by Holly Black
Thimbletack hopped up on Hogsqueal’s head. “I will help you fight the fey. I believe I’ve a debt to pay.”
Jared looked at the yarn and then back at Thimbletack. “I didn’t know you could do that!” He remembered how his shoelaces had seemed to tie themselves together and suddenly had an explanation.
The little brownie grinned. “Being unseen is not enough to get things clean.”
“Hey,” Hogsqueal yelled. “Get this crazy kipper off me! I wasn’t running out on you. I was escaping from that tooby monster on the roof!”
“Shut up,” Mallory said.
“That goblin is not misunderstood,” said Thimbletack. “He is just plain no good.”
“That noddy brownie’s a fine one to talk,” said Hogsqueal.
“You’re going to tell us everything you know, or we’re going to spread ketchup on you and put you right back up on the roof,” said Jared. Right then he was so angry that he meant every word of it.
Thimbletack jumped down onto the leg of an overturned coffee table. “That would be overly kind to a goblin in a bind. No, we’ll set rats to nibble off your toes, poke out your eyes, and put them up your nose. Your fingers we’ll remove with dull scissors, and we’ll wait until your confidence withers.”
Simon paled but said nothing.
Hogsqueal squirmed in his bindings. “I’ll tell you already, surly-boots. No need to threaten!”
“Where is our mom?” Jared demanded. “Where would they have taken her?”
“Mulgarath’s lair is at the dump on the edge of town. He’s built a palace of trash, and it’s defended by his goblin army and by other things besides. Don’t be a pumpkin-head. There is no way you can get in there.”
“What other things are defending it?” Jared demanded.
“Dragons,” Hogsqueal said. “Little ones, mostly.”
“Dragons?” Jared repeated in horror. Arthur’s field guide had notes on dragons, but Arthur himself had never seen one. All of his accounts were secondhand. But even secondhand, the stories were frightening—they described poisonous venom, teeth as sharp as daggers, and bodies that were as quick as whips.
“And you were part of Mulgarath’s goblin army?” Mallory asked, eyes narrowed.
“I had to be!” Hogsqueal exclaimed. “Everyone was joining up! Where was I supposed to go, chatter-basket?”
“What did you tell them happened to the other goblins—the ones you were with before?”
“Other goblins?” Hogsqueal said. “For the last time, lily-pants, I’m a hobgoblin! You might as well call a blackbird a crow!”
Jared sighed. “So, what did you say?”
Hogsqueal rolled his eyes. “What do you think, beetle-guts? I said a troll ate ’em, simple as that.”
“If we untie you, will you take us to the dump?” Mallory demanded.
“Probably too late.” Hogsqueal grunted.
“What was that?” Jared scowled.
“Yes,” Hogsqueal said. “Yes! I’ll take you. Are you happy, snotters? Just as long as I don’t have to see that griffin again.”
“But, Jared,” Simon said, a small smile twisting his mouth, “it would be a lot faster if we flew.”
“Wait, now! I didn’t agree to that!” Hogsqueal exclaimed.
“We need a plan,” Mallory said, stepping away from the hobgoblin and lowering her voice. “How can we beat an army of goblins, a dragon, and a shape-shifting ogre?”
“There has to be something,” said Jared, following her. “They must have a weakness.” The pages of Arthur’s Guide that had once been so clear in his mind had faded, his memory growing increasingly spotty. He tried to concentrate, to remember anything that might be important.
“Too bad we don’t have the field guide.” Simon stared at the broken fish tanks as though some answer could be found among the glass shards.
“But we know where Arthur is,” said Jared carefully, a plan starting to form in his mind. “We could ask him.”
“Just how are you suggesting we do that?” Mallory asked, one hand on her hip.
“I’m going to ask the elves to let me talk to him.” Jared spoke as though that were a perfectly reasonable suggestion.
Mallory’s eyes widened with surprise. “The last time we saw the elves, they weren’t exactly what I would call friendly.”
