Goblins on the Prowl (4 page)

I told the rat what William had said.

Mervyn laughed. “I'm not the one I'm worried about! It's William who tends to get into trouble. He has a gift for it.”

“He says he'll stay,” I told William. I left out the rest, not wanting to get caught in an argument between a boy and his rat.

William nodded and continued into the library. When we reached Karl's desk, we lit more candles. They created a small circle of brightness in the vast gloom.

The surface of Karl's desk was empty, the book nowhere in sight.

William said a bad word, then tried to open the drawers.

They were locked.

He said an even worse word.

“Let me try,” I said.

William stepped aside. I unstrapped my knife and inserted the tip into the space between the top of one drawer and the desk itself. I slid it along until it hit something. I began to tap at the blockage, and a moment later it released. I slid the drawer open.

William gaped at me. “Who taught you to do that?”

“A person I used to know,” I said, not wanting to get into details. That had been a particularly bad year.

William's book wasn't in the drawer, so I tried the matching one on the other side.

“Aha!” cried William. “Got it!”

I hadn't had a chance to get a good look at the book before. In the flickering light of our candles, I saw that the black leather cover had strange designs stamped in the surface. Something about them made me shudder.

William seemed to sense the strangeness too. “This thing is weird,” he whispered.

As he spoke, the book opened.

By itself.

I looked down at the page and gasped.

William—whom the goblins refer to as “
the
William,” for the wonderful service he did us—is a great hero in Nilbog. Even so, we do recognize that he sometimes acts a bit unwisely.

—Stanklo the Scribbler

CHAPTER FIVE

BUFO ANIMA!

“That's the stone toad in the Great Hall!” I said, pointing to the picture in the book.

“Definitely,” William replied.

I motioned to the facing page. “Those letters are weird. Can you figure them out?”

He stared at the words for a long time. Finally he said, “The writing is really old-fashioned, but I think I can read it.” Holding the candle above the book, he said, very slowly, “‘This is the Toad of Stone, which is said to hold a secret both dangerous and powerful. According to
The Book of Dark Charms
, the spell will one day be broken by a youth with much to learn.'”

I shivered. “What spell? And what do you suppose will happen when it's broken?”

“Don't have any idea. There's more. A kind of, oh, prophecy, I guess. Listen:

“Evil does not sleep eternal

And Black Stone will not stay concealed.

Power dark and strength infernal

At wizard's hand will be revealed.

In Nilbog's depths the final act,

It's there that all is lost or won.

Will goblin world remain intact,

Or darkness grow when battle's done?

Homeless spirit, ageless roamer,

Two hungry souls must play their roles.

One needs body, one must know more,

But what the price of such dear goals?

The fate of all rests in their hands,

The cost so high it stills the voice.

Long-buried hope makes sharp demands;

A breathless world awaits their choice.”

When he was done, I said, “What in the world is
that
supposed to mean?”

“Who knows? It's the first I've heard anything about the toad having a spell on it, much less a connected prophecy.” He paused, looked at me strangely, then whispered, “Do you feel that?”

I knew what he meant . . . a sudden chill in the air. “Must be a window open,” I said.

I was wrong. We learned the real reason for the chill when William said, “I want to know who asked Igor to bring me this book to begin with.”

Suddenly Solomon's Collar began to tingle. At the same moment a voice from behind us said, “I think I can answer that.”

We spun around, and I let out a little squeak.

I think the squeak was justified, since I could see right through the man who was standing there. Other than that, and the fact that the side of his head had been bashed in, he appeared fairly normal. He had large eyes, a big nose, and a down-turned mouth. He looked older than Karl but younger than the Baron. He also looked as if he spent most of his time feeling sad, which made sense for someone who had had his head bashed in.

“Sorry you can't see me,” said the man, obviously
not realizing that I could. His voice was high, and he spoke in a snooty way. “It's one of the side effects of being dead.”

“So you're a ghost?” William asked.

