Goblins on the Prowl (2 page)

Who is Granny Pinchbottom? This is a question that has long puzzled goblins and humans alike. At this time all that can be said is that it is not safe to make her angry.

—Stanklo the Scribbler

CHAPTER TWO

SOLOMON'S COLLAR

“Drat it, girl! Don't startle me like that!”

“Like what?” I asked, backing away from the bright blue goo that was oozing from the cauldron's side.

“Like mentioning Helagon!”

“How was I supposed to know that would startle you?”

It's not wise to sass Granny, but I thought it was unfair for her to blame this on me.

“Never mind,” she muttered, which was as close as she would get to admitting I was right. “Be quiet while I take care of this.”

She bent, scooped up a handful of the goo, and began to roll it between her palms, drawing up what remained
on the floor like someone making a ball of yarn.

Unlike yarn, the goo mushed together.

I wondered why the stuff didn't burn her hands. It had been bubbling hot when the cauldron broke.

As the ball got larger, Granny calmed down. When I thought it was safe to talk, I said, “What was it going to be?”

“I call it ‘Restore Life.' It's a new specipe I'm working on.”

“Specipe?”

“Combination of ‘spell' and ‘recipe.'”

“Could it bring back the dead?”

Granny snorted. “Not likely. Which is just as well. Bringing back the dead is generally a bad idea. No, what I hoped this stuff would do is keep someone who is at the edge of death from crossing over, at least for a while. Of course, that was if I finished working on it. Stars alone know if it will work now. Here, take a piece.”

I hesitated. The goo looked nasty.

“Take some!” she ordered. She had rolled up most of it now, and the ball was almost too big for her to hold.

It's a bad idea to turn down a gift from Granny, no matter what it is, so I reached forward and touched the goo-ball. It was surprisingly hot.

“Just grab a chunk,” she said impatiently.

I plunged in my hand and pulled out a glob. A strand remained attached to the bigger ball of goo.

“Give it a quick, hard tug.”

I did as Granny said, and the glob snapped free.

“Now roll it into a ball.”

Soon I had a goo-ball of my own, this one the size of an apple. It was surprisingly smooth, as easy to squeeze and shape as bread dough. It wasn't sticky, but it was smelly . . . though not as bad as when it had been cooking.

“What do I do with it?”

“No telling right now.” She set the large ball of goo in her rocking chair. “I'll tell you, Fauna, I ­haven't been that startled in more years than most people have been alive!”

“But how did I startle you?” I asked, amazed that
anything
could surprise Granny.

“It was that name, Helagon. He's a bad one, really bad. What he has to do with goblins is anyone's guess, but it can't be anything good.” She made a
V
with her middle finger and pointer finger and spit through it. “You said you had two things you wanted to ask about. What was the other? I hope it's less disturbing!”

“Igor invited me to a party the Baron is having.”
I hesitated, then said, “What do you do at a party?”

“Well, what's the party for?”

“To celebrate the day William freed the goblins.”

Granny gave me a nearly toothless smile. “Good reason. The Baron was lucky he took that boy in. Now, I'll tell you what. You can have a rose from the bush out front. We'll clear off the thorns, and you can wear it over your ear. That will take care of dressing up.”

“Thank you.”

“Also, I want to send a gift for William. You can take it for me.”

“All right.”

I didn't mention that no one had ever given me a gift, but as if she had read my mind, Granny said, “You deserve a gift too. I'm grateful to both of you for what you did. Come on, follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Downstairs.”

“I didn't know you had a downstairs!”

“Did you really think you knew everything about my home?”

I shook my head, because that was the right answer when Granny asked a question like that.

She slid her rocking chair to the side, then pulled open a door in the floor. The space below was dark.
She muttered a few words and snapped her fingers. At once a warm yellow glow rose from the opening.

Midnight coiling around her feet, Granny started down the stairs.

