Goblins on the Prowl (8 page)

“Good! Now come quickwy.”

Following her voice, which probably could have been heard back at the castle, I soon saw the wagon again. I scurried to join them. With Igor leading the way, we moved deeper into the forest.

Darkness was falling by the time we reached the mountain.

“See!” Igor said, pointing up. “John's cave!”

Several hundred feet above us was a glimmer of light.

Feeling nervous, I said, “Igor, just how big is this giant?”

“Fauna afraid?”

I wanted to say no but couldn't with the collar on. So I just said, “Maybe a little.”

The collar tingled but didn't tighten.

Igor scowled. “Don't be afraid!”

“So you're saying John is perfectly safe?”

Igor shook his head. “No! Saying don't be afraid! It dangerous! John mostly safe, but he got a problem.”

“What, exactwy, is his pwobwem?” Bwoonhiwda asked.

“Fear make John hungry. Make him want to eat you. SO DON'T BE AFRAID!”

I had never heard anything less likely to take away fear!

“Can we just get going?” Werdolphus asked.

Given that he was already dead, he didn't need to worry about the giant eating him.

I shook my head. “You still didn't answer my question, Igor. How big is John?”

Igor made his thinking face, then said, “
Very
big!”

As if that had actually told me anything, he started up the slope. We followed, but he moved so quickly, it was hard to stay with him, especially since he kept leaving the path to climb straight up some of the rocky places.

About twenty feet below the mouth of the cave, he paused to wait for the rest of us to catch up. When we were close, he said, “Wait while Igor tell John we coming. Not good to surprise him!”

We watched him scramble the rest of the way to the cave's entrance, then disappear into the mountain.

Soon we heard a deep, rumbling sound that I realized must be John's voice.

Igor reappeared in the rim of light at the cave's mouth. Waving his bear, he called, “John say come visit!”

Werdolphus simply floated up. Herky climbed swiftly over the rocks. Bwoonhiwda and I followed the path.

I was the last to enter the cave.

When I did, I blinked in astonishment.

The goblins have no bigger friend than Bonecracker John. This is a bad joke, but every time I write it I laugh so hard that I spill my ink.

—Stanklo the Scribbler

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SPELL OF STONELY TOADIFICATION

I had expected John's home to be a crude stone chamber. But I found myself in a room so elegant, it would not have looked out of place in the Baron's castle.

Lit by torches that neither smoked nor flickered, the cave was lined with shelves . . . and the shelves were crammed with thick books nearly as tall as me. Beautiful rugs woven with intricate patterns covered the floor. A tapestry showing a unicorn in a deep green forest hung on one wall. A statue of a small dragon stood off to the right, next to a bubbling fountain.

In the center of the cave stood a big desk, and by “big” I mean that the top of it was well above my head.

Behind that desk sat Bonecracker John.

I had braced myself for an enormous brute. John was huge, all right. But he was also very old, very slender, and mostly bald. His thin mustache drooped nearly to the floor and was more than twice as long as Bwoonhiwda was tall. His pale blue eyes peered at us through spectacles that had lenses bigger than dinner plates.

“This Bonecracker John!” said Igor, so proud you would have thought he had created the giant himself.

John sighed, causing a small gust of wind. “I wish you wouldn't call me that, Igor.”

His voice was deep, and it was obvious he was whispering. I figured if he spoke at his regular level, it would be deafening.

Igor bopped John's foot with his bear. “Who crack Sir Mortimer's bones? John, that who! That why you Bonecracker John!”

John looked at the rest of us. “Igor is referring to an unfortunate incident from long ago. Sir Mortimer accused me of devouring cattle and stealing young maidens. This was a horrible falsehood. Though he claimed to be the bravest of all knights, when I picked him up to discuss the matter, he was overcome with intense fear. This was very bad, due to a certain problem that I have.”

“Scared people make John hungry!” Igor crowed, hugging his bear. “Tell them! Tell them what Bonecracker John did next!”

John sighed again. “I, er, threw Sir Mortimer away.”

“Stupid Sir Mortimer went long way away!” agreed Igor.

“It was either throw him or eat him,” John said. “So really, I saved his life. Alas, very few people understand that. It happened over two hundred years ago, but I've been known as Bonecracker John ever since.”

“That because Sir Mortimer got cracked arm, cracked leg, cracked foot, and cracked head,” put in Igor.

“I didn't mean to do it!” John roared, his voice rising so that it hurt my ears.

“Stupid Sir Mortimer had it coming,” Igor muttered, hugging his bear and looking embarrassed.

John scowled at him.

