“I don’t need pwotection, you big wug!”
“Igor come anyway,” he said stubbornly.
In the end we all went, with Bwoonhiwda and Igor in the lead.
When we reached the cave, we clustered at the edge and peered in.
I blinked, trying to figure out what in the world I was seeing.
In all of Nilbog there is no stranger goblin than Flegmire. Her sense of mischief is deep and subtle. Were she not completely mad she would have a place of high honor at court.
—Stanklo the Scribbler
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FLEGMIRE
In the center of Flegmire’s cave, which was dimly lit by lamps filled with glowing fungus, stood a big frame. I thought it was made of wood until I realized that since no trees grow underground, it must have been made from giant mushrooms.
The frame was divided into square boxes about two feet on a side. Each row had three boxes, and the frame was four rows high, making twelve boxes in all.
Strapped inside each box except one was a small goblin.
A hideous female goblin—the oldest and ugliest I had ever seen—was pulling their tails! Each time she yanked a tail, the goblin it was attached to would squeal or shriek or scream. Sometimes the old goblin would give three quick tugs, sometimes a long one. Once she used both hands to pull two different tails, and at the same time kicked one of the goblins on the first level in the butt, so three squeals blended together. The sound was horrible, but the sight of those little goblins being tortured was even worse.
“This is not wight!” Bwoonhiwda shouted as she strode into the cave. “Wet those gobwins be, you wicked woman!”
The old goblin—Flegmire, I assumed—looked up. “Ah, there you are!” Her voice was low and gravelly, but she spoke as if nothing at all was wrong. “I was wondering when you would show up! All right, boys, that’ll do for today. See you tomorrow, same time, same station.”
To my surprise the little goblins unstrapped themselves and scrambled out of the frame. Laughing and shouting, they scampered past us and disappeared among the giant mushrooms.
“Why were you torturing them?” I demanded.
Flegmire looked puzzled. “Torturing? We were practicing.”
Bwoonhiwda pounded the butt of her spear on the floor. “Pwacticing what? Being mean to young gobwins?”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Flegmire, stroking the frame that had held the goblins. “This is the goblin harmonium. Invented it myself! You fill it with little goblins, and by pulling their tails, you make music. We’re preparing a concert for the king!” Noticing Herky, she said, “Oooh! I need someone who squeals in B-flat. Think that little muffin could do it?”
Herky squealed, but I didn’t think it was a B-flat.
“Do not mowest this gobwin!” said Bwoonhiwda, stepping in front of him.
Flegmire shrugged. “Doesn’t have the sound I need anyway, drat the flumsies. All right, let’s get down to cronkers. I know why you’ve come.”
“How can you know that?” I asked.
She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Pretty much everything filters down to Flegmire sooner or later, my little kumquat. As I understand it, young William, hero of the goblins, is now captive of the giant stone toad that used to sit in a cage in that unspeakable castle where the spirit of every goblin except me was held prisoner for over a hundred years.”
She shuddered, and her enormous eyes rolled around a bit. Then she said, “Let me tell you, those were a long hundred and twenty-one years. Sure, I wasn’t captured. But I had no one to talk to for all that time. Can you wonder that I went a little bonkers?” Crossing her eyes, she hooked a finger over her lower lip and flicked it, making a Buh-beep, buh-beep, buh-beep, buh-beep sound.
I took a step back.
“Only fooling, dearie! I’m as sane as brixels in a fleempit!”
As I stepped forward again, Sterngrim whispered, “Remember what Wongo told you about how to talk to her!”
I nodded. Though it irked me to be polite to someone who had just been yanking the tails of little goblins, I said, “May I speak, O Wisest of the Wise?”
“Nice to see someone has remembered her manners! Yeah, go ahead and talk. Assuming you have something to say, of course. Don’t waste my time with blather. Got enough of that in my head already.” With that, she smacked herself in the back of the head and cried, “Shut up in there!”
She closed her eyes for a minute, then smiled. “All right, the voices are quiet. You can talk now.”