The cellar under the cottage was lit by torches. Torches are usually smoky but these weren't. Also, they had
not
been burning when Granny had opened that trapdoor. . . . She must have lit them when she snapped her fingers.

That
is a trick I would like to learn!

In the flickering light I saw that the walls were lined with shelves. On the shelves was an odd mix of bottles, books, bones, clay jugs, glass balls, empty cages, dried lizard skins, and many things I had no name for.

A pair of worktables stretched almost the length of the room. They were covered with tools. I recognized a few . . . hammers and knives, mostly. Others I had never seen before. Some were curved and sharp, some twisty and pointed. They
all
looked pretty nasty.

Strings of garlic, bags of onions, and bunches of dried herbs dangled from the ceiling, making the room smell pleasantly spicy.

Also dangling from the ceiling were dozens of bats.

“Don't they poop on the floor?” I asked.

“Not if they know what's good for them! Now, let's
see what we can come up with.” Granny limped to one of the shelves and began to paw through the items. “Ah!” she said, picking up a ball made of yellow glass. She stared at it for a moment, then muttered, “Too dangerous.” She tossed it to the floor.

I expected the glass to shatter. Instead, the ball bounced back to the shelf she had taken it from.

She also rejected a silver star, an odd-looking twig, and an ugly-faced doll. At last she picked up a strip of brown leather. Halfway between the two ends, pressed into the leather, was a metal disc with a strange design stamped into its surface.

“This might do,” she muttered. Then she nodded and smiled. “Yes, it will do quite nicely!” She handed it to me. “This is Solomon's Collar. When you wear it around your neck, you can speak to animals.”

“That's wonderful!”

“Not necessarily. Most animals are more interested in food and shelter than conversation. Still, there are times when it can be useful to ask directions from a hedgehog, or advice from a bear. Doesn't work with bugs, of course, but every once in a while there's a spider you can talk to. All right, that's for William. Let's see what I can find for you.”

She returned to the shelf, where she picked up
and discarded a yellowed bone, a chunk of glittering rock, and a foot-long purple feather that began to move as if being blown in the wind. She finally settled on a small green glass bottle about three inches high. A cork stoppered the neck. I could see that the bottle held some kind of liquid.

“What is it?” I asked as she handed it to me.

“Sleep Walk. Enough for four trips—five, if you use it carefully.”

“But what
is
it?” I repeated.

Granny grinned, showing her remaining teeth. “When you take a sip, you fall into a deep sleep. Well, your body does. Your spirit remains wide awake . . . meaning you can slip free of your flesh and wander off to observe things without being seen. Well,
mostly
without being seen. A few people might catch a flicker of movement from the corner of their eyes. A very few might think they've seen a ghost.” She smiled. “But that's no worry. Everyone needs a proper scare now and then.”

“Sounds scary for the person
using
it!”

“It's perfectly safe!” Granny snapped. “Unless . . .”

“Unless
what
?”

She shrugged. “If something happens to your body while you're out roaming—that is, if it should happen
to be killed—then you've got no way back in. Which means you end up as one of the wandering dead. So that's unpleasant. Also, you must return to your body within two hours or you'll be shut out forever. But
mostly
it's perfectly safe.”

“Thank you,” I said, wondering if I would ever have the nerve to use the stuff.

“Don't mention it. Now it's time for you to pay for my advice and counsel. A bit of wood splitting should be just the thing. My stores are down, and it's going to be a long winter.”

We climbed the stairs; then she handed me an ax.

I put on my coat and went outside.

I mostly like Granny, but I have to say her idea of “a bit” is different from most people's. In this case “a bit of wood splitting” meant “from now until it's almost too dark to find your way home.” Splitting wood is good for warming you up, though. Before long I had taken my coat off again.

Splitting wood is also good for thinking. And what I was thinking about right then was goblins. Why had those goblins left Nilbog? What had they hoped to find in my cottage? Why had they been wearing red headbands?

