Fiend of the Seven Sewers

by Steven Butler

  ‘Righty!’ replied Lickspittle. She fumbled in her pocket for the prattle-peacer.

  ‘You can wail and gnash as much as you like now, boy,’ Flott continued, grinning a spiteful grin at me. ‘It won’t make any difference. No human in the outside world can see or hear you.’

  Lickspittle aimed the portable contraption in my direction and fiddled with it clumsily. There was a small click as the top opened and a wisp of white smoke wafted towards my face.

  No sooner had I inhaled my voice back through my mouth and nostrils, I turned to my stumpy kidnappers and said…

  ‘THIS IS AMAZING!’

  The two goblins looked about as baffled as I was. I hadn’t meant to shout that. I was practically weeping with worry, and what I wanted to say was, ‘LET ME GO!’ or ‘WHO ARE YOU?’ or ‘BOG OFF!’ but I was so surprised by the view, I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘There’s a magical town hidden in Brighton?’ I yelped.

  ‘It’s not Brighton!’ Lickspittle snapped as she pulled a face like she was completely disgusted. ‘It’s Hovel, actually!’

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t have a clue about this place. How long has it been here? Where are we?’

  ‘We should get a wriggle on,’ said Flott, ignoring my questions. He yanked on the golden cord round my middle. ‘I don’t want to keep the boss waiting. It ain’t right to test his patience.’

  Aaaaand that was that… My instant excitement was extinguished as I remembered that I’d been kidnapped and was being dragged off to meet a mystery stranger who wanted some kind of revenge.

  ‘Let’s go, pukeling – off to your DOOM! TRA-LA-LA!’ Lickspittle cooed as she joined Flott, pulling me to the edge of the platform and down a dilapidated flight of stairs.

  ‘No!’ I hollered, tugging against the rope again. ‘Please! You can’t do this!’

  ‘Yes, we can,’ Flott teased. ‘We already have.’

  ‘Who’s the boss?’ I shouted. ‘What does he want with me?’

  ‘You’ll find out,’ Lickspittle teased. ‘He’s been DYING to see you.’

  Dying to see me? Was this grizzly little goblin trying to give me clues? The image of my deathly uncle flashed through my mind again and I felt my knees go weak and juddery.

  ‘I know hundreds of magicals!’ I cried, racking my brains for an idea of how to stop them. ‘There’s bound to be someone here who’ll recognise me, and then you’ll be in so much trouble when they report you. My granny will squash you flat!’

  Lickspittle burst out laughing.

  ‘Someone from The Nothing To See Here Hotel visiting a town like this? You must be noggin-bonked!’ she jeered. ‘Hovel ain’t the kind of place for poshly pooks and snooty snipes.’

  ‘S’right,’ Flott agreed with glee. ‘You won’t find any of those doff-doff-types around here, boy. This is a squeery port for the bad’uns and brandy-snatchers of the widely worlds. It’s a proper rot-nest. Now, shut your mumble-hole before we snuffle your voice again!’

  The goblins led me to the foot of the steps and into a bustling street. I half-screamed, half-cheered at the sight of Hovel in the light of hundreds of lanterns that hung from the underside of the pier above.

  Ahead of us, ramshackle buildings with skewed rooftops and bent chimney pots were snuggly packed in and around the metal struts that criss-crossed the way ahead like flies in a spider’s web. There were narrow wonky walkways winding in all directions, and I could see the waves rumbling below us through the gaps. Rickety staircases and ramps led to other levels of the town beneath this one, and everything creaked and groaned like a banshee with bellyache.

  ‘Keep up, boy,’ Flott grunted as he dragged me along. ‘No more griping.’

  ‘Ow!’ I winced. The trap-lace was too tight and now it was pinching me repeatedly in the ribs. It felt like something was digging around inside my pocket. It must have been the coiled-up room-service trolley or my lucky piece of Gundiskump tooth.

  ‘It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to face the boss,’ Lickspittle giggled sarcastically. ‘Poor ’fraidy frumplet!’

  I knew I should be hollering and fighting to get away from my clompy kidnappers, but I was stupefied by everything I was seeing. I couldn’t shake off this bonkers excited feeling that prickled the hair on the back of my neck and gurgled my belly as more of the town came into view, and I secretly wished I had Dad’s battered old camera with me.

