Elliot and the Goblin War (7 page)

Two Goblins? Wait, where was the third?

“Gotcha!” a voice said, and as she looked up a claw reached down from the ceiling and snatched her off her feet. A Goblin lifted Patches into the air, hanging her by her pants. She squirmed and kicked but could not make him let go.

“Put me down or you’ll be sorry,” Patches said.

The Goblin laughed as he crawled across the ceiling. “What could a weak Brownie ever do to make a Goblin be sorry?”

Patches had no answer for that. And she had bigger problems right now than coming up with a clever reply. Like staying alive for the next five minutes.

Usually when Brownies are afraid, they get very quiet and worry until they have upset tummies. Sometimes they get loud hiccups and can’t stop sneezing. When Patches was afraid, she talked. Even more than usual. “I didn’t know Goblins could crawl on the ceiling,” Patches said to the Goblin who carried her. “How do you do that?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s pretty fun,” Grissel replied.

“If I could crawl on the ceiling, then I’d just live there all the time. I’d do everything on the ceiling except drink from a cup, because the water would just spill out onto the floor.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Grissel said. “Goblins don’t drink water. Now be quiet, because all this talking makes it harder to steal you.” Keeping hold of Patches, he nimbly dropped to the ground. “Let’s go,” he said to the other Goblins. Then he threw Patches over his shoulder and walked away.

If you’ve never been carried over a Goblin’s shoulder, you should know that it’s as uncomfortable as it sounds. Goblin shoulders are made of muscles so hard you might as well be carried by a rock, so even a thick layer of Brownie fat isn’t enough to protect against them. And poor Patches didn’t have as much fat as the usual Brownie, since her favorite food was carrots.

“Where are we going?” Patches asked.

“Flog. You’ll be our guest there for a while. And don’t even think about poofing yourself away. I order you not to do it.”

Patches frowned. Most Goblins wouldn’t have remembered to do that. She tried another idea. “I’ve got a bad case of burps. If you eat me, you’ll get them too.”

“I’m not going to eat you. We have some questions for you.”

“About what?”

“About how to get rid of your human king.”

“He’s my friend. I won’t help you do that.”

Grissel laughed. “Yes, you will. You will, or else I’ll stop your burping for good.”

Which normally would’ve been a good thing. But something told Patches that Grissel had meant what he said in the very worst way possible.

Elliot had spent the entire day thinking about whether he wanted to become the Brownie king. He thought about it during recess when he should have been watching the ball that smacked him in the face. He thought about it during lunch when he should have told Dorcas, the lunch lady, he most definitely did
not
want lima beans on his tray. And he thought about it during science when the teacher asked what he’d get if he mixed hydrogen and oxygen. Elliot had said, “Brownies.” He was given detention on Friday for that.

What Elliot finally decided was that he was no good at making decisions. If he couldn’t decide whether to become king, how could he possibly make decisions for the Brownies? And he didn’t like the idea of fighting a war with the Goblins. He remembered the Goblins he’d met on Halloween three years ago, the way their skin had boiled and bubbled. He’d been lucky that the water splashing on them made them leave, because he was sure they were getting ready to do something bad. Ever since that night, Elliot didn’t like scary movies so much. He’d already seen the real thing.

But would he really say no to being king just because he was scared? Elliot could handle scary. After all, Tubs Lawless was scary. Even Tubs’s parents were afraid of him. They bought him a new toy every single day as a reward for not burning down their house. He usually took the old toys to school and threw them at Elliot.

Elliot was good at dodging the little things, like electronic games and action figures. It was harder to avoid the bigger things, like Tubs’s bicycle.

Just thinking of it now gave Elliot a shudder.

But there was more. Elliot knew he could fight back. He remembered the time when Tubs had tried to push him off the bus. Elliot had tripped him, and Tubs fell face first into the mud. It had been one of the best moments of Elliot’s life. Maybe winning a war against the Goblins would feel just as good.

King of the Brownies, how hard could it be? They certainly lived up to his order to provide food for the day. Crispy bacon, toast with homemade jelly, and fluffy pancakes were waiting for him when he came downstairs that morning. Mother happily accused Father of making it for the family as a surprise. Father looked confused, but he didn’t deny it. And if dinner was as good as breakfast, then from now on he could eat like…well, he could eat like a king.

That night, Elliot stared at his table loaded with roast beef, steamed carrots, and fresh bread. He would be king for anyone who could cook like this.

Beside him, Kyle reached a hand out to take a slice of bread, but Wendy pushed it away. “Not until Mom and Dad get back with Uncle Rufus.”

“They wouldn’t care if we started eating. Uncle Rufus is used to cold jail food. We’re not.” Reed leaned closer to the table so he could smell the food better.

“I’ll bet jail food is a lot better than Wendy’s food,” Cole grumbled.

Wendy looked as if she was thinking about getting mad. Then she shrugged and said, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if we started eating. Just eat slowly so it looks like we waited longer.”

Reed, Kyle, and Cole dug into the food so quickly that there was no room for Elliot to dish up his plate. He wanted to stand on his chair and tell them the food was really his because the Brownies made it. But even if he did, everyone was so busy eating that they wouldn’t have heard him. Finally, he sat back on his chair to wait for a turn.

