Goblins on the Prowl

by Bruce Coville

  Much as Herky annoys me, I didn’t like seeing him so upset. Kneeling beside him, I said, “What’s the ­matter?”

  “Flegmire scary,” Herky sniffed, his face still pressed to Wongo’s leg.

  “Why is Flegmire scary?”

  Herky turned his big eyes to me. “Herky’s momma tell him, ‘Herky, don’t you go near Flegmire. Not ever!’ When Herky ask why, his momma say, ‘Because Flegmire eat bad little goblins!’ Herky bad. Herky good sometimes, but Herky bad lots of times. Herky don’t want Flegmire to eat him. So Herky got to stay here.”

  With a shudder that made his big ears flap, he buried his face against the troll’s leg once more.

  Wongo burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  The troll shook his massive head. “Goblin mothers have been telling that story to small and naughty goblins since before I climbed out of my rock.”

  “But is it twue?” demanded Bwoonhiwda.

  Wongo wiped some pebbles from his eyes. I figured they must be the troll version of tears of laughter. “Not in the least. Goblin mothers are simply trying to scare their boisterous and overactive offspring into behaving. I don’t blame them. For a goblin child, mischief comes as naturally as breathing.”

  As he said this, Wongo plucked Herky from his leg and held him at arm’s length.

  “Noooooo!” the little goblin wailed. “Don’t wanna go! Don’t wanna go! Herky don’t wanna get eated! ”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” I said. “Give him to me.”

  When Wongo passed Herky to me, I held the ­little agitation in front of my face, looked him in the eye, and said firmly, “I promise I won’t let Flegmire eat you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I promise to protect you.”

  “Herky go if Fauna protect him.”

  “Just who is this Fwegmiah?” Bwoonhiwda asked Wongo.

  “A wise, elderly, somewhat demented goblin who lives on the outskirts of Nilbog. She was the only goblin not imprisoned when the others were captured. Unfortunately, a hundred and twenty-one years of solitude drove her a bit mad.”

  “Can you tell us how to find her?” I asked.

  “Follow the tunnel I will now allow you to enter. It will bring you to a ridge that overlooks the city. Do not take the path that leads down to the city. Instead, turn right and take the path that runs along the crest of the ridge. After a while you will come to a stone bridge that crosses a waterfall of luminous beauty. On the far side of this bridge the path divides. Take the path less traveled, which slopes down to the right. This will lead you to the mushroom forest.”

  “Mushwoom fowest?” Bwoonhiwda asked.

  Wongo shrugged. “When thousands of mushrooms grow as tall as trees, you might as well call it a forest. Anyway, that path will lead you through the mushroom forest to Flegmire’s dark and lonely cave.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “May we pass now?”

  “Just one more thing. When you speak to Flegmire, you should address her as ‘the Wisest of the Wise.’”

  “Is she really the Wisest of the Wise?”

  “Probably not, but she likes to be called that. And her advice is the best you’re likely to get . . . ­especially if she rolls the bones for you. And that slightly unlikely event is more apt to occur if you treat her with respect. Even if she is not really the wisest of all goblins, she is definitely the oldest, and that counts for something.”

  Having said that, Wongo moved aside so we could enter the tunnel. As I walked past, he said softly, “Good luck, you small, scruffy, but touchingly brave girl. I hope you find your friend.”

  I thanked him, not admitting I had no idea what we were going to do if and when we did find William.

  “Thank you for saving me from that troll,” Sterngrim whispered when we were well past Wongo.

  I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I shrugged and said, “It was nothing.”

  “Are you saying my life is worth nothing?” she shrieked.

  Then she leaped from my shoulder and fluttered away.

  I called for her to come back, but got no reply.

  That is why I don’t like talking. It’s too easy to make a mistake. I wondered if I would ever see her again. I had started to like having her with me.

  “Sterngrim go away?” asked Igor, sounding puzzled.

  “For now. I hope she will come back.”

