More Pongwiffy Stories

by Kaye Umansky

  Yores sinseeerly

  Sebastian B. Jetsetter (millyonair)

  P.S. Cum alone. Don’t tel anywun.

  She should have been suspicious, of course. The spellings alone should have told her something, as should the crossings-out, fingermarks and general disgustingly grubby state of the thing. But being a superstar doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be intelligent.

  With a little squeal of excitement, Lulu leapt to her feet and launched herself at her wardrobe.

  ‘This isn’t going to work, I tell you!’ said Sharkadder nervously. She was standing on the jetty with Pongwiffy and Dudley, casting dark glances at the small rowing boat bobbing about at the foot of a flight of slippery steps.

  Sharkadder was wearing a long black oilskin, matching sou’wester and a pair of thick-soled rubber boots, all of which had been hired by Pongwiffy at great personal expense. (Well, it would have been, if she hadn’t used her Magic coin.) Dudley was crouched on the top of a nearby lobster pot, chewing on a fish head and growling every time anyone came near.

  ‘Of course it’ll work. You make a very convincing boatman. Your nose in particular has got a real weatherbeaten look about it.’

  ‘Why can’t you be the boatman?’ cried Sharkadder, stamping her rubber-booted foot. ‘I don’t know anything about boats! Why does it have to be me?’

  ‘Because she knows me and she doesn’t know you, that’s why. Look, it’ll be fine. Just talk about port and starboard and say Arrr and Avast and Belay and things like that. Spit in the wind. Get Dudley to sing one of his sea shanties. On second thoughts, I should only use that in an emergency.’

  ‘Which is port?’ asked Sharkadder, all flustered.

  ‘I don’t know. The sharp end. Who cares? She won’t know the difference anyway. The most important thing is to get her into the boat and away from the harbour. Once we’re into the open sea, we can all relax. Me and Hugo will come out from hiding under the tarpaulin and take over the oars.’

  ‘Which are the oars?’ enquired Sharkadder.

  ‘They’re the long stick-type things you put in the water,’ explained Pongwiffy a touch impatiently. ‘There’s nothing to it. Just dip ’em in and splash ’em about a bit, and the boat’ll move.’

  ‘Yes, but which way?’ said Sharkadder worriedly.

  ‘Forward, hopefully.’

  ‘As long as it’s not down. Look, Pong, I really don’t think this is a good idea.’

  ‘Yes it is. It’s brilliant. We simply row out to sea and maroon her on a rock for a few days. Just to keep her out of the way long enough for Scott to have his chance. He’ll take over the show at a minute’s notice and get rave reviews. It’s bound to work. It always does in books.’

  ‘We’re not in a book,’ said Sharkadder. ‘This is real. That’s real wet water down there and I’m not at all sure that boat’s seaworthy.’

  ‘Of course it’s seaworthy. Trust you to pick holes in my plan.’

  ‘It’s holes in the boat I’m worried about.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’ll work like a dream. We’ll go back and pick Lulu up later, when Scott’s a star again and everyone’s forgotten about her. You know how it is in the world of show business. Out of sight, out of mind. Here today, gone tomorrow. Easy come, easy g—’

  ‘Mistress!’ Hugo emerged from a dark alley where he had been posted as lookout and came running towards them across the cobbles, eyes bulging. ‘It her! She comink!’

  ‘Right, this is it. Come on, Hugo, down into the boat. It’s all up to you now, Sharky. Don’t let me down.’

  The two of them hurried down the steps and climbed into the rocking boat. They lay down and pulled the tarpaulin over themselves just as Lulu emerged from the alley and stood looking about her hesitantly. She was wearing her most glamorous gown, her most glittery jewellery and highly unsuitable high-heeled gold sandals. This was her big chance and she was obviously intent on making an impression.

  Sharkadder cleared her throat nervously. ‘Step this way, lady,’ she called. ‘All aboard for Mr Jetsetter’s luxury yacht. Arrr.’

  ‘Are you the boatman?’ demanded Lulu imperiously, teetering unsteadily along the jetty.

  ‘Avast and belay, I certainly am,’ agreed Sharkadder. ‘That’s me. Just a salty old seadog who knows all about port and starboard and things. And this is my trusty ship’s cat. Excuse me while I spit in the wind. Step right down into the boat, and sit down the blunt end, well away from the tarpaulin. There’s a whole pile of dead fish under there and I don’t want ’em disturbed. Arrr.’

  Lulu gathered up her gown, gingerly picked her way down the slippery steps and clambered into the boat, which wobbled alarmingly.

