Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf (15 page)

perky-looking Wand. In her other hand she held a small, green, ominous bottle. He also

noticed uncomfortably that she was smiling.

"Hello, Ali," purred Pongwiffy. "Going somewhere?"

Much, much later, after all the fun was over and everyone had gone home, a gaggle

of Goblins trailed through Witchway Wood. They were pushing squeaking cart full of ropes,

pitchforks, nets, and so on. They looked just about all in. It had taken ages to bite through

Macabre's knots and free themselves. Then they'd had to drag back up to the Broom park to

pick up all their equipment. Then they'd set off on the long walk home.

What a scene of carnage greeted them as they squeaked along under the trees.

Wonderingly, they stared around. At the crashed wardrobe. At the abandoned mangle. At

the dropped newspapers. At that thoroughly awful sofa. Everywhere there were pieces of

garbage and scattered bread rolls. All pointing to a hasty flight.

"Must ’ave bin some punch-up," said Slopbucket, awed.

"Yer," agreed Sproggit, rubbing his eyes blearily. "An’ we missed it."

"I wonder who won?" yawned Lardo.

"The Witches, of course," said Hog. "They always do. I wonder why that is?"

"Well, one fing’s fer sure," said Eyesore with a sneer. "They won't be the only ones

wiv a good bonfire this year. Looks like the uvvers got away wiv a pile o’ stuff. Yerp, there'll

be some good blazes this Hallowe’en."

"’Cept fer ours, o’ course," put in Stinkwart. "It's all your fault, Plugugly."

But something was the matter with Plugugly. His eyes were rolling wildly and his face

had gone very red. Funny, strangled noises were coming from his mouth. Finally, he spoke.

"I fink — wait, it's comin’ – lads, I fink I gorra nother idear!"

There was alarmed consternation from the other Goblins. Cries of "Oh no, anyfing

but that!"

"No, reelly, wait a tick, I ’ave, I reelly ’ave. An’ it's simple. Listen, we got the cart, aint

we? An’ dere's no one about. An’ dere's all dis rubbish lying around, right? Now den.
What's

ter stop us pickin’ it up an’ takin it ’ome?”

He was right. There was nothing to stop them. It was a brilliant plan, and exactly

what they did. They also collected up the bread rolls. So, fans of the Goblins will be

delighted to know that at least something turned out right for them that night.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – Friends Again

One week later. The sun rose early on the morning of Hallowe’en — but not as early as

Witch Sharkadder. When day dawned crisp and clear, she had already been hard at work for

a good hour. She was seated before her mirror in a pink dressing gown, Getting Ready. Her

head bristled with hedgehog hair rollers and she was waiting for her mud pack to dry. Now

and then, she took careful, dainty sips from a bowl of mouseli. The party was that very

night, and she did like to take her time on these special occasions. Only nineteen hours to

go, when all was said and done.

She was enjoying herself tremendously, because she had a whole new range of

sinister little pots to play with. Pongwiffy had bought them for her, like the good friend she

was. (What Sharkadder didn't know was that Pongwiffy had paid for them with her Magic

Coin, the one which always ends up back in her own purse. In fact, there was going to be

quite a bit of trouble about the new range of make-up — but that's another story.)

Sharkadder was determined to do a particularly magnificent job. It was essential that

she should get the make-up just right for the fancy dress parade. In her dual role as judge

and participant, she owed it to the rest of them to show how it should be done.

Getting the new make-up and being reinstated as judge had all been part of making

friends with Pongwiffy again. They have been best friends now for a record time. Seven

days. Ever since the Night Of The Battle, as it came to be called. (Although Sharkadder

thought of it more as The Night Of Our Last Row. And the Coal Shovel and Rake referred to it

as The Night We Got Slung Out Of Our Own Shed. And Woody thought of it as The Night Of

My Great Shame. And Plugugly thought of it as De Night I ’Ad All Dem Idears. And

Bendyshank's snake, Seething Steve, thought of it as The Night I Learned To Do A Reef Knot.

It just depended on your point of view, really.)

Anyway. If the truth be known, Sharkadder felt rather badly about that night. Yes,

Pongwiffy had behaved stupidly, but that was nothing new. She, Sharkadder, hadn't really

helped matters. She had been generally unforgiving and not at all helpful to a friend in need.

Poor old Pong. Everything had gone wrong for her. All right, so it all worked out in the end,

and they had come out of the whole thing with oodles of money, but it had been a terrible

price to pay. Pongwiffy's view from her hovel window had changed. The Dump, once a vision

of mouldering loveliness, was a shadow of its former self. Pongwiffy was deeply attached to

her rubbish, and it would take her a long time to get over such a great loss. Luckily,

arrangements for the party had taken her mind off things.

"Dear old Pong," thought Sharkadder, coming over all sentimental. She looked fondly

over at the magnificent costume, hired at considerable expense, now hanging in splendour

from a hook. Sharkadder hadn't hesitated in choosing what she was going as. She was going

as the Wicked Queen in Snow White. It was a lifetime's ambition. She couldn't wait to put it

all on, especially the dress. As she thought of wearing That Dress, she almost allowed an

excited grin to crack her face — but that would never do. The mud pack didn't really allow

for smiling. Time for the nails now. They had to be filed to points and painted blood red. As

soon as they were dry, oh goody goody, she could put the dress on! She picked up the file,

and carefully, oh so carefully, began to rub. Then:

"Yoo hoo! Sharky! It's me, Pongwiffy. Can I come in?"