I could tell from William's face that he really couldn't see the ghost. However, from the way Mervyn was staring, I got the feeling the rat
could
see him.

I was pretty sure the reason
I
could see the ghost was Solomon's Collar. That tingle must have been a sign that the thing was working. I wondered how many other powers the collar might have.

I decided not to tell the ghost I could see him. It can be very useful to be able to do something people don't know about.

The ghost floated close to William. “Yes, genius boy, I'm of the spirit world. You didn't imagine this castle
wasn't
haunted, did you? I really am sorry you can't see me, because you're missing the way I'm rolling my eyes right now.”

I
could
see it, of course, and it made me want to smack him.

“I've lived here for eleven years,” William said. “How come I never knew about you before?”

“I never had anything to say to you before. It's not like I go around trying to be noticed. Life—or, in my
case, death—is simpler if you don't attract too much attention.”

“How long ago did you die?” I asked.

“Not sure. It's tricky to keep track of time once you leave your body. Don't need to eat, don't need to sleep, so the things that normally mark off the days are gone.”

“Why are you still here?” William asked. “From what I understand, most people move on after death.”

“And a good thing they do! Can you imagine how crowded it would get if everyone who had ever lived stayed hanging around in spirit form? You couldn't walk across a room without passing through half a dozen ghosties!”

That thought made me shiver.

“Very interesting,” said William. “Even so, it doesn't answer my question. Why are
you
here? Were you murdered horribly and need revenge? Are your bones undiscovered and waiting to be buried? Did you commit some terrible crime you have to make right before you can move on?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” the ghost said, and sniffed. “And it's not going to do you any good either. You haven't done anything to earn hearing my life story, much less my death story.”

He was getting cranky. Fearing he might leave with the most important question unanswered, I blurted, “You said you could tell us who asked Igor to bring William this book.”

“Ah! A point to the young lady for remembering what this is really about! As a reward I shall tell you my name. It's Werdolphus.”

Trying not to laugh, I said, “Thank you. I feel honored. Now can you tell us who gave the book to Igor?”

“Yes. Her name is Sophronia. She visits the Baron once a year. When she does, she stops in the Great Hall, grasps the bars of the cage, stares at the toad, and weeps silent tears. It's very sad.”

“How did she get into the dungeons?” William asked.

“Don't know.”

“Is she good or bad?” I asked.

“Don't know.”

I considered making my next question “What good are you?” but decided it would not be useful. So I held my tongue and let William continue the conversation.

“Why did this Sophronia want Igor to give the book to me?” he asked.

Werdolphus sighed. “Look, you understand I can't leave the castle, right?”

This surprised me into speaking. “Why not?”

The ghost spread his arms. “Those of us who have not ‘moved on,' as people so quaintly call it, tend to be place-bound. Usually it has to do with how we died—
which I am not about to tell you!
Anyway, the point is, being held here, I don't know a lot about Sophronia or what she's up to. It's not as if I can follow her when she leaves! All I know is that she visits once a year and always takes time to inspect the stone toad when she does.”

“That's interesting in itself,” William said. “The Baron doesn't have many visitors.”

“Yes, and the ones he does have are pretty strange. This one, for instance, has been visiting the Baron since well before I died, and she doesn't look a day older than the first time I saw her. So I would be careful if I were you. I have no idea why she wanted Igor to bring you that book, but I doubt it was simply to enrich your education. Of course, back when I was alive, my friends often accused me of being overly cautious. A ridiculous charge, especially given how I died.”

Before I could stop myself, I asked, “How
did
you die?”

A look of fury twisted the ghost's face. “I told you I wasn't going to answer that!” he cried.

Then he vanished.

“He's gone,” William said.

I knew Werdolphus was gone, of course, since I had seen him go. But I wondered how William had figured it out. “How do you know?” I asked.

“It's not so cold anymore.”

I realized he was right. “Sorry I asked him that question,” I said. “I didn't mean to drive him away.”