  ‘I see what you mean about the fish,’ she said, wrinkling her nose and staring about her disdainfully. ‘It’s very smelly in this boat. And why isn’t there a cushion? I must say I’m very surprised a millionaire like Mr Jetsetter can’t afford something a bit better for his guests.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with my boat,’ protested Sharkadder with a heartiness she didn’t feel. She climbed in and groped her way unsteadily to the helm. ‘All right, Dudley, you can cast off now. No, there’s nothing wrong with the good old Saucy Sal. Arrr.’

  ‘Saucy Sal? I thought it said Bouncing Billy on the side,’ said Lulu suspiciously.

  ‘Oh, do it?’ said Sharkadder, affecting vague surprise. ‘I wonder who changed that, then. Hurry up, Dudley, leave that fish head and untie the rope. We have to catch the tide, remember?’

  The rope tethering the boat slithered down with a thump, closely followed by Dudley. Sharkadder picked up an oar and pushed with all her might against the jetty. Rocking wildly, the boat shot out across the water, surprising everyone. Sharkadder wobbled and flailed her arms wildly, letting go of the oar, which fell over the side with a splash and floated away in the opposite direction. With a little shriek, Sharkadder fell over backwards into the bottom of the boat, where she lay with her legs kicking feebly in the air in a most unboatman-like manner. Lulu gave a sharp scream and clutched at the sides.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she squealed as the boat got caught in an eddy and began to spin in circles.

  ‘Don’t panic!’ cried Sharkadder, picking herself up and grabbing for the one remaining oar. ‘Everything’s under control. I’ll just steady us up a bit. Arrr.’

  ‘Let me off this minute!’ demanded Lulu. ‘I don’t believe you’re Mr Jetsetter’s boatman at all. In fact, I don’t believe there is a Mr Jetsetter! I think this is all a trick!’

  And she attempted to stand up. At the same time, Sharkadder made a great, despairing dig at the water. The boat spun wildly. Sharkadder lost her balance for the second time, this time falling forward on to the heaped tarpaulin in the bottom of the boat. There was a muffled cry of pain and the tarpaulin gave a convulsive heave.

  ‘Ahhhha!’ screamed Lulu, pointing with a trembling finger. ‘The fish! The fish! They’re coming alive! They’re . . .’

  ‘Oh, stop your blithering!’ said an irritable voice. ‘Honestly, Sharky, can’t you do anything? Give me that oar and get out of the way before you have us over.’

  And to Lulu’s horror, she found herself staring into the dreaded countenance of her old enemy.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  All at Sea

  ‘I thought you said you could row,’ taunted Sharkadder as the current swirled the boat out to sea. ‘“Nothing to it,” you said. “I’ll come out of hiding and take over the oars,” you said. I distinctly heard you say it.’

  ‘Help!’ screeched Lulu in her ear. ‘Help! Help me, someone!’

  ‘Well, I can hardly row with only one oar, can I?’ objected Pongwiffy. ‘And we all know whose fault that is.’

  ‘Help!’ bawled Lulu. ‘Call the coastguards! Boxing Day! Boxing Day!’

  ‘I think it’s Mayday, actually,’ Pongwiffy told her. ‘And shut up,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘I said all along I didn’t want to be boatman,’ said Sharkadder cros
sly. ‘Don’t blame me. It’s all your fault that we’re lost at sea. This is the last time I go along with any of your half-baked ideas.’

  ‘Half-baked idea? You’re talking about an ingenious plan, worked out to the last detail. Or it was, until you mucked it up. Anyway, we’re not lost at sea. We’re merely temporarily caught in a fast-moving current.’

  ‘Which is hurtling us to our doom,’ said Sharkadder darkly.

  ‘HELP! HELP! HEEEEELP!’

  ‘Of course it’s not,’ scoffed Pongwiffy. ‘Now see what you’ve done. You’ve set her off again with all your talk of doom.’

  ‘I don’t care, it’s true. In fact, this whole holiday was doomed from the outset. That’s because it was your idea.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such an old grouch! Anyway, we’re only just out of the harbour. You can see the beach from here. Besides, Hugo knows what to do, don’t you, Hugo? He’s been shipwrecked off Cape Horn, he told me. Haven’t you, Hugo?’

  But Hugo had gone pale green and didn’t answer.

  ‘Not much help there,’ said Sharkadder cuttingly, adding, ‘But then, what do you expect from a Hamster? It’s lucky we have my Dudley. He can share his seafaring knowledge with us. What do we do next, Duddles, darling? Tell Mummy.’