  Stumbling through the crowd of magicals going about their business, I couldn’t help thinking about how much Great-Great-Great-Grandad Abraham would love to see this place. We’d spent loads of time together, reading about the hundreds of magically hidden towns dotted all over the world, but I’d never imagined there was one right under our noses.

  All around, snarkles and kulpies and grumplings of all shapes and sizes were clomping back and forth, hurrying from one limpet-covered place to another with carts and sacks filled with things to buy and sell.

  ‘WHAT THE CLONKERS IS THAT!?’ A haggered bogrunt with a basket of sundried starfish on its back recoiled in horror when we crossed his path and he clapped eyes on me. ‘IT’S ’ORRIBLE!’

  ‘Mind your mumbles,’ Lickspittle shot back. ‘Go stick your snout in someone else’s business!’

  As we made our way further into the throng, we passed clamorous restaurants that belched out clouds of spice-scented steam and bustling emporiums overflowing with arguing, bartering magicals. I tried my best to memorise the painted signs on the shopfronts in case I could escape and find my way back, but it was a blur of activity.

  I spotted Gimble and Gump’s Otherworldly Supplies, where Maudlin Maloney’s skell-a-phone key had originally come from. I couldn’t believe the old leprechaun hadn’t told me the shop was right here underneath the pier! Its grubby windows were filled with weird and wonderful enchanted objects that even Flott and Lickspittle seemed fascinated by. The three of us had to duck as a flock of assorted old leather boots with bat wings came flapping out of the dingy front door, followed by an angry anemononk shopkeeper.

  ‘Get back ’ere!’ it gurgled, waving a net in the air as it slopped and squidged after the frantic swarm. ‘I said “LACED” not “CHASED”!!’

  I can’t recall everything we came across – there was just too much to take in – but I do remember Old Mother Gnattle’s Jellied Skrunts and Pies, Loonswagger’s Human Junk, Effluenza Jangle’s Tackle Shop and Plonk & Fisps Flowers, with its vases of rancid-looking sea sprouts outside.

  At the end of the street, we walked into a market square filled with food stalls that was even more crowded than the row of shops.

  It was a dizzying sight, as busy as the inside of a beehive. Hundreds of intoxicating smells filled my senses and made me feel giddy – and HUNGRY!

  In the middle of the open square was a roaring fire, and bubbling above it was the largest cauldron of glow-worm gumbo I’d ever seen. It was nearly as big as one of the swelky tanks back at the hotel, and a team of snub-nosed garvils were wobbling about at the top of ladders, stirring it with long wooden spoons like oars.

  ‘Ooooh, smells delunktious.’ Lickspittle beamed, patting her stomach. ‘Can we get some? I want to try boiled badger burgers!’

  ‘Not now, you dungle!’ Flott snapped back at her. He pointed to the far side of the heaving square. ‘We’ve arrived. Look!’

  I squinted my eyes, trying to see what my goblin captor was gesturing at through all the cooking smoke, then gasped.

  There, crammed between Spindle & Grubber’s Salted Sluggery and Archibus Gulp’s Fetchly Fashions, was the wrecked remains of a huge galleon. It hung between the metal joists of the pier at a crooked angle like some enormous wave had just washed it into position, and the carved figurehead on the front of the bow clutched an ornate brightly coloured sign.

  ‘Here we are, boy.’ Flott smirked with an ugly sneer as we stumbled across the uneven boards towards it.

  Stopping beneath the figurehead, I glanced up to look at the scrolled writing between her sca
ly mermaid fingers. I was about to read it out loud, when the wooden sea-maiden twisted her head with a noisy cracking sound and smiled down at us.

  ‘All right, dearies!’ she bawled in a cockney accent, baring a set of rotten teeth that were mostly barnacles and winkle shells. ‘Welcome to the Itchy Urchin pub. Come inside and whet your wumples!’

  THE ITCHY URCHIN

  ‘You’ve found the right place, me duckies!’ the mermaid rasped with a grin. She shook her wooden locks, releasing a shower of splinters and the odd startled hermit crab. ‘We’ve got the tastiest grub to help warm those aching bones, and the gluggliest grog in all of Hovel. You’ll be blipsy in no time, you will. Try for yourself, darlings… Limpet Lil wouldn’t lie to you.’

  ‘We don’t need any of your tourist twaddlesnipe, Lil!’ Officer Flott grumbled at the pouting mermaid.

