Goblins on the Prowl (10 page)

I frowned. I was starting to care about too many people.

Since there was nothing else to do, we started out again. After what felt like a million years, a dim glow appeared ahead of us. At first I wondered if my eyes were so desperate for light that they were imagining it. Then I realized it must be the glowing fungus.

As we walked on, the yellow-green light grew more distinct.

“Almost to Nilbog!” Herky whispered excitedly.

Before long I could see the walls of the tunnel.

“Wait here,” said Sterngrim. “I want to check on what's ahead.”

When she fluttered off my shoulder, I got my first look at a lindling. Her snaky body was as thick as my wrist and almost as long as my arm. She had four short legs, with two bat-like wings sprouting from above the front pair. Her tail switched back and forth as she flew. That was all I could see, though. The light was too dim to make out what color she was, or any small details.

In a moment she was out of sight. I couldn't tell if the light was too low or if she had gone around a curve. As I began to wonder if she had simply abandoned us, I heard a shrill cry.

“Let me go.
Let me go!
”

It was Sterngrim, and she sounded terrified.

I raced forward. I can't say why I cared so much what happened to her. I hadn't known her that long. But she had guided us safely through the dark, so I felt that I owed her something.

There was indeed a curve in the tunnel. Round
ing it, I entered a cave lit by large patches of glowing ­fungus.

On the far side of the cave, about twenty feet away, was the opening to another tunnel. At the mouth of that tunnel I saw two things in the fungal light.

One was a creature that looked something like a goblin but was much bigger than any goblin should be.

The other was Sterngrim, writhing desperately in the monster's fat-fingered hands.

Never have humans and goblins worked together better and more closely than when we collaborated to seal the Pit of Thogmoth. It was our greatest achievement.

—Stanklo the Scribbler

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WONGO

I pulled out my knife and rushed forward, crying, “Let that lindling go!”

The creature holding Sterngrim looked at me in surprise. “Why?”

He sounded as if he had gravel in his throat.

Without thinking, I replied, “Because she's my friend!”

I was right in front of him now. He was more than twice my height, dull gray in color, and hairless as the cannonballs that the Baron collected. Though the creature had pointed ears and a nose like a giant potato, up close he looked less like a
goblin and more like what he really was: a troll.

Gazing down at me, he laughed. “And why, small and incautious human, should I care that this vermin is your friend?”

“Because she is my knife's friend too!” I said, holding up my blade. I was acting more bravely than I felt, but I had long ago learned that this can be useful in a bad situation.

It didn't impress the troll, though. “Oh,” he said mockingly, “that makes all the difference! I quiver in terror at your awesome blade.”

I didn't want to stab him if I could avoid it.

So I punched him in the knee.

“
OWWWW!
That was uncalled-for, you oddly aggressive young female!”

“It was compwetewy appwopwiate!” bellowed Bwoon­hiwda. I was delighted to see that she and Igor were now beside me. She had one braid in her hand and was twirling it around her head. “Wet that windwing go oh face my wath!”

“Your what?”

“My wath! My wath! My mighty wage!”

“I think she means she's going to clobber you with that cannonball,” I explained.

The troll sighed and released his grip on Sterngrim. She fluttered over and landed on my shoulder. I could feel her trembling.

“You strange assortment of people are remarkably nasty,” said the troll. “I am simply trying to perform my designated task.”

“What task is that?” I asked.

The troll straightened his shoulders. “I am Troll Wongo! With stony fortitude I guard this entrance to Nilbog. No one may pass unless he, she, or it has good reason.”

“We got reason!” Igor roared, shaking his bear at the troll. “We got to get William!”

Wongo blinked. “Do you mean
the
William, you odd and hairy personage? The boy hero who released the goblins from their horrid captivity?”

“Yes,
that
William!” I shouted. “I'm his friend.”

“Herky William's friend too!” cried the little goblin, darting out from behind Igor.

“Herky and Igor and I were with William when he healed the king,” I told the troll. “We all helped.”

“That right!” Igor bellowed, waving his bear over his head. “Igor and goblins friends now!”

The troll bowed. “I blossom with apologies. If I had known you were friends of
the
William, I would not
have obstructed you. Besides, I didn't realize you had a goblin with you. Anyone with a goblin escort, however small and annoying that goblin may be, is allowed to enter Nilbog. Yet even had I known all this, still would I have apprehended that winged messenger of darkness now perched upon your shoulder. Why in the name of feldspar and granite are you traveling with a pest like that?”