Baffled, and a little scared, I said, “The troll guarding the entrance to Nilbog said you would roll the bones for us.”
“Oh, he did, did he? That Wongo is a fine one for making promises with other people’s time. Probably said I should let you look in my Vision Pool, too?”
“He didn’t mention it.”
“Dang! Should have kept my big gob shut. Oh, well. Since I brought it up, I’ll probably have to show you. The question now is which to do first, roll the bones or show the pool, show the pool or roll the bones. Ah! I know! I’ll roll the bones to decide! Of course, first you have to pay the price.”
“Price?” I asked.
“Pwice?” Bwoonhiwda echoed.
“Yeah, price. If I’m gonna tell you the secrets of the present and the future, I need to have a bit of the past to make up for it. Kind of balances things out. Otherwise the world might explode in burbles. So I need a secret. And it better be a doozy, or you ain’t gettin’ nothin’.”
I felt my insides freeze. I had kept my secret for more years than I could count. I couldn’t tell it now. I couldn’t.
But what if I had to?
For a while no one said anything. Then Herky stepped forward.
Relief surged through me. I would be willing to overlook a lot of future naughtiness for this.
Looking directly at Flegmire, he said, “Once, Herky swiped his brother’s lizard sandwich.”
Flegmire rolled her enormous eyes. “Not good enough. I could have guessed that anyway.”
My heart sank. After a few more moments of silence, Bwoonhiwda stepped forward. She thumped her spear on the floor and said, “Sometimes I am afwaid!”
I held my breath, hoping Flegmire would accept this.
The old goblin nodded and stroked her chin. “Not bad, not bad at all.” She tipped her head as if thinking, then said, “Not bad, but the bubbles in my brain say not good enough. Probably just as well. We can forget the whole thing and—”
“Wait!” cried Werdolphus.
Flegmire looked up. “You gonna tell me something, ghostie boy?”
By which it was clear that she could see him.
Werdolphus took a deep breath. Well, his chest expanded as if he was taking a deep breath. I don’t know if ghosts actually breathe. Floating toward her, he said, “How about if I tell you how I died?”
Flegmire’s eyes lit up. “Sounds interesting enough to choke a bleezer. But are you sure it’s a secret?”
I stepped forward. “Pardon me, Wisest of the Wise, but it must be. I asked him how he died once, and he got so mad he just disappeared.”
Flegmire nodded in satisfaction.
Werdolphus puffed out his chest and began a long story about a heroic battle in which he sacrificed his life to save a wounded friend. It was very exciting, but something about it bothered me. Finally I realized the problem. Though he had been killed by a cannonball, I also had the sense that he had died inside the castle.
I don’t know how, but it was clear that Flegmire realized he was making it up. With a shriek she spit on the floor and cried, “That’s a lie. Lies don’t count! Out of here, all of you!”
To my surprise, the ghost looked as horrified as I felt. “Wait!” he cried, holding up his hands as if to stop Flegmire from throwing out the body he no longer had. “I’m so
rry! It’s just . . . well, that’s the story I made up to tell myself after it happened. I’ve told it so many times, I guess it started to seem real. It’s certainly the way I wish it had happened. I’ll give you the real story this time, I promise!”
Flegmire made a face, then stuck a finger into her ear and closed her eyes. After a moment she nodded and pulled the finger out. Holding it in front of her, she said, “Mr. Pointer says you can have another chance. But you’d better tell the truth this time, or Mr. Pointer is going to have a very nasty surprise for you!”
His pale face serious, Werdolphus nodded toward the finger and said, “Thank you, Mr. Pointer.”
“Well, let’s hear it,” said Flegmire. Then she stuck her finger back into her ear. I guess she was planning to listen to Werdolphus with her other ear.
The ghost looked around nervously. “Do they have to hear?” he asked.
“Yes indeedelee doo. Ain’t gonna be a secret no more, so you might as well let ’em in on it right now.”