“Yeah, they wanted to trap me underground forever,” said Simon.
“You have to trust me,” Jared said slowly. “I can do it. They promised that they wouldn’t hold me there against my will ever again.”
“I trust you,” said Mallory. “It’s the elves I don’t trust, and you shouldn’t either. I’m going to come.”
Jared shook his head. “There isn’t enough time. Get Hogsqueal to tell you everything he knows about Mulgarath. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He looked down at the little brownie. “I’ll bring Thimbletack—if he’ll come.”
“I thought it had to be just you,” said Simon.
“I have to be the only human,” Jared said, his eyes still fixed on Thimbletack.
“I have not been out of the house in years.” With that, Thimbletack walked to the edge of the chair and let Jared put him into the hood of Jared’s sweatshirt. “But I must put aside my fears.”
They left before Simon or Mallory could talk them out of it. Crossing the street, they started up the hill toward the elven grove. The late-morning sky had deepened to a bright, cloudless blue, and Jared hurried, afraid that they didn’t have much time.
“It is true I took the book.”
Chapter Three
IN WHICH Jared Finds Out Things He Doesn’t Want to Know
The grove was the same as he remembered it—tree-rimmed with mushrooms in the center—but this time when Jared stepped into the middle, nothing happened. No branches laced together to trap him, no roots wound around his ankles, and no elves appeared to scold him.
“Hello!” Jared yelled. He waited a moment, but the only reply was the distant calling of birds.
Frustrated, Jared paced back and forth. “Is anyone here? I’m kind of in a hurry!”
Still nothing. Minutes passed.
Looking at the ring of mushrooms, he had an overwhelming urge to strike out at the elves. If only they hadn’t taken Arthur.
He’d just lifted his foot to kick one when he heard a soft voice from the tree line.
“Reckless child, what are you doing in this place?” It was the green-eyed female elf, her hair tinged with more reds and browns than it had been before. And her gown was now deep amber and gold, like summer giving way to fall. Her voice sounded more sad than angry.
“Please,” Jared said. “Mulgarath has my mother. I have to save her. You have to let me talk to Arthur.”
“What should I care for one mortal?” She turned toward the trees. “Do you know how many of my own people have been lost? How many dwarves—old as the stones beneath our feet—are no more?”
“I saw it,” Jared said. “We were there. Please—I’ll give you anything. I’ll stay here if you want.”
She shook her head. “The only thing you had that was of value to us is lost.”
Jared felt relief and terror at the same time. He needed to see Arthur, but he had nothing else to offer. “We didn’t have the Guide,” he said. “We couldn’t have given it to you then, but maybe we can get it back now.”
The green-eyed elf turned back with a scowl. “I have no further interest in your tales.”
“I . . . I can prove it.” Jared reached back into his hood, pulled out Thimbletack, and set him down in the grass. “I told you our house brownie had the book. This is Thimbletack.”
The little brownie took off his hat and made a low bow, trembling slightly. “Great Lady, I know how this must look, but it is true I took the book.”
“Your manners become you.” She glanced at them both and then was silent for a moment.
Jared shifted impatiently as Thimbletack climbed up Jared’s leg and slid back into his hiding plac
e. The green-eyed elf’s silence unnerved Jared, but he forced himself to stay quiet. This might be their last chance to convince her.
Finally she continued. “Our time to punish and to command is past. The moment we feared is upon us. Mulgarath has gathered a great army and is using the Guide to make it even more fearsome.”
Jared nodded, although he was puzzled. He couldn’t think of anything Mulgarath could do with the Guide that would make an army more dangerous. It was just a book.
“Promise me this, mortal child,” the green-eyed elf said. “If Arthur’s field guide comes again into your possession while you look for your mother, you will give it to us so that it can be destroyed.”