Sharkadder leapt six inches in the air and two tragic things happened. Her mud pack

cracked and she broke a nail.

"Morning," said Pongwiffy, bustling in, making for the kettle. "I can't stay, I'm far too

busy. I just popped by to wish my very best friend a Happy Hallowe’en. I meant to buy you a

present, but you know how it is. Oooh! Mouseli. My favourite cereal."

Sharkadder got herself under control with difficulty. She bit her lip and reached for

the glue, reminding herself of the seven-day friendship record.

"All right. Pong, you've said hello," she said. "Now go. I don't want you hanging

around here all morning. Not when I'm Getting Ready."

"I'm ready already," said Pongwiffy, who looked exactly the same as usual. "I'm

absolutely ready. I'm the Witch from Hansel and Gretel. The one with the house of sweets."

"But you look exactly the same as always," said Sharkadder.

"No I don't," said Pongwiffy. "If you look carefully, you'll notice several boiled sweets

stuck around the hem of my skirt. There were more, but I keep eating them."

Sharkadder shrugged. It didn't really matter what anyone else wore, as long as she

was the Wicked Queen. In That Dress. "How's your Broom?" she asked, just to be polite.

"Much better thanks. I left it outside with yours. With strict instructions not to go

flying off on its own again, ha ha."

(Indeed, Woody was slowly recovering with the aid of its fellow Brooms, who had

formed a support group. The general feeling seemed to be that, whilst it didn't exactly

deserve an award for distinguished service, it didn't need its nose rubbed in it either. Woody

fans will be pleased to know that within a couple of weeks, it stopped jumping at every

noise, and within a month it had forgotten the entire incident. So had the rest of them.

Brooms have long, thin brains that don't leave much room for memory.)

"And how are the party arrangements going?" asked Sharkadder as she attempted to

fix her ruined nail.

"Oh, fine, fine. Everything's under control. We start off with the fancy dress parade

on the dot of midnight. I've booked the Witchway Rhythm Boys and they'll play marching

music while we all walk around in our costumes. Pierre de Gingerbeard's doing the cake.

He's expensive, but money's no object this year."

"Good old Pierre," nodded Sharkadder. "He's my cousin, you know."

"I know. Oh, and I've hired a couple of Yetis to run the barbecue. Macabre's in

charge of the games. Ratsnappy's bringing the funny hats. Gaga's crackers, as usual. I've got

Scrofula putting the chocolate spiders into the party bags. The entertainment's all

organised. Agglebag and Bagaggle will do a violin recital, I'm afraid, and Macabre's insisting

on playing her bagpipes, but Sludgegooey's promised to try to hide them. I've cut

Greymatter's poetry reading down to thirty seconds. I've booked a conjuror and a

tap-dancing dwarf and a singing leprechaun. Oh, and some gnome who tells fortunes. It's

going to be the best party in Witch History."

"Sounds lovely," said Sharkadder." I can't wait."

"The only thing that won't be up to scratch is the bonfire," said Pongwiffy with a sigh.

"To be frank, I'm ashamed of it. But we all know who to thank for
that,
don't we?"

"We certainly do," agreed Sharkadder. "I was going to ask you about him. What did

you do with him? In the finish?"

"What do you think? I bottled him," said Pongwiffy grimly. "He works for me now."

"Oh, what a good idea," said Sharkadder, clapping her hands. "Are you finding him

useful?"

"Yes and no," said Pongwiffy. And from a pocket in her cardigan, she produced the

small, ominous green bottle with an ill-fitting cork stuffed in the top to keep it stoppered.

You didn't have to be a Genie to know it would be cramped in there and probably very

draughty. Pongwiffy tossed it casually on to the table.

"Go on, spit in it if you like. I do, often. He's not in right now. I've sent him off to Crag

Hill to redo the party decorations. That'll teach him to interfere with Walls Of Smell that I

build. Hugo's gone to keep an eye on him."

"Why?" asked Sharkadder. "You think he'll try to escape?"

"Oh no. It's just to make sure he gets the decorations right. He's good at

transformations, I'll grant you that, but everything he does always has that tinselly sort of

look. I keep telling him. Gloomier, I say. Easy on the fairy lights. Forget the incense. This is a

Witch party, and we Witches don't go in for all those cheap special effects."

"How does he like the accommodation?" asked Sharkadder with a sneer. "Not up to

his usual standards, I suppose?"

"He does nothing but moan. I'm freeing him after the party. It's all very well having a

slave to do all the work, but every time he appears he's got a list of complaints as long as

your arm. He's threatening me with the Genie's Union now. He reckons I'm only entitled to

three wishes by law, then I have to release him."

They both sighed and shook their heads.

"What a cheek," they tutted in chorus.

"What's even worse," confided Pongwiffy, lowering her voice. "What's even
more

worrying, he says he'll spread it around that I — you know — gave him our secret code

numbers and told him the recipe for the Wall Of Smell."

"Well, of course, he's right," Sharkadder was quick to point out. "It was all your own

fault, Pong."

"I know, I know," said Pongwiffy uncomfortably. "I thought we weren't going to talk

about that. You promised you wouldn't tell."

"Of course I won't," said Sharkadder stoutly. "I'm your best friend, remember?"

"Still," said Pongwiffy, brightening up. "Things could have been worse. At least I

caught him before he made off with the money. And you and I are friends again. And the

Broom's better. And none of us had to speak Wood. And tonight we're going to have the

best Hallowe'en party in the history of the universe!"

"And I'm going to be the Wicked Queen," added Sharkadder.