Sterngrim hissed. I wondered if she had understood his words or was simply still angry.

“She's my friend,” I repeated. “She guided us through the darkness.”

“You cannot be friends with a winged lindling. They are nasty, crawly, mindless vermin spawned in the Pit of Thogmoth.”

“That sound bad,” said Igor.

“Sterngrim, would you please prove to this troll that we are friends?” I asked.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Why don't you fly over and poop on his head.”

“Good idea!”

With a flap of her wings, Sterngrim lifted away. Though the troll couldn't understand her replies, he had certainly understood what
I
was saying. When Sterngrim started in his direction, he wrapped his
thick-fingered hands over his bald gray head and shouted, “All right. I believe you! Call the winged menace back!”

“You sure you don't want more proof?” I asked, trying not to smile as Sterngrim circled above him. “I can offer it.”

“No, that was sufficient.”

Like the troll, Sterngrim could understand only half of what was being said. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

I motioned for her to return to my shoulder. Once she was back, she whispered into my ear, “Wish you had not stopped me. He had a good head-poop coming.”

“I agree. But we still need to get past him.”

The troll squatted, which put him at about eye level with us, and asked, “What has happened to
the
William?”

I was surprised by the concern in his gravelly voice.

Quickly I explained how the stone toad had come to life and carried William into Nilbog. I left it at that. I didn't think he needed to know about the Black Stone of Borea. In fact, it seemed better to keep that matter a secret.

Wongo pulled on his big gray lower lip and ­nodded. “Word of a stone toad of bizarre size entering ­Nilbog did reach me here at my tragically isolated outpost. However, I was not told that said creature carried
the
William with it. You may pass, of course. However, I feel I should warn you there is trouble in Nilbog.”

“What kind of twubble?” Bwoonhiwda asked.

“As you likely know, you obstreperous, warlike, and probably dangerous female, the spirits of the goblins were long imprisoned in Toad-in-a-Cage Castle. When they were released, they were so joyful that at first they overlooked the problems that had overtaken Nilbog during their time of captivity.”

“What pwobwems would those be?”

“If you leave a place for over a hundred years, it will decline and decay. It wasn't the goblins' fault they'd been gone, of course, but Nilbog is crumbling. The bridges are weak, and two have fallen. The roads are pitted with holes deep enough to swallow a goblin the size of the one you carry. Even worse, the places where they grow food—the great fungus caverns, the wonderful lizard farms—are in bad shape. The goblins are unhappy. And unhappy goblins are never a good thing. I have heard rumors of young goblins, scamps, prowling the far caverns . . . and more rumors
that they have been lured to this by some wicked but compelling person. I will let you pass, but I cannot ­guarantee your safety if you go on.”

“The city was filled with joy just last year,” I said. “How could things get so bad so fast?”

Wongo shrugged again. “Anyone who thinks about it would know that these problems grew over a long time, and so will take a long time to undo. But many do not think. Instead, they quiver with impatience and demand that problems be fixed at once, no matter how long they took to develop.” He paused, then said softly, “Also, a few of us suspect that the same dark force that has been luring away the scamps is spreading lies and rumors to make things worse.”

“That's horrible,” I said. “Even so, dangerous or not, we still have to find William.”

The troll nodded solemnly. “I agree. You must get
the
William. But do you know where he is? Nilbog is a big place.”

“We do not,” I admitted unhappily.

Wongo stroked his chin, then said, “Though I hesitate to suggest such a drastic course, perhaps you should pay a visit to Flegmire.”

With a cry of despair Herky flung himself forward. He wrapped his arms around Wongo's right leg and
burst into tears, wailing, “Noooooo! Don't make Herky go to Flegmire!”

Much as Herky annoys me, I didn't like seeing him so upset. Kneeling beside him, I said, “What's the ­matter?”

“Flegmire scary,” Herky sniffed, his face still pressed to Wongo's leg.

“Why is Flegmire scary?”

Herky turned his big eyes to me. “Herky's momma tell him, ‘Herky, don't you go near Flegmire. Not ever!' When Herky ask why, his momma say, ‘Because Flegmire eat bad little goblins!' Herky bad. Herky good sometimes, but Herky bad
lots
of times. Herky don't want Flegmire to eat him. So Herky got to stay here.”

With a shudder that made his big ears flap, he buried his face against the troll's leg once more.

Wongo burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?” I demanded.

The troll shook his massive head. “Goblin mothers have been telling that story to small and naughty goblins since before I climbed out of my rock.”