  But Dudley had his head over the side and was groaning.

  ‘Well, that’s just terrific,’ said Pongwiffy, disgusted. ‘Perhaps we are hurtling to our doom after all.’

  ‘HEEEEEEELLLLP! HELLLLPPPP!’

  ‘I thought I told you to shut up,’ she told Lulu.

  ‘Why should I? You’re just a couple of spiteful old Witches out to get me. You’ve always had it in for me. What have I ever done to you?’

  ‘You’ve ruined Scott’s career, that’s what,’ snapped Pongwiffy. ‘You’ve taken his rightful place at The Top. But you reckoned without us. We’re going to dump you on a deserted rock for a day or two. That’ll teach you to steal his thunder.’

  ‘You can’t do that! What about my public? It’s opening night and I’m the star!’

  ‘Not any more you’re not. Scott’s going to Save The Show and after that you’ll be lucky if you get a walk-on part. So there.’

  ‘I hate to be a spoilsport, Pong, but I don’t actually see any deserted rocks,’ pointed out Sharkadder. ‘And even if I did, we’d probably swish right past. We seem to be rather at the mercy of the current, don’t you know.’

  ‘Well, that’s just where you’re wrong, because look what’s ahead!’ Pongwiffy pointed triumphantly. ‘If that’s not a rock, what is it? That tall, thin, greyish thing sticking up out of the water.’

  ‘It’s a person,’ said Sharkadder, squinting. ‘A person stranded on a sandbank, by the look of it. In fact, unless I’m very much mistaken, I do believe it’s my nephew Ronald.’

  ‘Oh botheration,’ said Pongwiffy, who didn’t like Sharkadder’s nephew Ronald. ‘That’s all we need.’

  ‘Ssh! I think he’s shouting something. It sounds like . . .’

  ‘HEEEEELLLLPPPP!’ screeched Lulu, getting a second wind.

  ‘That’s it,’ agreed Sharkadder. ‘Cooeee! Ronald! What are you doing on that sandbank? And wearing those hideous yellow shorts? Have you no fashion sense?’

  ‘I’m stranded!’ came the faint cry. ‘Help me, Aunt Sharkadder!’

  ‘Shall we? What do you think?’ Sharkadder asked Pongwiffy.

  ‘No,’ said Pongwiffy firmly. ‘Anyone who wears shorts like that doesn’t deserve to be rescued.’

  ‘Mmm. You have a point. But perhaps I better had. After all, he is Family. All right, Ronald, we’re coming. Be ready to grab the oar as we go past! Hold out the oar, Pongwiffy – we’re going to rescue Ronald.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Pongwiffy, stubbornly clutching the oar to herself. ‘He calls himself a Wizard, doesn’t he? Why can’t he rescue himself?’

  ‘Oh, give it to me, I’ll do it! Come on, before it’s too late.’

  She held out her hand. Reluctantly Pongwiffy surrendered the oar and Sharkadder stuck it out over the side of the boat at arm’s length as the boat came level with Ronald. He reached out desperately clutching fingers and caught it. The boat slowed just long enough for Sharkadder to grab a handful of shorts and haul him in over the side. He toppled in and fell to the bottom, white, wheezing, whimpering and extremely wet.

  ‘Ugh!’ said Lulu, hastily drawing her feet away. ‘He’s all soggy. What have we got to have him for?’

  ‘My sentiments entirely,’ Pongwiffy agreed. ‘That’s the first sensible thing I’ve ever heard you say. You’re just an old softie, Sharkadder. It’s too crowded in this boat. Look how we’re shipping water.’

  ‘Sit up, Ronald,’ Sharkadder instructed him severely. ‘I have a few questions to ask you, and I want some straight answers. I asked you what you think you’re doing, stranded on a sandbank in the middle of the ocean.’

  Ronald rolled over, sat up and mumbled something.

  ‘What? Speak up – I didn’t quite hear.’

  ‘I said I was paddling,’ muttered Ronald, wringing out his shorts.

  ‘Paddling? Not a very Wizardly occupation, is it? What are you doing in Sludgehaven anyway? And where are your lovely robes? And most important, who told you you could wear shorts with those knees?’

  But Ronald wasn’t listening. He had just noticed Lulu. His jaw went slack and a silly look came over his face.

