Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf (6 page)

warming towards this unusually charming and intelligent Genie. "Walls Of Smell are a

doddle as a matter fact. Kid's stuff. You only need the basic brew."

"Please. Do not mock me. Ali Pali knows his limitations. I am but an apprentice at the

craft. Pretty fireworks. Coloured lights. Pigeons. Special effects. Transformations. That's

about my level. But make a
brew?
Alas. I would not know where to start. But, please. Make

a humble Genie happy. I'd take it as a great honour if you'd allow me to help you carry your

sick stick home."

He bowed deeply, smiled too truly, and held out a packet of sherbet lemons.

"Sweetie?" he said.

Now, normally, Pongwiffy would have seen through all this. Warning bells would

have rung, and she would have seen through his little game no trouble. But the events of

the morning had frazzled her brains. She wasn't thinking straight. Right now, she just

wanted to get home. The Genie had such a nice manner. And she was particularly partial to

sherbet lemons...

"All right," she said graciously. "You take the bristle end."

And together they set off.

"I wouldn't normally be doing this," remarked Pongwiffy. "We're not supposed to

fraternize with you lot."

"Quite right, best to be wary," agreed Ali Pali. "You can't trust anybody these days.

What a charming wood this is. One moment, please. My flimsy pants are hooked up on this

delightful bramble bush."

Pongwiffy waited while he sorted himself out. There was a nasty tearing sound. They

walked on in silence for a bit. Then:

"I suppose you are not allowed to talk about your great power," said Ali Pali. "Such a

pity. You have such an interesting personality. I could write an in-depth article for the

Journal about you.
Pongwiffy — the Witch Beneath The Smell.
That sort of thing."

"Oh, I don't mind talking about myself," said Pongwiffy graciously. "As long as you

keep it general. But don't expect me to give away any trade secrets, ha ha! Any more of

those sherbet lemons?”

"Certainly, certainly, here, take the packet," said Ali Pali. "So you don't mind if I ask

you a couple questions, then?"

"Fire away," said Pongwiffy amiably.

"The Wall Of Smell. What's it made of?" asked Ali Pali, trying not to sound too eager.

"Aha," said Pongwiffy. "Old family recipe."

"Oh, go on!" coaxed Ah Pali. "You can trust me. As one professional to another, eh? I

thought I detected just a hint — a mere hint, mind — of garlic. Am I right?"

"Certainly," agreed Pongwiffy, caught off guard. "Anti-vampire, garlic. Everyone

knows that."

"Phew!" whistled Ali Pali, lost in admiration. "Garlic. Brilliant!"

"The rest is just the usual," went on Pongwiffy. "All standard stuff. Eight ounces of

Eau de Stable. Four drops of Hint of Pigsty. A tablespoonful of Olde Socke. Two bad eggs.

Stagnant Pond to mix. Oh, and a pinch of Essence of Ashtray. You mix it all up and leave to

fester and ferment overnight. Then you sling it in the cauldron at Mark 6..."

And so on. Ali Pali nodded admiringly, filing it all away in his brain for future use.

"Incredible!" he said, when Pongwiffy finally stopped talking. "Of course, your Wall

Of Smell is not exactly popular, is it? I don't agree, of course, but some say you Witches are

mean old cheats. They say it wouldn't hurt to share the rubbish out a bit. Hallowe'en

goodwill and so on. What do you say to that?"

Pongwiffy shrugged.

"Witches
are
mean old cheats," she pointed out. "That's what being a Witch is all

about. If we wanted to be fair and generous we'd join the Brownies. You can quote me on

that. You know what, Ali, I'm really enjoying talking to you. Any more questions?"

Such pleasant conversation helped pass the time, and finally they reached smelling

distance of the Dump.

"Nearly there," said Pongwiffy happily. "Do you want to come in for a cup of

bogwater or something? Then you can have a closer sniff of the Wall Of Smell."

"Er — no, sadly I have an appointment," said Ali Pali, hastily dropping his end of

Woody and fumbling up his sleeve for a handkerchief. "I think we must part here. But may I

say what a pleasure it's been talking to you. I do hope we meet again."

And, with a charming little wave, he vanished.

"What a delightful Genie," thought Pongwiffy. “Quite the nicest I've ever come

across. It just goes to show that they're not all shifty."

Pongwiffy can sometimes be very gullible.

CHAPTER SIX – Flight

Midnight in Witchway Wood. Frost, stars and a full moon. Time for the flight! All over

Witchway Wood, Witch clocks are striking twelve. All except Witch Gaga's, which strikes

eighteen, gives a piercing scream, makes a muddy cup of coffee, then explodes.

At the same time, twelve Brooms stir, flex their bristles, and do a bit of sweeping just

to get the sap moving. Brooms enjoy the coven meetings. A nice long fly followed by a good

gossip. What could be nicer? A chance to have a good old moan about their owners’ horrible

habits, the price of a decent mop bucket and the snobbery of hoovers. Lovely.