Werdolphus straightened his shoulders, swallowed, then said, “I met my death as the result of a tragic cleaning accident.”
Flegmire snorted.
“It’s not funny!” Werdolphus shouted.
“No, no, it’s not. I was just laughing at something Mr. Pointer said. Your story is very sad. Only, it’s not a story yet. Let’s hear some details.”
Werdolphus sighed. “Forty years ago I went to work in Toad-in-a-Cage Castle. While I was there, I met a beautiful young woman named Hulda.”
My eyes widened at this.
“Hulda was very serious, so I used to try to make her laugh. One of my jobs was to dust the cannonballs the Baron keeps on the mantel of the Great Hall’s fireplace. The mantel is high, so I had to use a stepladder. Even with that I had to reach up to do the job. One day I was working away at this when I heard Hulda come into the room. I turned to make a face at her, and . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“Go on!” Flegmire demanded.
“I lost my balance. My left hand was behind one of the cannonballs. As I fell, I pulled the cannonball with me. When I hit the floor, the cannonball landed on my head. Killed me on the spot. I’ve been haunting the castle ever since.”
I glanced at Bwoonhiwda and saw her lift her right braid. She stared at the cannonball woven into the bottom of it, then shuddered.
As for Flegmire, she let out a hoot of laughter. “Oh, that’s a dilly. Definitely worth the price of admission. All right, let’s roll the bones!”
She squatted on the floor, which made her knees considerably higher than her ears. Suddenly her eyes grew wide and she cried, “Whoa! Better step back!”
As we moved away, Flegmire farted with such violence that it lifted her nearly a foot off the floor.
We began to cough and choke at the horrifying odor.
“Oh, stop fussing. The smell ain’t gonna hurt you. At least, not much. You might lose a little skin, but it’ll grow back. Now, where was I? Oh, right, the bones!” She looked around. “Where in frootition did I put that box? Ah, it’s over there. You! Little goblin who can’t squeal a B-flat! Run over and fetch it for me.”
Herky started for the box. I saw Bwoonhiwda prepare to spring into action if Flegmire did anything to threaten him.
Circling the ancient goblin, never taking his eyes off her, Herky went to where she had pointed. The box, which rested on a large boulder, was carved with screaming faces.
Trembling, Herky carried it to Flegmire. When he reached her, he placed it on the floor in front of her.
“See,” she said sweetly, “I’m not so horrible.”
Herky nodded and turned to go back to Bwoonhiwda. As soon as she had a shot at his rear end, Flegmire reached out and yanked his tail. He squealed, clutched his bottom, and bolted away.
Flegmire shook her head sadly. “Thought with a surprise he might do a B-flat after all. Ah, well. Guess the grimpets are in the sauce today.”
With that, she lifted the lid of the box. It was hinged, so the raised lid blocked our view. Staring down, she muttered, “Oh, what lovely bones!”
Then she scooped out a handful of human knuckle-bones.
I would rather not explain how I knew what they were.
She cupped one of her long-fingered, knobby-knuckled hands over the other, shook the bones, then tossed them to the floor. Leaning over, she examined them, muttering, “What do I spy with my sweet little eye?”
It was an odd thing to say, since her eyes were the size of apples. They were also somewhat terrifying, especially when they pointed in different directions.
“What’s she doing?” whispered a voice from beside me.
“William!” I cried.
“Be quiet!” Flegmire shrieked.
“Wow, she’s cranky,” William whispered. “We’d better not talk until she’s done.”
The others looked at me oddly. I gestured to indicate that William had rejoined us.
Flegmire twice stopped to look at a bone more closely. The second time, she picked it up, licked it, made an expression of disgust, then threw it over her shoulder. She continued to study the remaining bones until her wrinkled face broadened in a wide grin and she said, “There it is, plain as the warts on a binksniffer! We start with the pool.” Leaping to her feet, she said, “Follow me!”
“We don’t need to,” I said. “William is here.”
Flegmire looked at me, squinted a bit, then laughed. “Well, he’s part here. Hello there, almost-invisible boy. Didn’t really think you could fool these old eyes, did you?”