  We continued on. At least we could see now, since the tunnel walls were lined with the glowing fungus.

  When we reached the end of the tunnel, we found ourselves on a ridge overlooking the city, just as Wongo had said.

  I had seen Nilbog City before, but it still amazed me. The goblins had built it in an enormous cavern. The reason the city is visible is that huge amounts of the glowing fungus grow everywhere. The stuff lines the paths that weave among the buildings. Wherever two paths cross, there is a tall pole with the fungus wrapped around it. Whole rooftops are covered with it. However, we also saw large, dark areas that I now understood came from the years of neglect.

  Not far to our left roared a huge waterfall. This was not the one Wongo had told us to look for—it was much too wide to be spanned by a bridge. I recognized it from my first trip and realized we must have entered the cavern from the opposite side this time, since when William and I had come here before, that fall had been directly across from us.

  The fall plunged over a steep cliff. From its base a river flowed to the center of the city. Rivers and streams ran in from other directions as well, merging to form a large lake at the city’s lowest point.

  In the center of that lake was an island.

  From the center of the island rose Castle Nilbog. It had seven towers, each sticking up at a different angle.

  I was glad we were going to skirt the city. Though the castle was a fascinating place, I didn’t want to go back. The memory of being a prisoner in its dungeon remained fresh in my mind.

  Stopping to admire Nilbog City turned out to be a bad idea. We were still looking at it when we heard a chant of “Black Stone! Black Stone! Black Stone!” from behind us.

  That was all the warning we had before the attack.

  Being court scribbler is a solitary life. Most of my time is spent alone, wrestling with words that refuse to behave as I wish them to. On the other hand, I get to be in attendance at great events!

  —Stanklo the Scribbler

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SOPHRONIA

  A mischief of headband-wearing scamps had crept up the far side of the ridge. Now they flung themselves at us.

  Igor thrashed around him with his bear. “Bop! Bop! Bop!” he roared. “Boppity bop bop!”

  Goblins flew in all directions.

  Bwoonhiwda didn’t have room to spin in a circle the way she did the first time we were attacked. So she just picked up goblins and threw them.

  They went a long way.

  Herky leaped onto an attacker’s leg and chomped down on it. The big goblin howled and tried to pull him off, but Herky clung tight.

  Werdolphus began popping up beside goblins and shouting into their ears. His voice, seeming to come from nowhere, distracted and frightened them.

  As for me, I pulled out my knife and held it in front of me. The goblins kept a distance from it. But I had nothing to cover my back, and one of them leaped onto me from behind. I fell face-first. He pinned me down, shouting, “The stone! Give me the stone!”

  I struggled but couldn’t get up. Then I heard a hiss, and the goblin holding me down shrieked in pain.

  Sterngrim had returned!

  The goblin grabbed at the lindling, who was clawing his head. As he did, I rolled out from under him.

  Scrambling to my feet, I saw more goblins racing toward us. I was terrified until I realized these goblins were not wearin
g red headbands. Shouting “For king and Nilbog!” they plunged into the battle, attacking our attackers. Soon goblins were bouncing and bounding all over. Soon after that the red headband group ran, yelping, into the darkness.

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” I whispered to Sterngrim, who was once more perched on my shoulder.

  “It was nothing,” she said. Then she gave my ear a little nip and whapped the back of my head with one of her wings.

  The leader of the mischief that had come to our rescue stuck his finger into his nose and nodded, which I took to be some kind of goblin salute. “I am Grickle, leader of the Seventh Mischief and Marching Society. Welcome to Nilbog, Fauna Goblin Friend. Why do you have a winged lindling on your shoulder? Would you like me to kill it for you?”

  Glad that Sterngrim couldn’t understand him, I said fiercely, “She is my friend!”

  Grickle looked at me oddly but went on to greet the others.

  “Welcome, Igor Goblin Friend. Welcome, Herky, goblinspawn. Welcome . . . er, welcome, big strong woman.”

