Elliot and the Goblin War (9 page)

Then Grissel pointed to the other bed. Something in the shape of a human was underneath the blankets. Dangling on the bedpost was his crown. King Elliot was within their reach.

The Goblins smiled at each other, proud to be a part of the war against the human king. Grissel smiled the widest, unaware of the packet of pickle relish stuck between his pointy front teeth. This was almost too easy for a Goblin of his talents. In just a few minutes, he could return and tell Fudd Fartwick their Brownie king was no more.

Grissel knew exactly what Fudd’s next move would be. He’d hurry back to Burrowsville and tell the Brownies the sad news about Elliot. Maybe he’d pretend to cry over Elliot’s death for a minute or two, and then he’d wipe away his fake tears and declare himself king. It would be perfect.

Except Fudd wouldn’t be able to do any of that, because the hole Grissel had tunneled out for Fudd was even deeper than the one Patches was in. With Fudd out of the way and no Brownie king to lead them, it would be a simple thing to defeat the Brownies once and for all. He smacked his thin lips just thinking about his delicious victory.

Grissel handed some rope to the other Goblins, who climbed up on Elliot’s bed. They rolled him around in his blanket, surprised that the human could sleep so deeply. They tied the rope in a double knot, then a triple knot, then finally, in the never-before-untied four-way knot. There was no going back now.

They lifted his body into the air and tossed it toward Grissel, who already had a large trunk at the foot of Elliot’s bed open and empty. Elliot could wait in the trunk until they had a chance to get rid of him properly. Most of him landed inside the trunk, except for his legs, which fell limp onto the floor.

Grissel walked over and kicked at Elliot’s legs. They rustled softly, something Grissel didn’t think human legs normally did. Then his lip curled in anger. He bared his sharp teeth and bit through the knots around the blanket. He pulled the blanket wide and growled. These weren’t legs! They were pants stuffed with bags of rice.

“What is the meaning of this?” Grissel yelled. “We’ve been tricked!”

The Goblins jumped onto the floor beside the trunk and pulled the rope away from the rest of the blanket. They couldn’t have been tricked. Not by a human child!

“Aha!” a voice yelled behind them. They turned just in time to be splashed in the face with a bucket of icy water.

The Goblins yelped and screamed and fell backward into the trunk. All except for Grissel, who had escaped the worst of the water by hiding behind the other Goblins. He poofed back to Flog with only three water welts on his arm.

Elliot darted forward and slammed the lid to his trunk closed, locked it, and then sat on it. This was very difficult to do, because the Goblins were beating against the inside of it very angrily. More than once, they nearly tipped Elliot and his trunk sideways onto the floor.

“Quiet down in there, Elliot,” his father called from the bedroom down the hall. “You should be sleeping, not playing.”

“Sorry,” Elliot called back, although none of the playing he’d ever done before involved real Goblins trying to stuff him in a trunk.

The trunk rumbled again. “Are you sure they’re stuck in there?” Elliot asked Mr. Willimaker, who had just tiptoed out from his hiding place in the closet.

“You’re a king in the Underworld,” Mr. Willimaker said. “Command them to stay in there and they must, until you release them.”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “I just say ‘stay in the trunk’ and they have to do it?”

Mr. Willimaker shrugged. “You could wave your arm around so it looks fancy, but only if you want to. It doesn’t really matter, because as long as you say the words, they have to obey.”

“Can I command them to do anything I want?”

“Not with Brownie magic. Possibly you can command them to sing your favorite song in three-part harmony. But unless you want your ears to shatter, I’d recommend against it. All you can do is command them to remain as your prisoners and not poof away. Since you rule in the Underworld, they’re bound by your command to stay.”

“It’s still pretty cool.” Elliot waved his arms the way he’d seen a wizard in a movie do it once, then said, “Hey, you Goblins in the trunk. Stay in there.”

The pounding got louder, but the trunk stopped banging around as much. “I don’t think they liked my command,” Elliot said.

“They’ll give up after a while and go to sleep,” Mr. Willimaker said. “They’ll be fine until we figure out what to do with them.”

“Was that magic?” Elliot asked. “Can I do magic now?”

“I don’t know.” Mr. Willimaker stretched out his arms then flicked his fingers apart. In his palm was a small puff of smoke that swirled in the air and disappeared. “Can you do that?”

Elliot stretched his arms and flicked his fingers apart. Mr. Willimaker looked at his palms and said, “Oh, my!”

“What do you see?” Elliot asked.

“Dirty hands. You should’ve used some of the water you threw on the Goblins for yourself.”

Elliot looked at his hands and then shoved them in his pockets.

“You don’t have magic,” Mr. Willimaker said. “But as long as you are king, your command for a prisoner to remain where he is must be obeyed.”

Elliot thought of his younger twin brothers. “I wish I could make Kyle and Cole obey my commands.”

Mr. Willimaker coughed. “That’d take a miracle, not magic.”

“Very impressive,” Fudd Fartwick said, coming forward from the shadows. “I must say the Goblins were no match for you, Your Highness.” He raised his voice loudly enough so the Goblins inside the trunk could hear him. “It appears the Goblins didn’t realize that Mr. Willimaker would tell you about the water. They should’ve planned something more foolproof.” He turned to Mr. Willimaker. “Go poof somewhere and get King Elliot a glass of water. I’m sure he’s thirsty.”

Elliot wasn’t. Half his room was soaked in water. But Mr. Willimaker was gone before he had a chance to say so. However, he quickly understood that Fudd was only trying to get Mr. Willimaker out of the room.

