you, human. I already scared you half to death. It’s time to finish the job.”

  Elliot smiled. “Better get close enough that I can see you this time.”

  Grissel growled and took a step toward Elliot. Grissel’s foot landed on a rope that instantly went tight around his bony foot and pulled him up into the air. In a panic, Fudd stepped to the side and into another rope that yanked him up beside Grissel. They dangled upside down, their bodies swinging softly in midair. Fudd clasped his hands together and waited until his body turned to face Elliot, then said, “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

  Elliot marched right up to Grissel and Fudd and said, “These are my dad’s traps. I’ve been in them myself, so I know you can’t get yourself free. If you’re both very good, I’ll let you out before my dad finds out and tries to have you for dinner. I order you both not to poof out of there. I order all Goblins not to poof away from here.”

  “You think you can defeat me that easily?” Grissel said with a sneer. “Release me now or else.”

  “Or else what?” Elliot asked.

  Grissel pointed high up to a tree that stood over the pile of Goblins and the pickle relish. Two more Goblins had appeared there. Tied up in a rope dangling from their hands was Patches. If they let go of the rope, she would fall right onto the backs of the Goblins.

  Grissel showed his jagged teeth as he laughed. “You’ve lost, little king. Release me now, or else they get your favorite Brownie for dessert!”

  Elliot ran to where he could get a better look at Patches. The Goblins had tied the rope several times around her whole body. She wouldn’t be able to wiggle free on her own, and even if she did, there was nowhere she could go but down onto the pile of Goblins. Several had already smelled her and left the pickle pile to stand beneath her with their arms out. When her rope dropped, they wanted to be the first to get her.

  “Help!” Patches cried. “Elliot, help me!”

  “You have ten seconds before I order them to drop her,” Grissel hissed. “Eighteen!”

  Elliot turned. “I have eighteen seconds?”

  Grissel rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you hear me? Ten seconds. I didn’t say which ten. Now it’s seventeen!”

  Mr. Willimaker ran to Elliot’s side and tugged on his shirt. “That’s my daughter. Please, Your Highness, we have to save her.”

  “Can’t she just poof away?” Elliot asked.

  “She’s Grissel’s prisoner. If he ordered her not to poof away, then she can’t. Just like Grissel can’t poof away from here until you allow it.”

  “Sixteen!” Grissel said.

  “Let me go up there,” Mr. Willimaker said, beginning to flap his hands nervously.

  “You’re not strong enough to stop them.” Elliot took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit that he was sort of scared to say the next part, but there was no choice. “Poof me up there.”

  The Goblins holding Patches began playing with the rope. They swung her in a little circle so that the Goblins below would have to run to catch her when she fell.

  “Stop that!” Patches yelled, wig
gling angrily. “I’m not a swing!”

  “Fifteen!” Grissel said.

  “Poof me up there,” Elliot repeated. His heart pounded and his fingers felt numb, but he had made his decision.

  Mr. Willimaker shook his head. “I told you before, Brownies don’t have enough magic to poof humans. I’d send part of you up there, but the rest of you might not make it.”

  “Thirteen!” Grissel said.

  “You’re on number fourteen!” Elliot said.

  “Never heard of that number,” Grissel yelled back. “Twelve!”

  “Poof me now,” Elliot said to Mr. Willimaker. “Do it, or else they’re going to drop her.”

  “Even for a Brownie, my magic isn’t powerful enough,” Mr. Willimaker protested, wringing his hands together. “Maybe a stronger Brownie could do it, but not me.”

  From behind them, they heard a small and much humbler voice than usual. “I could try,” Fudd said.

  “What?” Grissel snarled. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’ll never be on your side again,” Fudd said. “That was my terrible, unforgivable mistake.” As his rope swung him again to face Elliot, he added, “Your Highness, I know there’s no reason you should trust me. But Mr. Willimaker will tell you that I’m the only Brownie strong enough to attempt poofing you. I don’t know if I can do it, but I do know there’s no other Brownie strong enough to try.”

  “Just for that, I’m skipping to ten.” Grissel stuck his long, snakelike tongue out at Fudd. “Ha! That’ll show you.”

  Mr. Willimaker tugged on Elliot’s shirt again. “Fudd is stronger than me, sir. But this is still too dangerous. Even though she’s my daughter, I can’t risk the life of our king.”

  “Nine!” Grissel said. “Release me now, or it’ll be too late for Patches.”

  Elliot closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and then calmly turned to Fudd. “Poof me up there now, Fudd. I know you can do it.”

  “I’ll do my best, King Elliot.” Fudd closed his eyes and snapped his fat fingers together.

  Dear Reader, generally speaking, poofing is not a bad way to travel. It’s quick, painless, and at worst, only a little bit ticklish. But it’s always best to be prepared, or else poofing tends to confuse the brain for a moment as it tries to figure out how to keep all the body parts together during the trip.