Jared nodded, giddily agreeing to anything that meant he would be able to see Arthur. “I will. I’ll bring it—”
“No,” she said. “When it is time, we will come to you.” She pointed upward and spoke something in a strange language. A single leaf spiraled from a high branch of an old oak. It drifted slowly, as though it were falling through water instead of air. “Your audience with Arthur Spiderwick will last as long as it takes that leaf to fall to the ground.”
Jared looked up toward where she pointed. As slowly as the leaf was moving, it still seemed too fast. “What if that isn’t enough time?”
She smiled coldly. “Time is something that neither of us has the luxury of anymore, Jared Grace.” But Jared barely noticed, because walking toward them from the trees was a man in a tweed coat, with graying patches of hair on the sides of his balding head. Leaves swept around him and dropped in a carpet in front of him so that his feet never touched the ground. He adjusted his spectacles nervously and peered at Jared.
Jared could not help grinning. Arthur Spiderwick looked just like the picture in the library. Now everything would be all right. His great-great-uncle would explain what to do, and that would be that.
“Uncle Arthur,” Jared began. “I’m Jared.”
A man in a tweed coat
“I do not believe I could possibly be your uncle, child,” Arthur said stiffly. “To the best of my knowledge, my sister has no sons whatsoever.”
“Well, actually, you’re my great-great-uncle,” Jared said, suddenly unsure of himself. “But that’s not important.”
“That’s nonsense.”
This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to at all. “You’ve been gone a long time,” Jared explained carefully.
Arthur scowled. “A few months, perhaps.”
Thimbletack spoke up, climbing out of his hiding place and onto Jared’s shoulder. “Listen to the boy—it is the only way. We cannot afford to delay.”
Arthur peered down at the brownie and blinked twice. “Hello, old man! How I have missed you! Is my Lucy well? What about my wife? Will you give them a message for me?”
“Listen!” Jared interrupted. “Mulgarath has my mother, and you’re the only one who knows what to do.”
“Me?” Arthur asked. “Why should I know what to do?” He pushed his spectacles higher. “I would imagine that I would advise—wait, how old are you?”
“Nine,” Jared replied, dreading what would come next.
“I would say that you should stay safe and leave the handling of such dangerous creatures to your elders.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Jared shouted. “MULGARATH HAS MY MOTHER! THERE ARE NO ELDERS!”
“I understand,” Arthur said. “However, you must—”
“No, you don’t understand!” Jared couldn’t stop himself. It felt too good to finally just scream at someone. “You don’t even know how long you’ve been here! Lucinda is older than you now! You don’t know anything.”
Arthur opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it. He looked pale and shaky, but Jared found it hard to care. His eyes burned with unshed tears. On the other side of the ring of mushrooms the single leaf was drifting ever closer to the ground.
“Mulgarath is a very dangerous ogre,” Arthur said quietly. He didn’t look at Jared when he spoke. “Even the elves do not know how to stop him.”
“He has a dragon, too,” Jared said.
Arthur looked up suddenly with interest. “A dragon? Really?” Then he shook his head and his shoulders slumped. “I can’t tell you how to deal with any of this. I’m sorry—I simply don’t know.”
Jared wanted to plead, to demand, but no words came.
Arthur took a step closer, and when he spoke, his voice was very gentle. “Child, if I always knew what to do, would I be here, trapped with the elves, never to see my own family again?”
“I guess not,” Jared said, closing his eyes. The leaf had reached his height. It wouldn’t be long now before his time was up.
“I can’t give you a solution,” Arthur said. “All I can give you is information. I wish I could do more.”
He continued. “Goblins run in small packs, usually no more than ten. They follow Mulgarath because they’re afraid of him—otherwise you would never see so many in one place. Without him leading them, they would fall into squabbling. But even with him, they probably aren’t very organized.
“As for ogres, Mulgarath is typical of their kind. They’re master shape-shifters—clever, sly, and cruel. Strong, too, unfortunately. One flaw that might help you is that they are often vain and prone to bragging.”
“Like in the ‘Puss in Boots’ story?” Jared asked.