Igor hugged his bear even closer and glanced at Bwoonhiwda. She didn't look at him—her eyes were focused on John. “Pwease expwain what you know about the stone toad,” she said.

“I beg your pardon, but I have no idea who you are.”

Igor bopped himself on the head with his bear,
something I had never seen him do before. “Igor forgot manners! Now Igor do introductions. This Fauna. She cranky, but Igor like her. This little goblin Herky. He naughty, but we like him. Werdolphus here, but you can't see him, because he dead.” Face lighting up, he finished with “Beautiful lady is Bwoonhiwda.”

Bwoonhiwda snorted. I was afraid she might clonk him.

“Thank you,” John said. “I assume you asked about the stone toad because it recently came to life?”

“How did you know that?” I asked.

John spread his hands, which were longer than Herky was tall. “When an enormous stone toad goes crashing through the forest, the forest-dwellers tend to notice. Word got to me pretty quickly. I assume that is why you came, since I couldn't think of any other reason for such an odd visit. Happily, you made a good choice. I do indeed know the origins of the toad.”

“See!” Igor crowed. “Told you John would know!”

“It's an old family story having to do with my father's cousin Harry. Sweet fellow but not, er . . . well, not very bright.”

“John bright!” Igor said.

“Not that bright, Igor, or I would have figured out
where
you
came from by now. However, I can tell you Harry's story. I wrote it down several years ago.”

John stood and went to one of the shelves. He pulled out a book bound in red leather.

“Where do your books come from?” I asked, yelling a bit to be heard.

“No need to shout, Fauna. With ears as big as mine, I can hear a cricket fart. As for the books, I make them myself. Have to. Regular books are too small for me to read.” He ran his fingers along the shelf. “These contain stories and true events I've written down over the last few centuries. Some are copies of smaller books. I wrote them out by hand so I could read them.”

“If you can't read the small books, how can you copy them over?” Werdolphus asked.

“I have friends read them to me.”

Igor said sadly, “Igor want to read books to John, only Igor can't read. It a problem.”

“It's all right, Igor. You've brought me many fine stories.”

Returning to his desk, he opened the book. The pages were almost the size of my cottage door. He flipped through several, then said, “Here we go! ‘The Foolish Giant.'”

He began to read. I had often heard people tell
stories, but this was the first time I had heard anyone read one. It was different, but I liked it.

It was about a giant named Harry who was friendly, brave, and kind. Unfortunately, as John had said, he was not very bright. Harry kept getting into trouble because when he tried to be helpful, he made silly mistakes. And because he was so big, his mistakes were big too—big and sometimes very damaging. For ­example, he once picked a bouquet for the mayor's wife that turned out to be the mayor's best apple trees. The mayor was furious and yelled at Harry to get out of town.

Harry loved the town but couldn't stand to stay where he wasn't wanted. So he packed his things and moved to a cave in the mountains. But one of the children, a boy named Will Smith who was fond of Harry, followed to see where he went.

I thought it was nice that the boy had the same first name as my friend. Also, the story was sounding oddly familiar. I got distracted wondering where I might have heard it, then realized I had stopped listening, and pulled myself back to attention.

As it turned out, sending Harry away was a big mistake. What the mayor had not realized was that a wicked wizard lived in a tower on a hill nearby and
wanted to take over the town. The wizard hadn't dared to make trouble while Harry was there, but now that he was gone, the wizard figured he could do whatever he wanted.

He started by turning the mayor's wife into a cow.

“Igor love that part!” cried Igor, hugging his bear in delight.

John peered over the rim of his glasses and waited for Igor to settle down before he said, “The Spell of Total Cowliness only lasted three hours. But it proved what the wizard could do. So when he marched into the town and ordered the people to bring him half of everything they owned or he would turn them into stone toads, they knew he could do it. Grumbling and angry, but also terrified, they gave him what he wanted.

“‘Alas,'” read John, “‘the wizard was greedy. He kept asking for more, and more, and more. When the people finally ran out of things to give him, he got so mad, he said that unless they brought more by sunset, he would throw the Spell of Stonely Toadification at them!'”

“This scary,” muttered Herky. He was clinging to the edge of my coat and had his thumb in his mouth.

John continued. “The townspeople huddled in their homes, waiting for the end. The only one who
didn't give up was Will Smith. He went to get Harry. When he made it to the cave, he found Harry sitting on a boulder, shaving. Will gasped out what the wizard was about to do. Harry didn't even finish shaving. He dropped his razor, picked up Will, and ran for town. Soap flew over his shoulders like runaway clouds. His shaving mirror, which was tied around his neck with a leather band, flapped up and down. Will bounced in his pocket until his eyes were going around in circles.