While I was thinking about this, I noticed a ­squirrel perched on a nearby branch. I wondered what it would be like to talk to it, the way William would be able to do once he had Solomon's Collar.

I took the collar out of my coat pocket and studied it.

It's not like trying it on would wear it out,
I thought.

Looking around to make sure Granny wasn't watching, I placed the metal circle over my throat. Then I pulled the ends of the leather strap behind my neck. As I tried to figure out how to fasten the collar, I heard a soft click and felt a burst of heat against my throat.

I cried out as I realized the collar had fastened itself!

“Is something wrong?” asked the squirrel.

I jumped in surprise. I had understood the thing!

“Well, are you going to talk to me, or nut?” the squirrel asked. Then he chattered with laughter. “Get it?” he cried, clutching his belly. “Talk or
nut
? Oak and beech, sometimes I kill myself!”

I was beginning to understand what Granny had meant when she'd said being able to talk to animals was a mixed blessing.

The squirrel stopped laughing and looked at me, obviously waiting. I realized it was my turn to talk. The thing was, I didn't like talking all that much, even to humans.

“If you're not going to use that collar, you probably shouldn't have put it on,” the squirrel said, sounding cross.

“I just wanted to try it.”

He smacked his paw against his forehead. I got the feeling he knew something I didn't.

“Fauna!” called Granny. “It's getting dark. Carry in the last load and we'll call it done.”

I knew I shouldn't be wearing William's gift, so I reached behind my neck to remove the collar. To my horror, it wouldn't open!

“Uh-oh,” said the squirrel. He covered his eyes with his paws, then moved one paw aside so he could watch anyway.

“Go away!” I whispered. “Scat!”

He turned and scampered across the branches.

“Coward,” I muttered.

“I may be a coward,” he called over his shoulder, “but at least I'm not stupid!”

That stung, because
I
was feeling plenty stupid right then. Plenty scared, too. Granny had clearly told me the collar was for William. I never should have put it on. I thought the squirrel had the right idea in running away, and I longed to do the same. The problem was, the only thing stupider than putting on the ­collar
to begin with would be trying to run from Granny Pinchbottom.

“Fauna! Did you hear me?”

I turned to face the cottage.

Granny was at the door, outlined by the light from her fireplace.

Granny could be kind.

Granny could be helpful.

Granny could turn you into a toad if you made a mistake.

I had made a mistake. I was pretty sure it was a big one.

Though what happened to us in Toad-in-a-Cage Castle was horrific, the humans who live there now are fairly nice. We are still trying to figure this out.

—Stanklo the Scribbler

CHAPTER THREE

THE MYSTERIOUS BOOK

I have learned over the years that fear can be inspirational. In this case it inspired me to put on my coat, then raise its collar and button it around my neck. This hid that other, magical collar, so Granny would not see I was wearing it.

I gathered the last of the wood and headed for the cottage.

“You've got your coat on,” Granny said when I reached the door.

“It's cold.”

She looked at me sharply but said only, “It's getting dark. Stack the wood over there, and you can be on your way.”

Did she know what I had done? I thought so, but maybe it was just my conscience bothering me. Since I didn't really believe I had a conscience, that seemed unlikely. But if she knew, why didn't she say something?

When I had finished stacking the wood, Granny cut a rose from the bush beside her door. She cupped her fingers beneath the blossom, then gave it a shake. The thorns slid off. This made me feel a bit odd. I have always envied the way roses have thorns. They keep people from getting too close.

Tucking the smooth stem over my ear, Granny said, “This will stay fresh for three days.”

The small act of kindness made me feel guiltier than ever.

“Give William my greetings,” she said.

I promised to do so, thanked her, and started to leave. When I was a few feet from the cottage, she called me back. She looked troubled. I was afraid she was going to scold me about the collar. Instead, she said, “Be careful walking home, and when you go to the ­castle tomorrow.”