  ‘I say,’ he said. ‘I say, aren’t you Luscious Lulu Lamarre, the superstar?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ admitted Lulu, patting her wig and preening a bit. ‘I am, actually.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Ronald, quite overcome. ‘Gosh. I’m a big fan of yours. Can I have your autograph?’

  ‘Well, yes of course, I . . .’

  ‘No you can’t,’ broke in Pongwiffy crossly. ‘Let’s throw him overboard, Sharkadder. He’s getting on my nerves.’

  ‘He’s my nephew, Pongwiffy. If there’s any throwing overboard to be done, I’ll decide. I asked you what you’re doing in Sludgehaven, Ronald. Apart from drowning.’

  ‘Having a Convention,’ mumbled Ronald sheepishly, shivering and crossing his arms over his puny chest. ‘We’re all staying up at the Magician’s Retreat. It’s a very serious sort of thing. I – er – just slipped out for a quick paddle and the tide sort of came in when I wasn’t looking. You – er – you won’t tell the others, will you, Auntie?’

  ‘I will,’ promised Pongwiffy with relish. ‘I’m going to tell everybody, the minute we land.’

  ‘If we ever do land,’ remarked Sharkadder, and Lulu burst into loud sobs.

  Indeed, the possibility of landing was becoming ever more remote. The current was fairly zipping along, and the beach was now out of sight. They had rounded the headland, and the coastline was an unfamiliar vista of craggy, towering cliffs and sharp rocks, wet with crashing surf.

  ‘Listen,’ said Sharkadder, cupping her ear. ‘I think I can hear something.’

  She could. Across the waves came a ghastly drone, interspersed with various tinklings and crashings.

  ‘Goblin music,’ said Pongwiffy grimly. ‘We must be getting near to Gobboworld. What a racket. I can’t stand this. There’s nothing else for it. We’ll have to use Magic.’

  ‘We’re not allowed,’ Sharkadder reminded her. ‘No Magic in Sludgehaven, remember? Anyway, we haven’t got our Wands.’

  ‘Ah, but we’re not exactly in Sludgehaven, are we? We’re at sea. That’s different,’ argued Pongwiffy. ‘And I don’t need a Wand,’ she added. ‘I’ll just do a tiny little landing spell, off the top of my head, and get the boat to take us to a suitable rock. Then we can drop off Lulu and get back in time to see Scott’s moment of glorious triumph.’

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Sharkadder. ‘You’re not using one of those wonky old spells of yours. Don’t! You know they never wor—’

  But she was too late. Pongwiffy had already started. She flexed her fingers and screwed her eyes tight shut, concentrating.

  ‘Wind and waves, now
hear my cry!

  Take us to a rock nearby.

  O’er the sea now let us float

  In this little rowing-boat.’

  ‘There. That should do it. What’s happening?’

  ‘We’re sinking,’ Sharkadder told her sadly. And indeed, they were.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Gobboworld!

  ‘Gobboworld! We made it!’ gasped Lardo. And he burst into tears.

  The Goblins stood in a swaying huddle, staring up in awe at the towering gates with their huge, neon-lit sign. In true Goblin fashion, neither of the Bs that spelt out the name were working, turning the name into Gooworld – but Goblins can’t read, so it hardly mattered. From within came the sound of wildly pumping music, wailing sirens and thin, high-pitched screaming.

  ‘Well,’ said Plugugly. ‘Dis is it, boys. End o’ de line. De answer to all our wassits. Dem pichers you get when you sleeps.’

  ‘Dreams,’ said Slopbucket, excelling himself.

  ‘Mine ’ave always got alligators in,’ remarked Eyesore vaguely.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ squawked Sproggit, jumping up and down, beside himself with excitement. ‘Come on, come on, less go!’

  Hearts hammering with anticipation, they once again picked up their sore feet and limped to the turnstile, which barred their entrance.

  There was a small, dark ticket booth set to one side. Sticking out of it and effectively barring their way was a huge, muscular, hairy arm. The Arm bore a tattoo of a heart. Across the heart was the word MUDDER. It was the sort of arm you wouldn’t want to argue with. The sort of arm only a mudder could love.

  ‘Ticket, please,’ said a gravelly voice from the depths within. And the sausage-like fingers flapped with sluggish impatience.

  ‘Derrrr . . . eh?’ said Plugugly, taken aback.

  ‘I said ticket, please,’ repeated the Arm’s owner impatiently.

  ‘Derrrrr . . . tick what? I don’t get yer,’ said Plugugly, confused, looking around for something to tick.

  ‘You got to have a ticket,’ explained the Arm. ‘To get in.’