  ‘Oh, stuff o’ nonsense! I’m sure I don’t know what you’re chattywagging on about,’ Lil giggled, doing her best to look shocked. ‘Twaddlesnipe indeed! This here’s the finest pub in all the slopsy seas.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, we know!’ Lickspittle groaned. ‘You do this every time we’re here… same old jabbering.’

  ‘I say,’ Lil huffed. ‘The rudeness! I don’t jabber; it’s my job! I’ll have you know I’m the best welcome-wench this side of the Bermuda Triangle. I’ve got a certificate!’

  Just then, the mouldy mermaid caught sight of me and cooed excitedly.

  ‘Oh, a new face!’ She smiled, almost dropping her wooden sign. ‘Who’s this one? Looks a bit young to be on the blowfish brandy.’

  ‘He’s no one,’ Lickspittle answered. ‘Just a…’

  ‘I’M FRANKIE BANISTER!’ I yelled over the goblin girl, shooting her an angry glare.

  ‘Well, I never!’ Lil exclaimed, leaning forward to get a better look at me. ‘I know you, boy. Heard plenty of gossiping and chittery-chirping about that fancy hotel you’re from, I have. What’s it like? Is it as plushly as they say?’

  The figurehead opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Flott raised his stumpy green hand and stopped her.

  ‘The boy is expected… by the boss,’ he said. ‘Now…’

  ‘Oh, good grumptious!’ Limpet Lil flinched. Was it me, or did I see a flash of fear spread across her cracked face? ‘You’d better go inside. He’s been waiting a long time.’

  With that, the mermaid tucked the sign under one arm and wriggled her driftwood fingers towards the rotten hull of the ship beneath her.

  For a second nothing happened until, with an ear-splitting creak, it started to buckle and warp. Before our eyes, the wooden boards bent outwards, exposing a doorway just wide enough to walk through.

  ‘What have you been up to, Frankie Banister?’ the mermaid whispered as the goblins pulled me through the jagged opening. Her eyes were wide and worried. ‘You must’ve done something awful!’

  * * *

  Inside, the Itchy Urchin was no quieter than the square we’d just left, and the sound of barking market traders was replaced by the roar of music and laughter.

  At any other time, I would have loved to spend the evening in a corner of the dimly lit pub, creature watching. Everywhere I looked, the round barrel-tables were crowded with merry magicals clinking tankards of frog grog and popping the corks on bottles of fizzy razorweed wine.

  There was a small stage with three impolumps dancing and singing jazzy songs, accompanied by an octopus who played lots of bizarre instruments all at once. The poster nailed to the wall behind them said they were ‘The McCrumple Brothers and Eight-armed Nev’.

  ‘Get a move on!’ Flott snarled as he dragged me over to the counter where a burley goblin bartender in a stained dress and apron was pouring drinks. She looked up at the two officers and nodded to them, as if to say, I know exactly why you’re here.

  Before either of my captors even spoke, the tattooed goblinette eyed me up and down and mumbled that ‘He’ was in the back booth, behind the curtain.

  ‘Now you’re in for it,’ Lickspittle laughed between slurpy mouthfuls of plorkle scratchings. She’d sneakily snatched a bag of the disgusting things from an unsuspecting reveller as we crossed the pub. ‘The boss is finally going to get his revenge and you’ll be popped like a boil on a bog-bonker’s backside.’

  I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was somewhere between bursting into tears and wetting myself, as the grizzly pair hauled me to the far side of the galleon, where a green curtain was hung across a dark alcove in the shadows.

  ‘Oh-ho-ho, this is going to be good,’ Flott chuckled. ‘Proper thumpus!’

  We stopped in front of the threadbare drape and I could hear hushed voices behind it. My knees started to shake and a swooshy feeling bubbled up into my throat as I prepared to look into the sickly green eye of my evil great-great-uncle again. It couldn’t be anyone else, surely?

  One thing was certain… only Oculus hated me enough to do something like this, and the more I thought about it, the more I was starting to panic.

  I couldn’t imagine how in the worlds he could have escaped his ice-block jail when the Kwinzi family of yetis were guarding it, but he’d done it nonetheless, and I was going to pay the price. My family had imprisoned Oculus in the Himalayas and locked his spectril up in a jar, after all. He was going to be FURIOUS!

  ‘I think it’s time you said hello to the boss,’ Flott said. ‘Smile!’

  With that, the stumpy goblin yanked one half of the curtain aside and Lickspittle shoved me through the gap with a cackle of glee.