This puzzled me. I'm always careful, and Granny knows it. As if she could see the question on my face, she said, “Because of the goblins! There may be more than one mischief out and about.”

“I know. I told you, there were five of them.”

Granny smiled. “You saw five goblins, but only one mischief.”

“I don't understand.”

“‘A mischief' is the name for a group of goblins. Like ‘a flock of birds' or ‘a herd of cows' . . . ‘a mischief of goblins.' Anyway, be careful. You have been declared a Goblin Friend, but something strange is going on, and you may not be able to count on
all ­
goblins being friendly to you right now.”

I nodded, not happy with this news.

“All right, now scat. Enjoy the party . . . and your gift!”

A prickle ran over my shoulders. Was Granny telling me she knew what I had done with Solomon's ­Collar?

As I walked away, I felt a mix of fear, confusion, and unhappiness. This annoyed me, since I do not like to feel more than one thing at a time. Then I realized that being annoyed was another feeling. That brought the total up to four, which was even more annoying.

I needed to think. Normally, walking is good for this, because there is no one to bother me. But now that I was wearing the collar, I could hear the animals talking.
And what they were mostly talking about was me.

“That's her!” I heard one rabbit tell another. “The girl the squirrel told us about!”

“Doesn't look as silly as I expected,” the other ­rabbit said. “Certainly not silly enough to have put on that collar when it wasn't meant for her!”

“Never can tell with humans,” replied the first. “Even the sensible ones do foolish things sometimes.”

“And even the foolish ones can make rabbit stew!” I shouted.

The rabbits scampered into the brush.

I didn't sleep well that night, partly because I was fretting about the collar, partly because several mice were having a party in my wall and they kept singing naughty songs.

Late the next afternoon I slipped the bottle of Sleep Walk into my coat pocket and tucked the rose behind my ear. I hesitated for a moment, then put the ball of blue goo in my other pocket. Then I headed for Toad-in-a-Cage Castle.

I am always cautious in the forest, but this day I was even more so, watching and listening for any sign of goblins.

What was going on with them? Had something
gone wrong in Nilbog? And what could they have been looking for in my cottage?

I was still trying to work this out when I reached the castle.

Toad-in-a-Cage Castle has four towers, one at each corner. The rest of the castle sits between them, which does make it look a bit like a toad in a cage. However, the real reason for its name is that in the center of its Great Hall is a large cage with iron bars as thick as my thumbs. Inside that cage, mounted on a low pedestal, squats an enormous stone toad. From nose to butt it is almost twice as long as I am tall.

The first time I entered the castle, a chill skittered along my spine when I saw the toad. I couldn't say why it frightened me, but it did. The strange thing is, it also fascinated me.

The castle is surrounded by a moat, but the drawbridge was down tonight . . . which makes sense if you are expecting a guest. Actually, the drawbridge was usually down, since there was no war going on and no attacks were expected.

I am always careful crossing the drawbridge. ­William told me that when he was about five, the woman who took care of him fell off it and was eaten by something.
I would have thought he made this up, except sometimes when I peered over the edge of the bridge, I could see dark shapes gliding through the murky water below.

Big
dark shapes.

With enormous eyes.

As I stepped inside the castle, a woman bellowed, “Welcome, Fauna!”

“Hello, Hulda!” I shouted.

Hulda is the Baron's housekeeper. According to William she bellows because she is nearly deaf and has to shout in order to hear herself. You definitely have to shout back to talk to her.

She is plump and cheerful-looking, a little taller than me, and wears her white hair tied in a bun. The most unusual thing about her is that the tip of the index finger on her right hand is missing. When ­William was little, she told him that Granny Pinchbottom bit it off, and if he didn't behave, the same thing would happen to him.

When Karl, the young man who takes care of the Baron's library, found out about this, he got mad at Hulda for scaring William. That was fine . . . except then he told William that Granny Pinchbottom wasn't real! He claimed she was just someone the old women
in the village had invented to scare children into acting properly!