  “Her name Bwoonhiwda,” Igor said.

  Grickle nodded. “Welcome, Bwoonhiwda.”

  “Hey, I’m here too,” Werdolphus said.

  The voice from nowhere caused Grickle to jump, so I had to explain about having a ghost with us. When I was done, I said, “Thank you for driving off those other goblins. Do you know why they attacked us?”

  Grickle shook his head. “We don’t understand what is happening with the scamps. We’ve had reports of some going topside, and we have reports of others prowling the outer caverns. But this is the first I know of them attacking anyone. I’m glad we reached you when we did. We were coming to escort you to Castle Nilbog.”

  I started to ask how he had known we were coming, then realized Bonecracker John must have sent that little messenger lizard back with the news.

  “You did arrive just in time,” I said. “And we thank you for your help. But we are not heading for the ­castle. We are on a mission.”

  The goblin scowled. “You are a Goblin Friend, but that does not give you free rein to wander about ­Nilbog without first coming to see King Nidrash. He has sent for you, and it would be rude and ungoblinlike not to go.”

  “You don’t understand! We are looking for the ­William. He has been captured by a giant toad.”

  “The king is aware of that. He is also aware of his debt to William, and to you, and that it is enormous. But he insists you come anyway.” He leaned forward and whispered, “There is someone you must meet. I am not free to say who, but I can tell you that the king feels it may help you in your quest.”

  I sighed. It looked like we would be going to the castle after all.

  I hoped I could manage to stay out of the dungeon this time!

  Entering Nilbog City made me sad. The first time I’d been there, I had not fully understood the damage that had occurred during the years of the goblins’ captivity. Now that Wongo had explained it, I couldn’t help but be aware of the decay that had overtaken Nilbog.

  One thing that had not suffered—or perhaps had been repaired already—was the stone bridge that leads from the edge of the underground lake to the castle. I marveled again at the rubies, emeralds, ­sapphires, and diamonds that studded its surface. Bigger than eyeballs, any one of them would have been worth a fortune in the upper world.

  We passed through tall wooden doors and into the long corridor that leads to the enormous Throne Room.

  The last time I’d been in that room, it had been crowded with happy, boisterous goblins. Now it was nearly empty. On the throne, which rested atop a dais four steps high, sat the king. He looked gloomy, but at least he was in one piece. This was better than when his head had been in a wooden box and his body had been locked in the top of one of the towers.

  When he saw us, King Nidrash stood and spread his arms. He was big for a goblin, an inch or two taller than me. “Welcome, Goblin Friends,” he said. His voice was soft and subdued, and despite his smile I could hear sadness in it.

  On the third step of the stone dais sat Borg, the elderly goblin who was the king’s counselor. He, too, had risen when we came in, but had soon sat again.

  Once we had introduced Bwoonhiwda and Werdolphus, the king said, “Again you come to us in time of need, Fauna.”

  I was surprised that he spoke directly to me rather than to one of the adults. But it made sense, in a way. Having a conversation with Igor was always difficult, and Bwoonhiwda and Werdolphus were newcomers. I was the one the king already knew.

  I bowed, then said, “What is your need, King Nidrash?”

  “A wizard named Helagon has been stirring up discontent among my goblins. The joy and energy of Nilbog are being drained away. It is worst among the young. The scamps have become rebellious, and many have run away. Goblin mothers are in despair.”

  “I do not know what we can do to change this.”

  He raised a hand. “Let me finish. Last night one of the scamps came back. He returned because he had become frightened of what Helagon is up to and had decided to let us know about it. This is why I have brought you here. I know you are seeking the William. But I am quite certain that our problem with Helagon and your problem with William and the stone toad are woven together.”

  “That’s interesting,” said a voice from beside me.

  While everyone else was looking around, trying to see where the voice had come from, I cried, “William! You’re back!”

  “I thought it was time for another Sleep Walk.”