“‘Harry reached the town just as the sun was about to set. Time was nearly up. Desperate, he did the only thing he could think of. He set Will on top of a house, then went to stand in front of the town.'”

I gasped. “Why did he do that?”

John smiled. “My good-hearted cousin figured that since he was such a foolish giant, no one would care if he got turned to stone. So he decided to let the magic hit him instead of the town. He may have been weak of brain, but he was strong of heart.”

He began to read again.

“‘Will shouted for Harry to come back. When the people heard him, they peeked out their windows to see what was happening. They shouted for Harry to come back too. But my father's cousin was determined to protect them.'”

“So Harry is the stone toad,” I said.

Lowering the book, John shook his head. “Not at all. What happened next was amazing. When the wizard threw his magic, it hit Harry's big shaving mirror, which reflected the magic straight back to the tower. It struck the evil wizard and turned
him
into one big stone toad.”

“YAY FOR HARRY!” cried Herky.

“So
that's
the stone toad that has been in the castle all these years?” I asked.

“How many giant stone toads do you think there are, Fauna?” Werdolphus said with a snort.

I wanted to smack him. Unfortunately, there's not much point in smacking a ghost.

John looked in the direction of Werdolphus's voice. “Fauna's question is a fair one. There's enough magic in the world that there could be more than one of the things. But, yes, the toad I just told you about is indeed the one that resided in the castle. A group of magicians called the League of Teldrum carried it to the Baron's father for safekeeping. They believed there was some danger the spell might eventually wear off. Alas, time has a way of dimming memories. After a while people forgot why the toad was there. And now . . .”

“Now the spell didn't wear off, but William and I brought this evil wizard back to life anyway,” I said softly.

“But he wemains a toad,” Bwoonhiwda pointed out.

“The question is,
for how long
?” said John. “Wherever that toad has gone, I am certain he is trying to find a way to regain human form.”

This idea terrified me. If the toad turned human again, William would be in his clutches. “Just how bad was this wizard?” I asked.

John shook his head. “The problem is less how bad he was than how bad he might become. Some people believe what he really sought in the village was the Black Stone of Borea.”

“What's that?” Werdolphus asked.

John scowled. “As you may know, some amount of magic is innate in everything. From pebbles to people, teapots to trees, this is the nature of the world. In the hands of a wizard who knows how to use it, the Black Stone can pull in that magic so that the wizard's power becomes enormously magnified. But when the stone takes the magic from a living creature, whether it be ant or bird, bee, bear, or human, something within that creature goes dead, leaving it in the wizard's control.”

I felt a chill shudder through me. John must have seen the look on my face, because he said, “What is it, Fauna?”

“A couple of days ago goblins searched my cottage. They kept shouting ‘Blackstone! Blackstone!' When I told Granny Pinchbottom about it, she guessed they were working for someone named Lord Blackstone. Could they have been looking for this Black Stone of Borea instead?”

“Possible, but why in the world would they think it might be in your cottage?”

“I have no idea! This is the first time I ever heard of the thing.”

Or was it? Something about the name was nagging at the back of my memory.

John pulled on his lower lip. “Did the goblins say anything else?”

“Yes. When they couldn't find it, they said someone named Helagon was going to be unhappy. Granny got upset when I told her that. Oh, and that same name, Helagon, was on the pedestal under the stone toad.”

John started back, almost falling off his chair. Then he put his head in his hands. “This is worse than I imagined,” he groaned. “By itself the stone is not a
threat to normal people. In fact it is actually a greater threat to magic-makers.”

“Why is that?” Werdolphus asked.

“The stone does not absorb magic unless it is being used by someone who can control its power. That's because a person's magic is usually locked away. But if someone has opened the path to his or her magic, as wizards and witches must do, the stone will suck that magic right out if the magic-user does not know how to block it. Only the most powerful of wizards can survive the presence of the Black Stone. But in the hands of one who
does
have the strength and skill, one who knows the stone's secrets and how to use them, the Black Stone of Borea is possibly the most dangerous thing in the world. Helagon, alas, is such a one. And it's not just that he is powerful.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Something is broken inside him. He is cruel for the sake of being cruel and delights in causing misery. There is a kind of mystery about him, as no one is sure where he came from, or why he has lived for so long. For him to hold the power of the Black Stone would be a terrible thing.”

“So is Helagon the evil wizard who got turned into the stone toad?” I asked.

John shook his head. “No, that doesn't make sense. He couldn't have had goblins out looking for the Black Stone if he was made of stone himself. Besides, he's too smart to be caught that way. Can you think of anything else that might be a clue, Fauna?”