For someone who is so smart, it's amazing how silly Karl can be. On the other hand, I sometimes wonder if William and I are the only people who have actually met Granny. With her, I guess anything is possible.

As for the Great Hall, it could hold my cottage twenty times over. A huge chandelier hangs from the middle of the ceiling, directly above the cage that holds the stone toad. The chandelier has hundreds of candles, but I have never seen them lit. Instead, there are dozens of candles set on various pieces of furniture.

Along the walls stand suits of armor from the olden days.

The mantel over the fireplace holds the Baron's collection of cannonballs from famous battles. They come in a lot of sizes, some no bigger than my fist, some larger than my head.

Hulda led me to the wide stairway that takes you to the second floor, and we went into the dining room. As you would expect, it holds a large table. I had walked around that table once, counting, and figured two dozen people could sit down to dinner without any crowding.

Most times when I visited the castle, the table was
bare. Now it was loaded with wonderful food, including a golden brown roast goose that smelled so delicious my mouth instantly started to water. I had been uncertain about the party, but now I was glad I had come. I just hoped we wouldn't have to wait too long to eat!

A huge fire roared in the fireplace. Standing near it, taking advantage of the warmth, were William, Karl, and the Baron.

William is a bit taller than me. His hair is the color of butter. He has blue eyes, a somewhat pointy nose, and big ears.

Karl is tall and lean, with thick, shiny hair as dark as night. His nose is a little too big, but his eyes are warm and kind. I have been told that the girls in the village think he is handsome.

The Baron is taller than William but shorter than Karl. He has a fringe of hair, very white, around the back of his head. Making up for the lack of hair on top are his bushy eyebrows and huge mustache. His big eyes are pale blue and a bit watery.

The Baron had been kind to me since we'd returned from Nilbog. He'd even invited me to come live in the castle! I wanted to, very badly. I felt safe when I was there. Even more, something about the castle seemed
to speak to my heart. But I knew that moving in would only make things worse when it became necessary for me to leave in a year or two. So I had said no.

William, Karl, and the Baron were bending over a big book.

I went to stand beside William. He looked startled when he saw me. I thought it was because he hadn't been expecting me, until he said, “You're wearing a rose!”

I nodded, wondering why he sounded so surprised. I got my answer when he said, “The roses have been gone for over a month. Where did you get that one?”

“Granny Pinchbottom gave it to me.” I said it quietly, to avoid getting into an argument with Karl about whether Granny was real.

William smiled. “Ah, now it makes sense. Did she give you that collar you're wearing too?”

“It came from her,” I said. Which was true, as far as it went. To change the subject, I said, more loudly, “What's the book about?”

“We're not sure,” Karl muttered. “I found it on my desk this morning. Neither the Baron nor I remember ever seeing it before, and we both know the library very well.”

“Maybe it's a present for William,” I said.

I had presents for William on my mind, since I had accidentally stolen the one I was supposed to give him.

Karl scowled, but William laughed and said, “I like that idea.”

“Yes! It for William!” roared a voice from behind me.

Igor had entered the room.

“Igor bringed book from dungeon this morning! Igor bringed it for William.”

“And where did
you
get it?” Karl asked as Igor thumped toward us.

Igor stopped. He scratched his head. Finally he said, “Lady give it to Igor and say Igor should give it to William.”

“What lady, Igor?” asked the Baron.

Before we'd come back from Nilbog, the Baron hadn't even known that Igor was living in the dungeon. He still didn't seem to know what to make of him. This was partly because Igor insists he worked for the Baron's grandfather. Given how old the current Baron is, that would mean Igor has been around for well over a hundred and fifty years.

Igor claims it's a lot longer than that.

“
Who
gave it to you?” repeated the Baron.

Igor smiled, ducked his head, and said, “Pretty lady.”

“What was her name?” Karl asked.