“Be careful of taking any advice from Mr. Willimaker,” Fudd warned. “In Burrowsville he’s nothing more than a joke. Not a joke as in, ‘Why did the giant cross the road? His foot was already on the other side.’ But still a joke.”

“Queen Bipsy trusted him enough to give him my name as king.”

“Only because nobody else was around at the time. Trust
me
instead. I’ll keep you safe.”

Elliot nodded. “Thank you, Fudd. I’m sure I’ll need your help too. But Mr. Willimaker has given me good advice so far. I don’t care what the rest of Burrowsville thinks of him. He’s my friend.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Mr. Willimaker stood behind Elliot with a glass of water in his hands. He lowered his eyes and said, “I am a joke in Burrowsville, that’s true. I made a big mistake about a field mouse invasion a few years ago, but I’ve learned a lot since then. If you want me to leave—”

“The Goblins would’ve gotten me tonight if it hadn’t been for you,” Elliot said. “No, Mr. Willimaker, I don’t want you to leave.”

Mr. Willimaker’s ears perked up. “Whether they laugh at me in Burrowsville or not, I’ll still serve you the best I can.”

“Your best isn’t good enough for Elliot,” Fudd said. He threw up his hands and kicked at the trunk, which bounced again on the floor. Then he looked at Elliot. “So you threw water on a few Goblins. Do you think that makes you prepared to be a king? Do you think you could fight off somebody like Kovol?”

The air in the room seemed to change when Fudd said that name, as if a cold wind of warning was blowing through. Then Elliot looked at the wafting curtains over Reed’s bed and shrugged. “Oh, the window’s open.” He shut it and asked, “Who’s Kovol?”

Mr. Willimaker’s eyes darted from side to side, and his voice shook when he spoke. “I’m sure Kovol is nothing to worry about, nothing at all. As long as he stays asleep, which I’m sure he will for another thousand years, then we’re fine.”

Kovol wouldn’t sleep for another night if the Brownies visited him as often as they visited Elliot’s house, Elliot thought with a yawn.

“Never mind about Kovol,” Fudd said. “You have enough trouble with the Goblins. Mr. Willimaker helped you tonight and you got lucky. I don’t think you’ll be so lucky next time.”

“Next time?” Elliot said.

“Oh, yes.” Fudd’s thin eyes widened until Elliot could almost see what color they were. Almost. “There will be a next time. And the next time will be far worse.”

Mr. Willimaker rubbed his hands together nervously. “In the meantime, Your Highness, perhaps I could have the Brownies help out downstairs. There’s a squeak on your staircase we could fix. Or how about a delicious breakfast of fried eggs?”

“No, thanks,” Elliot mumbled, moving from the trunk to his bed. “I’m not hungry anymore.” His trunk full of Goblins rattled again, reminding Elliot that, yes, they would be back. And, no, it wouldn’t be so easy the next time.

Down in her hole, Patches was getting hungry for another carrot. Happily, she didn’t have long to wait before another one was lowered to her on a rope, again held just out of her reach. It smelled of turnip juice, and Patches’s mouth watered.

Like me, Dear Reader, I’m sure your mouth began watering for some turnip juice when you read that. You should stop reading this book and get yourself some turnip juice right now. If someone in your family just drank the last cupful, then don’t be sad. You can make your own.

To make turnip juice, get the biggest pot in your kitchen and fill it with fresh turnips. If you wish to add any of your other favorite vegetables, such as asparagus or Brussels sprouts, that’s fine too. Boil until they’re tender, and then dump them out on your kitchen floor. Smash the soft turnips with your feet, and gather up any juice that squishes between your toes. It’s a treat your whole family will enjoy!

Patches wanted the carrot that had been boiled in turnip juice, but first she was ready to have some fun.

“I don’t care what happens to King Elliot anymore,” Patches said, trying to sound angry and tired. “Just get rid of him so I can go home.”

Actually, she wasn’t in too much of a hurry to get home. She had a lot of chores waiting for her there. Cleaning her room was the hardest job, since it was made of dirt and, therefore, was always dirty. Besides, the Goblins made very yummy carrots that she didn’t have to share with anyone.

“Tell me how to get rid of the king, then,” Grissel said. “The not foolproof plan didn’t work.”

“I was thinking about chocolate cake. It punishes Brownies, right? So it’s certain to punish a human.”

“Are you sure?” Grissel asked.

“Last time I was with the humans, I saw a mother put a chocolate cake on the table. She said it was bad for her diet and she shouldn’t have any. She finally took some, probably so her children wouldn’t have to eat it all. But I heard her say she only wanted a very small piece. It must have been awful for her.”

Grissel smugly folded his arms. “Chocolate cake it is. And without the frosting or milk, of course.”

“Of course,” Patches agreed. “You can call it the Chocolate Cake of Horror.”

“Yes,” Grissel said. “The Horrifying Chocolate Cake of Horrible Horror.”

Patches thought her name was better, but she let it pass.

A short time later, Elliot found a round, double-layer chocolate cake waiting on his doorstep. The Goblins had added extra chocolate to the recipe, just to make his suffering even worse. They also put shaved pieces of chocolate bar on top. When he found it, Elliot showed it to his Uncle Rufus, who happened to have a shiny gold plate under his coat to set it on. Wendy added a few cherries around the outside, and Cole and Kyle even washed their muddy hands before eating it. It made for a beautiful dessert, even without frosting or milk.