“But is it
twue
?” demanded Bwoonhiwda.

Wongo wiped some pebbles from his eyes. I figured they must be the troll version of tears of laughter. “Not
in the least. Goblin mothers are simply trying to scare their boisterous and overactive offspring into behaving. I don't blame them. For a goblin child, mischief comes as naturally as breathing.”

As he said this, Wongo plucked Herky from his leg and held him at arm's length.

“Noooooo!” the little goblin wailed. “Don't wanna go! Don't wanna go!
Herky don't wanna get eated!
”

“Oh, for pity's sake,” I said. “Give him to me.”

When Wongo passed Herky to me, I held the ­little agitation in front of my face, looked him in the eye, and said firmly, “I promise I won't let Flegmire eat you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I promise to protect you.”

“Herky go if Fauna protect him.”

“Just who is this Fwegmiah?” Bwoonhiwda asked Wongo.

“A wise, elderly, somewhat demented goblin who lives on the outskirts of Nilbog. She was the only goblin
not
imprisoned when the others were captured. Unfortunately, a hundred and twenty-one years of solitude drove her a bit mad.”

“Can you tell us how to find her?” I asked.

“Follow the tunnel I will now allow you to enter. It
will bring you to a ridge that overlooks the city. Do
not
take the path that leads down to the city. Instead, turn right and take the path that runs along the crest of the ridge. After a while you will come to a stone bridge that crosses a waterfall of luminous beauty. On the far side of this bridge the path divides. Take the path less traveled, which slopes down to the right. This will lead you to the mushroom forest.”

“Mushwoom
fowest
?” Bwoonhiwda asked.

Wongo shrugged. “When thousands of mushrooms grow as tall as trees, you might as well call it a forest. Anyway, that path will lead you through the mushroom forest to Flegmire's dark and lonely cave.”

“Thank you,” I said. “May we pass now?”

“Just one more thing. When you speak to Flegmire, you should address her as ‘the Wisest of the Wise.'”

“Is she really the Wisest of the Wise?”

“Probably not, but she likes to be called that. And her advice
is
the best you're likely to get . . . ­especially if she rolls the bones for you. And that slightly unlikely event is more apt to occur if you treat her with respect. Even if she is not really the wisest of all goblins, she is definitely the oldest, and that counts for something.”

Having said that, Wongo moved aside so we could enter the tunnel. As I walked past, he said softly, “Good luck, you small, scruffy, but touchingly brave girl. I hope you find your friend.”

I thanked him, not admitting I had no idea what we were going to do if and when we did find William.

“Thank you for saving me from that troll,” Sterngrim whispered when we were well past Wongo.

I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so I shrugged and said, “It was nothing.”

“Are you saying my life is worth nothing?” she shrieked.

Then she leaped from my shoulder and fluttered away.

I called for her to come back, but got no reply.

That is why I don't like talking. It's too easy to make a mistake. I wondered if I would ever see her again. I had started to like having her with me.

“Sterngrim go away?” asked Igor, sounding puzzled.

“For now. I hope she will come back.”

We continued on. At least we could see now, since the tunnel walls were lined with the glowing fungus.

When we reached the end of the tunnel, we found ourselves on a ridge overlooking the city, just as Wongo had said.

I had seen Nilbog City before, but it still amazed me. The goblins had built it in an enormous cavern. The reason the city is visible is that huge amounts of the glowing fungus grow everywhere. The stuff lines the paths that weave among the buildings. Wherever two paths cross, there is a tall pole with the fungus wrapped around it. Whole rooftops are covered with it. However, we also saw large, dark areas that I now understood came from the years of neglect.

Not far to our left roared a huge waterfall. This was not the one Wongo had told us to look for—it was much too wide to be spanned by a bridge. I recognized it from my first trip and realized we must have entered the cavern from the opposite side this time, since when William and I had come here before, that fall had been directly across from us.

The fall plunged over a steep cliff. From its base a river flowed to the center of the city. Rivers and streams ran in from other directions as well, merging to form a large lake at the city's lowest point.

In the center of that lake was an island.

From the center of the island rose Castle Nilbog. It had seven towers, each sticking up at a different angle.

I was glad we were going to skirt the city. Though
the castle was a fascinating place, I didn't want to go back. The memory of being a prisoner in its dungeon remained fresh in my mind.

Stopping to admire Nilbog City turned out to be a bad idea. We were still looking at it when we heard a chant of “Black Stone! Black Stone! Black Stone!” from behind us.