She put her fingers on her upper and lower eyelids and pulled them apart so that her already enormous eyes were bigger than ever.
“William really here?” Igor asked.
“Yes, I’m here, Igor.”
“Can you lead us to your body now?” I asked.
“I think so. I didn’t pass through any stone this time, so we should have a clear path back.”
“Then wet’s get moving!” Bwoonhiwda said.
“Not so fast, missy,” Flegmire replied.
The idea of anyone calling Bwoonhiwda “missy” would have made me laugh if things hadn’t been so tense just then.
I stepped forward. “Why should we wait, O Wisest of the Wise?”
Flegmire answered as if speaking to someone she thought was not very bright. “Because we have to look into the pool, duck fluff! The bones said so. Doesn’t make any difference if you’ve found what you think you were looking for. Ignoring the bones is a good way to end up nothing but bones yourself. Any gloink can bunkle that one! Follow me if you know what’s good for you!”
She turned toward the rear of the cave, then turned back and said, “Ooopsie! Almost forgot. This is gonna take another secret. And it better be a humdinger.”
Coldness seized my heart.
Flegmire looked straight at me, and her next words moved me to flat-out terror. “I think it’s your turn, my little pazoozle. What secret are you hiding?”
Secrets are like farts. The longer you hold one in, the more explosive it is when you finally let it go.
—Stanklo the Scribbler
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE PRICE FOR THE POOL
“What makes you think I have a secret?” I asked, trying to mask my fear.
“Oh, everyone has a secret, dearie, even me. Of course, in my case I can’t remember it, which sort of puts the frost on my bunkie. But I’m not the one seeking information, am I?”
I swallowed, then put my hand on Solomon’s Collar and said, “I’m not supposed to be wearing this.”
I heard a little cry of surprise from William.
Flegmire just snorted. “Not much of a secret. Knew it wasn’t meant for you the moment I saw you.”
“How could you know that?”
?
??Huh. Maybe that’s my secret! Knew it was something. Now come on, my little pickle. We both know you’re hiding something bigger. Let’s have it.”
I was aware of the others looking at me, and I knew they wanted to ask about the collar. I was spared from answering that when Flegmire screamed, “Tick tock, time’s up! Now go on, all of you. I have important things to do.” Then she muttered, “Just hope I can remember what they are!”
“Wait! I’ll tell you.”
Flegmire smiled and settled back on her haunches. “Well, now we’re getting somedingle. Come on, girl. Spill it.”
I closed my eyes and whispered, “I don’t know how old I am.”
“Speak up, girl. I think I’ve got a potato in my ear.”
Angry now, I shouted, “I don’t know how old I am!”
Flegmire nodded but didn’t say anything. I could tell she was waiting for more.
I glanced around. The others were looking at me oddly.
“Do you mean you don’t know when your birthday is?” Werdolphus asked.
I could tell he was trying to be helpful, and I appreciated it. But I had to shake my head.
Flegmire cackled and rubbed her hands together. “Now this is getting interesting. If it’s not about your birthday, what is it about?”
“I told you—I don’t know how old I am.”
“Yeah, yeah, you said that. Still, not hard to guess. Humans age in a pretty standard way. You’re about ten or eleven.”
That pushed me over the edge. “Well, I’ve looked exactly the same way for at least seventy years now! Maybe longer. I have no idea! I told you, I don’t know how old I am. I just stay this way, and stay this way, and stay this way. AND I HATE IT!”
I was trying not to cry, but my weird condition had made it impossible to ever get close to people. I had already gotten friendlier with William and everyone else in the castle than I should have. In another year, two at the most, they would start to wonder about me. Another year after that, they would be certain there was something strange.
After the first two times I’d been accused of witchcraft and barely escaped with my life, I understood that I must never stay in one place long enough to let people figure out my secret. And now I had blurted it out to this crazy old goblin—and everyone else in our group—just to figure out how to help William.