William shrugged. “He was pretty touchy. One of us would have offended him sooner or later. It's too bad, though. I wonder how much more he could have told us. The big thing we've learned is that we have to be careful with this book.”

“It's a book. Ink on a page. How dangerous can it be?”

“The Baron claims books can be screamingly dangerous. He says the only thing more dangerous than reading them is trying to hide what's in them.”

This didn't make much sense to me, but I decided not to press the point. Instead, I asked, “What are you going to do about this one?”

“We need to study it.”

This sounded boring, since it would mean William sitting and reading his book while I stood and watched. Or sat and watched. Boring either way. Suddenly I had an idea. “Let's take it downstairs!”

“Why?”

“Reading about the toad is fine. But the real thing is right there in the Great Hall. Wouldn't it make sense to study the toad at the same time you're studying the book?”

“Brilliant!”

I decided not to explain that I'd made the suggestion just to keep from getting bored.

We put out the candles except for the ones we would carry. William tucked the book under his arm, then led the way back to the secret passage. We went down to the next level and entered the Great Hall through a sliding panel behind a suit of armor.

The first thing we did was light more candles—the place was well stocked with them—and arrange some in a circle around the cage. The candles created a small pool of light in the center of the Great Hall. Beyond that, all remained dark and shadowy.

William slipped between the bars and climbed onto the toad's back. “Did I ever tell you this is one of my favorite places for thinking?”

“Did I ever tell you that you are a very strange boy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Hand me a candle.”

I did as he asked. He put the candleholder on the toad's head, positioning it between two stone warts
that were as big as his fists. Then he opened the book.

Mervyn scrambled off William's shoulder, down the toad's rump, and over to my feet. “Pick me up,” he squeaked.

“Why?”

“He ignores me when he's reading.”

“Poor rat,” I said as I lifted him to my shoulder.

“Sarcasm is not welcome,” he replied, tugging a strand of my hair.

As William studied the book, I slipped into the cage and began to study the toad, examining it from all sides. As always, something about it disturbed me. When I got to the toad's rump, William called, “Fauna, how many candles did we put around the cage?”

I did a quick count. “Five. Why?”

“Well, that's convenient. It says here, ‘If you would learn what's hid beneath the toad, then candles five around him star-shape place.'”

“How can anything be hidden beneath the toad? It's sitting on a chunk of solid stone!”

Instead of answering me, William continued to read: “‘Three times widdershins walk about the cage. As lines that shine . . .' Drat! Someone has blotted out the next words!”

It turned out the missing words didn't matter. I
had been walking around the toad as I studied it, and on the third circle I noticed something I had never seen before: At the back of the low pedestal on which the toad squatted were four thin lines. They formed a rectangle about five inches high and two feet wide.

I knelt and traced the lines with my fingertip.

They grew warm and began to glow a soft yellow.

“Well,
that's
interesting,” Mervyn said.

I ran my finger over the lines again, and they glowed more brightly.

I heard William reading aloud from the book once more.

I ran the tip of my finger around the rectangle a third time, and a drawer slid out of the pedestal. It held a round mirror the size of a large platter. Attached to it was a leather cord, as thick as my little finger.

I lifted the mirror to examine it.

William continued to read from the book.

I gazed into the mirror, then cried out and nearly dropped it. My face had disappeared. In its place was a gnarled and twisted man who wore a robe and a pointed hat. As I watched, he was struck by a blast of blue light. He made a face as if crying out. Then—more quickly than I can write these words—he became a toad!

A stone toad.

A very large stone toad.

After a moment the man reappeared, and the scene repeated itself. I began to tremble. Something about the scene was weirdly familiar.
Why?

“Um, William . . .”

He continued to read out loud. I looked at him and realized he wasn't reading after all—how could he be? His eyes were closed!

“William!” I cried.

At the same time he shouted,
“Bufo anima!”

Which was when the stone toad started to move.