In Pongwiffy's garden shed, Woody's limp bristles gave a twitch. It stirred, groaning.

In some deep part of its being, it sensed that the hour had come and something important

was about to happen.

"Thirty seconds past midnight! There you are! She's late!" Pongwiffy fretted to Hugo.

"Told you she would be. Oh, hurry up, Sharky, I'm
frozen.
”

The two of them were standing shivering in Pongwiffy's nettle patch, scanning the

starry sky for their lift. Their breath steamed in the cold air. Hugo's teeth were chattering so

hard he could hardly speak.

October was no time to be standing nose deep in nettles at midnight. Any normal Hamster

would be thinking about hibernation by now. But Hugo was no normal Hamster.

"Is cold? I not notice," said Hugo. He even managed a casual little shrug.

That gives you an idea of how tough he was. Beneath that cute, fluffy exterior there

were muscles of iron. Let other Hamsters have names like Poochy and Tiddles if they liked.

That wasn't for Hugo. Hugo had always wanted to be a Witch Familiar, and if realising his

life's ambition meant freezing in a nettle patch at midnight, so be it. He just wore a scarf,

blew on his paws and endured.

Pongwiffy hopped impatiently from one foot to the other. She had a battered

umbrella under one arm and
How To Make Your Party Swing
under the other. Her pockets

were stuffed full of pencil stubs and pieces of paper with scrawled party lists. She had throat

spray, because she intended to talk a lot. If there was one thing Pongwiffy liked more than

parties, it was planning parties.

"Typical, typical, typical!" she grumbled. "She knows how much tonight means to

me. She's doing it on purpose. Oh, bother that stupid Broom. It's quite spoilt my day."

That wasn't quite true. The morning hadn't gone too well, to be sure, but Pongwiffy

had quite enjoyed the rest of the day. As soon as she had arrived home, she had hurled the

poor unconscious Woody into the garden shed and thrown away the key. She had then

recounted the morning's dramatic events to Hugo over several cups of bogwater. She didn't

mention Ali Pali. Since parting from him and his toothy smile, she had had one or two

misgivings. She had a feeling she may have been rather indiscreet. She had spent the rest of

the day reading
How To Make Your Party Swing
and making notes and eating bowl after

bow of warmed over skunk stew. And now, at long last, it was time to go, and Sharkadder

was late!

"Ze Broom is comink round, I sink," said Hugo, hearing low clonking noises coming

from the garden shed. "Perhaps it feelink better now. Shall I go see?"

"No," rapped Pongwiffy. "Leave it. Stupid thing. Letting me down tonight of all

nights. Sharkadder’ll be here any minute. She's doing it on purpose to make me suffer.

Whatever happens, Hugo, be polite to Dudley until we're airborne."

"Look!" said Hugo suddenly, pointing a tiny paw at the sky. "’Ere zey come now."

Sharkadder came sailing over the treetops, terribly glamorous in green. Hair, face,

dress, cloak, hat, handbag, parasol, boots, everything. All green. She looked like something

that had crawled from a rock pool. Slowly and sedately she descended, holding her nose.

Dudley perched close behind her, gnawing a chicken bone and looking churlish.

"Ugh," said Sharkadder, touching down in the nettle patch. "That Wall Of Smell of

yours is stinking up the sky, Pong. I don't know how you bear it. Well? What d'you think of

the get-up? Do I look nice?"

"Incredible. You've surpassed yourself, Sharky," lied Pongwiffy.

"I have, haven't I?" agreed Sharkadder smugly, batting her eyes and patting her

verdant tangles.

"It's a miracle how I managed it considering I now have hardly any make-up to speak

of. And we all know who's fault
that
is. Well, hop on, then, if you're coming. Say hello to

Hugo, Dudley. If we're all going to share a Broomstick, we might as well try to be civilised.”

Dudley was sulking and wouldn't.

"Hello, fat pig cat. How ze fleas?" said Hugo sociably from Pongwiffy's shoulder.

Dudley curled his lip and looked the other way, tail twitching.

"You took your time," said Pongwiffy, jumping astride. She felt she could afford to be

cocky now she was on board. "Look, there's icicles forming on my hat, we waited so long. If

you flew any slower, you'd be going backwards. I hope we're going to fly faster than that. I

don't want to be late, you know."

"Look, who's giving who a lift?" said Sharkadder sharply. "It's up to me how fast I fly.

I'm not a sky hog like you, Pongwiffy. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's dead flies sticking

to my make-up. Any more complaints, and I shan't take you. I'm still not your friend, you

know. I'm only doing this under sufferance. Everybody ready for take-off? Right, Broom. Up

you go!"

"Hooray!" shrieked Pongwiffy. "Crag Hill, here we come!"

And up they went, Sharkadder's Broom laboring a bit under the extra load.