  THE BOSS

  I staggered into the gloom of the private booth, clamping my eyes shut before I caught sight of my TERRIBLE relative.

  Without my arms to steady me, I sprawled straight across the table on the other side of the curtain, clattering plates and cutlery in all directions. When I finally came to a stop with my cheek squashed against the rough wood and the air knocked out of my chest, my blood was turning to ice in my veins.

  ‘Please!’ I yelped, without looking up. ‘I’m just a kid! You don’t need to do this, uncle. We’re family! There must be another way! We don’t have to spend the rest of our lives fighting…’

  ‘I’M NOT YOUR UNCLE, YOU RANCIDEROUS RUMPLET!’ a familiar and whiny voice scoffed somewhere above me.

  I opened one eye…

  ‘I told you Frankie Banister was a clunkered brainburp!’ the voice continued. ‘Humans are SO stupidly!’

  Holding my breath, I felt the terror in my stomach suddenly turn to anger as I stared down at the wet tabletop.

  ‘Get up and look at me when I’m talking to you, BANISTUMP! I can’t have my skudderous revenge if you don’t oogle me in all my gruzzly glory, can I?’

  ‘GROGBAH!’ I yelled, scrambling back to my feet. ‘What the BLUNKERS do you think you’re doing?’

  I stood up as straight and tall as I could with the rope still tied round my middle and scowled at the pumpkin-sized goblin-ghost. For a second, I thought I might sob with relief that it wasn’t Uncle Oculus. After all this, it had just been another one of Grogbah’s stupid tricks.

  ‘Tremble in fear!’ Prince Grogbah commanded in a voice like someone swinging on a rusted gate. He was floating just above the table with an excited grimace on his piggy little face.

  ‘You scared me, you rotten pimple!’ I hollered. ‘I’m going to tell Mum and Dad!’

  ‘PIMPLE!’ Grogbah squealed in shock. ‘YOU DARE TO CALL ME, THE HEIR TO THE DARK AND DOOKY DEEP, PIMPLE?’

  ‘Yes! Pimple!’ I growled, half-expecting to see flames shooting from my nostrils. ‘Pimple! Pimple! PIMPLE!! And you’re not the heir to the dark and dooky deep any more. You’re just a wafty-whiney spook!’

  ‘Lies!’

  ‘You popped your clonkers, remember?’ I shouted, then winced in pain again. Whatever was in my pocket was really digging itself into my ribs beneath the enchanted golden cord.

  ‘AAAAGH!’ shrieked Grogbah, before sticking his scaly tongue out at me. ‘You’ll regret that, sku
nkus!’

  ‘Mum is going to go BONKERS when she hears about this,’ I continued, ignoring the goblin’s threats. ‘You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t suck you up into the vacuum cleaner like a dust pook’s dinner!’

  I honestly don’t think I’d ever felt so angry in my whole life before that moment in the Itchy Urchin pub. I was HOPPING MAD and would have flicked the little gonker on the end of his bulbous nose if he hadn’t already been made from smoke and fog.

  You see, ever since Prince Grogbah came to hide out at The Nothing To See Here Hotel at the beginning of the summer and ended up getting grunched by Mrs Venus, he’s caused no end of chaos.

  In case you don’t already know, it was GROGBOG who led Oculus Nocturne to the hotel in the first place and plotted to expose all of us magicals to the human world. We could have ended up in a zoo!

  When plans didn’t go well and Oculus was defeated, the chunksome goblin-ghost decided to haunt my bedroom instead and has been delighting in playing tricks and being a right pain in the bumly-bits whenever he can.

  He’s forever hiding my things, or pestering Hoggit, or turning my breakfast glass of junkumfruit juice into horrible gloopy ectoplasm when I’m not looking… but he’d never done anything this crazy before.

  ‘You’re in SO MUCH TROUBLE!’ I said, remembering that only a few weeks ago, Maudlin Maloney had sworn to catch Grogbah in a potion bottle and flush him down the loo if he didn’t stop being such an irritating snizzler. ‘You won’t get away with this.’

  ‘Nonkumbumps!’ Grogbah blurted, floating downwards until his potato-nose was almost touching mine. ‘I’m not the one in a poodly amount of bother, Banister. You are!’

  I’m happy to admit right here and now there are squillions of things that scare me, my reader friend, but a whiney little twerp of a goblin-ghost was not one of them. Well, not until tonight, but I’d never tell him that.