Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf (2 page)

"Make yourself at home," said Sharkadder, heavily sarcastic. She should have thrown

Pongwiffy out then and there, of course, but her curiosity was aroused.

"Thanks, I will," said Pongwiffy. She bustled over to the table with a piled plate and

two cups of hot, strong bogwater. She stuffed three gingerbread frogs into her mouth,

added five sugars to her own cup, and stirred it with the nearest thing to hand, which

happened to be Dudley's flea comb. She slumped into a chair, took a huge slurp, wiped her

mouth with the sleeve of her old cardigan, placed her boots on the table and sighed with

pleasure. Her table manners really were disgraceful. Sharkadder chose to ignore them.

"What's Fancy Dress, then?" asked Sharkadder despite herself.

"Oh, didn't you know? I thought everyone did. Well, it's where you dress up as

something and parade around. And the best costume wins first prize. A hamper, I thought,

from Swallow and Riskit. You just can't beat their cold skunk pie."

"What – you mean – not wear rags?" said Sharkadder slowly. This really was a novel

idea. "Not the hat, or the cloak, or anything?"

"Nope.
Costumes,"
explained Pongwiffy, spraying sponge everywhere as she talked.

"You know. Pirates. Gypsies. Scarecrows. Cinderella with her Broom. Where's
your
Broom,

by the way? I haven't seen it all morning."

"So? It's around," said Sharkadder, suddenly suspicious. It wasn't like Pongwiffy to

enquire about an absent Broomstick. "Why?"

"Well, actually, Sharky, I've come to ask you a little favour. I have a slight problem.

It's my Broom. It's – er – lost. It's been missing since yesterday, can't find it anywhere. I was

wondering if there's any chance of a lift to Crag Hill tonight..."

But she didn't finish.

"I knew it!" howled Sharkadder, enraged. "Hear that, Dudley? I
knew
she wouldn't

come crawling around here unless she wanted something!"

"I told you," said Dudley. "I warned you."

"But Sharky! I've simply
got
to be there. We're planning the
Party,"
wailed

Pongwiffy. "Surely you don't begrudge your best friend a ride on your mangy Broomstick?"

"Yes," said Sharkadder. "I do. And you know how Dudley feels about Hugo. How do

you feel about sharing our Broom with Pongwiffy's nasty little Hamster, Duddles, darling? Be

honest."

Dudley spat on the floor.

"You see?" said Sharkadder.

"Ah Sharky, please!" wheedled Pongwiffy. "Be reasonable. I can't possibly walk to

Crag Hill. It's miles! Besides, if I don't come, I won't be able to see what you're wearing. And

you always look so nice on these occasions."

"True," said Sharkadder, tossing her hair. She loved a compliment. "I am rather

eye-catching, aren't I?"

"You are, you certainly are. You're the most fashionable Witch in the coven by miles.

That's why I want YOU to judge the Fancy Dress parade. Oh, please say you'll take me. Do."

"Wellllll..."

"Don't," warned Dudley. "She called you a haddock, remember? Don't."

"Shut
up,
Dudley,” said Pongwiffy. “This is a private conversation between Witches

and nothing to do with you. What d'you say, Sharky?"

But Sharkadder never got the chance to say anything, because right at that moment

the door burst open with an almighty crash!

CHAPTER TWO – Stick Warp

There, poised on the threshold, was Pongwiffy’s missing Broomstick. It was as white as a

sheet, which was unusual, because it was normally a healthy mahogany. It swept in and

made for the nearest dark corner. Once there it sagged against the wall breathing hard,

obviously terribly agitated.

"Badness gracious me," exclaimed Sharkadder. "Whatever next!"

"Aha! So there you are!" snapped Pongwiffy sternly. "I've been looking for you

everywhere, you idiot. What d'you think you're up to, barging in here like that? Bad Broom!

Go outside again, and come in properly."

The Broom cowered pathetically.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Sharkadder, poking it curiously with a long, bony

finger. "Why isn't it obeying you? Brooms are supposed to obey."

"How should I know? It's not usually like this. Stand up straight, Broom, and do as

you're told, or it's the axe for you."

There was a clonk, and the Broom promptly passed out on the floor.

"
It's
fainted,' remarked Sharkadder. “It must have been what you said about the

axe."

"Funny," said Pongwiffy, dousing the Broom with tepid bogwater. "It can usually take

a joke.”

The Broom sneezed, spluttered and attempted to rise.

"Get up, you. Chop chop!" ordered Pongwiffy. Which was the worst thing she could

have said, because the Broom swooned again.