  The king blinked. “Where is he? I hear him but cannot see him!”

  I explained about the Sleep Walk potion. The king seemed to find this perfectly sensible. When I was done, he closed one eye, then pressed a finger on either side of his other eye, causing it to bulge out in a disturbing way. “Ah, there you are!” he cried. “Most glad to see you, William. Can you tell us where your body is?”

  William shook his head. “Somewhere in Nilbog, I’m certain. But exactly where, I couldn’t say. We’ve moved around a lot. I get the feeling the toad is afraid of something. I can’t explore unless I do a Sleep Walk, and as soon as I drank the potion, I came straight to Fauna to find out what’s been happening.”

  At that moment another goblin came stumbling into the room. He was nearly as tall as the king, and quite skinny for a goblin. He had bare feet and wore a badly stained robe. As he got closer, I saw that the stains were from ink. His orange hands were ­speckled with ink too. I figured this must be John’s friend Stanklo.

  “I just got word of our visitors!” he burst out. “Are we going to take them to see her? You know I must be present if I am to record such events.”

  “See who?” I asked.

  Borg heaved himself to his feet once more. Gasping a bit, he said, “We have a visitor who knows a great deal about the toad and where it came from. Shall I lead them to her, O my king?”

  “Let’s all go,” Nidrash replied.

  He led us behind the throne, where we entered a stone tunnel. Just inside the tunnel was a rack of glowing-fungus torches. Each of us with a body took one.

  The passage sloped downward. It forked several times, which made it hard to keep track of our route. My stomach grew tight. The trip was bringing up memories of being in the goblin dungeon the year before, which was not an experience I wanted to repeat. I thought we could trust the king, but I wasn’t entirely certain.

  At last we entered a cave about the size of the one where we had met Wongo. On its far side was a rounded white wall. As we approached, a burst of light from behind the wall revealed that it was not white but made of clear crystal.

  On the other side of the crystal wall stood a beautiful woman. She was dressed in a white robe and had long red hair that hung nearly to her waist. Something twitched at the back of my mind when I saw her, and I thought, Why does she look so familiar?
r />   “It the book lady!” Igor shouted.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The book lady! The one who tell Igor to give book to William.”

  “Yes, that’s Sophronia,” Werdolphus confirmed.

  The woman didn’t seem disturbed at a voice coming from nowhere. Did this mean she could see him? Or was she just used to ghosts?

  “Why are you behind that wall?” I asked.

  “Who’s that?” she asked. “Is the king with you?”

  “I’m here,” said the king. Turning to us, he explained, “She can’t see us. The wall is clear only from this side.”

  Well, that explained why she hadn’t been disturbed by not seeing Werdolphus. She couldn’t see any of us!

  When the king told Sophronia who he had with him, she cried, “Thank goodness! There is much you need to know, and time is running out.”

  “Why are you behind that wall?” I asked again. “Are you a prisoner?”

  “No, no. The goblins are protecting me, for which I owe them great thanks. A wizard named Helagon is after me. If he captures me, he will . . . Well, I might be persuaded to give him information he desperately desires but must not have. This chamber blocks my magic so that he cannot find me.”

  “What do you do foh food and dwink?” Bwoon­hiwda asked.

  “Once a day the goblins bring them to me. We raise the crystal wall by a couple of inches, and they quickly slide them through. Then we seal it again. Now listen! There are things you need to know—things I would have told you at the Baron’s castle had I not been prevented from reaching you. And there are things I need to know as well. Tell me quickly, please, what happened the night the toad came to life.”

  Since William and I were the only ones who had been there when it happened, it was up to us to tell the story. Sophronia’s eyes grew wide as we spoke, but she let us tell everything—including what we had done since—without interrupting.

  When I retold Bonecracker John’s story about the giant and the wicked wizard, William exclaimed, “So that’s where the toad came from! If I had known that, we wouldn’t have messed around with it.”