“Exactly.” Arthur’s eyes gleamed as he spoke. “Ogres think a lot of themselves and want you to think a lot of them as well. They love to hear themselves talk. And the normal protections—like that garment you’re wearing—are next to useless. They’re too powerful.
“As for dragons . . . well, I must confess everything I know about them was culled from other researchers.”
“Other researchers? You mean there are other people researching faeries?”
Arthur nodded. “All over the world. Did you know there are faeries on every continent? There are variations, of course, much like with any other animal. But I digress.
“The subtype of dragon is probably of the European wyrm variety most common to this region. Very poisonous. I remember one account where a dragon lived on cow’s milk—it got huge and its venom poisoned everything, scorched the grass, and made the water undrinkable.”
“Wait!” Jared exclaimed. “Our water burns your mouth if you drink it—our well water.”
“A very bad sign.” Arthur sighed heavily and shook his head. “Dragons are quick, but they can be killed the same as any other creature. The difficulty, of course, is the poison. It grows stronger as the dragon grows, and only a very small number of creatures are fast enough and brave enough to go after a dragon, the way a mongoose attacks a cobra.”
“A very bad sign.”
Jared looked at the leaf—it was almost to the ground. Arthur followed the look. “My time talking to you is almost done. Will you give Lucinda a message for me?”
“Sure. Of course.” Jared nodded.
“Tell her—” But whatever Arthur was going to say was lost in the leaves that whorled around him, obscuring him from view. A tornado of leaves circled upward and then . . . nothing. Jared looked for the elf, but she was gone as well.
As Jared left the boundary of the grove, he saw Byron clawing in the dirt. Simon sat on the griffin’s back, petting the creature to calm it. Behind him, Mallory held the dwarven sword aloft, the metal gleaming in the sun. Hogsqueal sat at the beast’s neck, looking positively miserable.
“It’s your turn to trust us.”
“What are you doing here?” Jared asked. “I thought you said you trusted me.”
“And we do,” said Mallory. “That’s why we waited here instead of rushing in and hauling you out.”
“We even have a plan.” Simon held up a loop of rope. “Come on. You can tell us what you found out from the elves on the way.”
“So, now,” said Mallory, “it’s your turn to trust us.”
“I caught the humans.”
Chapter Four
>
IN WHICH Everything Goes into the Fire
As he crossed the highway, Jared tried not to jostle the deliberately loose knots that kept his hands bound behind his back. He marched behind a similarly bound Mallory and avoided looking up at the distant shadow of Byron and Simon flying overhead—their only means of escape if things were to go wrong and the quickest way out if things were to go right.
Hogsqueal poked Jared with the tip of the dwarven sword. “Hurry up, nose pickers.”
“Cut it out,” Jared said, nearly stumbling. Thimbletack squirmed against the back of his neck. “We’re not even inside yet, and that thing is sharp,” Jared said.
“Right,” the hobgoblin snickered. “My bad, lump-meat.”
“Leave Jared alone, or I’m going to show you how to use a sword,” Mallory hissed, then suddenly went still.
The trees on that side of the highway were almost entirely leafless, blackened, and dead. The few remaining leaves hung from the branches like bats. The trees looked less real than the dwarves’ ironwood trees. Just beyond, Jared could see the junkyard.
The gate was rusted open, and the worn dirt path was overgrown with patches of dead weeds. A NO TRESPASSING sign was stuck in the ground at an odd angle. Old cars, tires, and other trash were stacked in haphazard piles that resembled swells of sand along a beach. And ahead Jared could see the palace clearly. Its spires gleamed with glass and tin in the full light of the sun.
Jared saw several goblins peering out of the rusted heap of a car. Two sniffed the air and a third began to bark. Then the goblins started to crawl from the vehicle. Each lifted a toadlike head and gnashed teeth of glass and bone. They carried dwarf-forged pikes and curved swords.
“Say something,” Jared whispered to Hogsqueal.