"Oh, frog warts! It's passed out again. I wonder what's wrong with it? If only it could

tell me.”

(It's a funny thing about Broomsticks. They can understand English but they can't

speak it. That's because they speak only Wood. Wood is a highly specialised language in

which the Brooms have dull wooden conversations about the problems of getting into

corners and the discomfort of flying head first into a north wind. To us and the Witches it

just sounds like a lot of rustling.)

"It's probably just a touch of stick warp." said Sharkadder. She was feeling smug. Her

Broom was better quality than Pongwiffy's and never gave trouble. "Why don't you just ask

it? Try casting that Language Spell. You know, that one we learnt at school. How's it go?

Zithcry zithery zoom, I want to speak to my Broom. You know. That one."

"No fear," said Pongwiffy.
"
I
tried it once, out of curiosity. Terrible experience. Take

my advice, never try talking Wood. Horrible side effects. Splinters in the mouth. Shocking

taste of sawdust. Besides, the effects last for ages. It's not just limited to Brooms, you know.

You can understand anything wooden. Who wants to know what dreary old shed doors and

dull floorboards and stodgy old trees are yapping on about for weeks on end? I tell you, I

nearly died of boredom. I'd sooner be stuck in a lift with a Goblin."

At the word "Goblin", the Broom suddenly gave a convulsive heave and reared

upright. Once vertical, it tottered groggily towards the door. Pongwiffy shot her hand out

and grabbed it firmly by the stick.

"Oops!" she said. "Looks like I shouldn't have said that either."

"What? Goblin?"

"Yes. Stop it. Broom! Steady on!"

"Goblin?" repeated Sharkadder, enjoying the effect it had on the Broom. "Did you

say Goblin? It doesn't like the word Goblin? That's interesting.
Goblin,
you say?"

"Look, do you have to keep saying that?" complained Pongwiffy, fighting for control

as the Broom struggled in her grasp.

"Saying what?" enquired Sharkadder, all innocence.

"Goblin. Oh, bother! Now you've made
me
say it. Stop it, you, before I lose my

temper!"

That was to the Broom, who was getting itself into a terrible state, scrabbling and

straining to get away.

"This is interesting. There's a clue here," said Sharkadder. "Let's think for a moment.

It doesn't like AXE, CHOP CHOP, and GOBLIN. That suggests to me that it's scared that

GOBLINS might come after it with an AXE and CHOP IT UP! Well, I suppose they might as

well, really. I mean, look at it. It's useless. Hey, Broom! There's a Goblin right behind you!

Ha, ha ha!"

"Shush, you idiot!" yelled Pongwiffy. But it was too late. The Broom finally flipped. It

twisted from her grasp and hurtled around the room, smashing into Sharkadder's dressing

table and sending a lifetime's collection of rare beauty aids crashing down in an explosion of

lurid face powders, greasy lipstick and small bottles of gloppy stuff.

"Ah, no!" screeched Sharkadder. "My make-up! Anything but that!"

"Come back here, you! Heel!" howled Pongwiffy, stamping her foot. "Oh, my

badness. It's bolting! Stop it! It's out of control!"

It certainly was. It was like a mad thing, that Broom. Not content with the murder of

Sharkadder's make-up, it knocked over the hat stand, the cauldron and three chairs before

skidding in a dish of Sharkomeat and landing on Dudley's tail. Dudley swore and bit it in the

stick. Sharkadder looked up from the multi-coloured puddles at her feet, screamed and

attempted to do the same. The Broom dodged to one side, then launched itself at the

window, intent on escape.

Pongwiffy, with great presence of mind, stuck out her foot. The Broom, blind with

panic, tripped over and crashed heavily to the floor. Pongwiffy leapt on top of it and got it in

a firm stranglehold.

"Behave yourself, you idiot!" she screeched. "Look at the mess you've made. Sweep

it up this minute, or I'll chop you into clothes pegs!"

But there was no point in any further discussion. The Broom was out for the count

and no amount of bullying could do the trick.

"Now see what you've done!" Pongwiffy wailed to Sharkadder, accusingly. "Look at

it! Stiff as a – well, stiff as a Broomstick. I'll never be able to ride it tonight. I'm grounded!

Oh, Sharky, you've got to give me a lift to the meeting. Please!"

"No," wept Sharkadder, on her knees beside the ruins of her make-up. "Never,

never, never. Not in a million trillion years. Not if you beg on bended knees. Not if you