“We’re home!” Father announced as they came through the doorway. He was carrying a big sack full of Uncle Rufus’s belongings from jail. Elliot didn’t think his uncle would bother to unpack. As soon as he stole again, he’d just need to pack up to go back to jail.

“Come say hello to Uncle Rufus,” Mother said as she walked in. Then she stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think you should have waited for us before eating?”

“I told them to wait,” Wendy said with a mouthful of bread.

“I see that Elliot waited,” Father said. “Such a polite boy.”

Elliot didn’t tell his parents that waiting wasn’t his choice. If they wanted to think he was polite, then he didn’t want to disappoint them.

Uncle Rufus stopped in the doorway and looked around. “Where’s my family?” It sounded as if he were really asking. Maybe his eyes were getting worse.

This time, Elliot beat the others to be first in line to hug his uncle. “We’re glad you’re home,” he said.

Uncle Rufus studied Elliot’s face. “Something’s different about you. You’re standing taller.”

“Nobody beat me up today,” Elliot said.

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Uncle Rufus said, patting Elliot on the head.

As Elliot’s parents helped Uncle Rufus get seated at the table, Mother stared at all the food and asked, “Where did this meal come from?”

“We know Wendy didn’t cook it, because she didn’t need to trick us with dessert to get us to come,” Kyle said.

Cole laughed and added, “And we know Dad didn’t cook it, because this is real food, not something Dad trapped with his rope outside.”

“Don’t be silly,” Father said. “I’ve never gotten that trap to work. Except for that skunk, of course, which I still say would have tasted fine if it didn’t smell so skunkish.”

“Well, wherever dinner came from, it’s the best way to welcome Uncle Rufus home from jail,” Mother said.

Uncle Rufus smiled at his family, and the wrinkles around his eyes folded together. “Speaking of jail, I forgot that I brought each of you a gift.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out shiny key chains for Father, Reed, Kyle, and Cole, and earrings for Mother, Wendy, and…“Oh dear, Elliot. I forgot you wouldn’t want earrings, your being a boy and all.”

Elliot didn’t want the earrings or the key chains. “Stealing is against the law, Uncle Rufus.”

“It still is?” Uncle Rufus sighed. “Well, you never know. Laws are always changing.”

Mother held out her hand, and everyone passed their gifts to her to return to the store. “Elliot’s right, Rufus. Besides, you can see this wonderful meal, and we have all our family together. There’s nothing more we need.”

Wendy cleared her throat. “Mom, you have to tell Kyle and Cole to stop playing with the hose in the yard.”

“Why?” Mother asked.

“Tattletale,” the twins grumbled in unison.

Wendy continued, “They pulled the hose all the way into the woods today and let the water run until it made a swamp back there.”

Mother gave Kyle and Cole the “we’re going to have a talk about this later” look and then turned to the rest of the family. “Who saved room for dessert?”

Elliot had forgotten to save any room for dessert, but it was his favorite, cherry pie. There was probably room behind his eyeballs. “I want a big piece.” He handed his dinner plate to Wendy, who was clearing the table. Then he winced as something kicked his foot.

“Stop it,” he said to Kyle. Or Cole. He wasn’t sure which one was sitting next to him.

“Stop what?” Kyle or Cole said. Elliot stared at both of them. It was Kyle. Probably.

Something kicked him again. He quickly looked under the table to catch the guilty person and then realized it wasn’t a person at all. It was a Brownie…well, two Brownies: Mr. Willimaker and another mean-looking one he hadn’t met yet.

Mr. Willimaker bowed at him, and after a very long sigh, so did the other.

“What?” Elliot hissed. “I’m eating.”

“This is an emergency,” Mr. Willimaker said. “You must come with us.”

“Where?”

“To the Brownie Underworld.”

“Not before dessert. And I’m not going to anyone’s Underworld. My mom doesn’t want me out of the house after dark.”

“Then where can we talk?”

“Up in my room. Ten minutes.”

Elliot glanced up just as his mother set a thick slice of warm cherry pie in front of him. “Who were you talking to under the table?” Mother asked.

“Oh, uh, my feet.”

She blinked. “You were talking to your feet?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Father said. “I used to talk to my feet all the time as a boy. They’re very good listeners.”

“As long as your feet don’t talk back,” Rufus agreed. “That’s when you should worry.”

Elliot didn’t have time to worry about whether his feet would ever talk to him. He wanted to enjoy every bite of his pie. Now he had to hurry and eat it so he could see what the Brownies wanted.

Ten minutes later he ran to his room and shut the door. Mr. Willimaker and the other Brownie stood on his bed. They bowed again.

“You don’t have to do that,” Elliot said. “I haven’t even agreed to be your king yet.”

“You probably won’t want to either, when you hear our news,” the mean-looking Brownie said. His thin lip curled in a sneer, and his bushy gray eyebrows were pushed so tightly together Elliot could barely see his eyes. Elliot had seen that same expression on Tubs’s face plenty of times and knew what it meant. For some reason, this Brownie didn’t like him.