Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf (10 page)

The suggestions kept coming, all wrong, wrong, hopelessly wrong. Woody was

getting near the end of its tether. Its fevered imagination conjured up the sound of far

crashings and muffled cries coming from the direction of the Broom Park, which was clearly

under attack
right now.
It simply
had
to make these idiot Witches understand. Desperately,

it thought of its own personal motto — "Stick with it" — and tried hobbling harder...

CHAPTER TEN – The Raid

So. What
was
happening in the Broom Park? Not a lot.

The Brooms were propped against various trees, engaged in deep discussion. They

always enjoyed their weekly get-togethers, but tonight was even better because, for once,

they had something interesting to talk about. Real, hot news! Almost bordering on scandal,

really. Heard about old Woody? No. What? Some sort of breakdown. Really? Oooooh. Yep.

Too ill to fly. You don't say! Poor old stick. Chucked in the garden shed, did you say? Tut tut.

What a shame.

Eagerly, they compared notes. Unlike Witches, Brooms are rather a tender-hearted

bunch when one of their friends feels a bit below par. There was a great deal of sympathetic

tutting. Sharkadder’s Broom, Ashley (Woody's best friend), shed a tear or two and proposed

buying a get well card which they would all sign. There was talk of taking up a collection and

sending along a bunch of flowers. Sourmuddle's Broom, Stumpy, went one better, and

daringly proposed that they should pay Woody a flying visit. Now. While the Witches were

busy. They were sure to be hours yet. If the Brooms left right now, there would just be time

to whizz along to Woody's shed and pay their poor old mate a lightning visit. Maybe stop off

somewhere and buy a few grapes. Surprise surprise! Bet you didn't expect us, etc. All right,

so it wasn't strictly allowed, but in the circumstances, surely...? Besides, Woody's illness

sounded quite spectacular. Though they wouldn't admit it, they were all keen to have a

good old gawp.

The snap of a twig, a muffled sneeze. Oh dear. Who's that creeping up under cover

of the bushes? They were so concerned and caring, those Brooms, so caught up in their

friend's sorry plight that they didn't notice they were being sneaked up on by...

Goblins! Yes. It's them all right. Incredible as it might seem, Plugugly, Slopbucket,

Lardo, Hog, Sproggit, Stinkwart and Eyesore have actually made it! They have walked on

tiptoe all the way from Goblin Territory to Crag Hill. It has taken them hours and hours, but

they are here. As far as they are concerned, they are about to carry out the biggest

Broomnapping in the whole of history. Of course, it all depends on the success of Plugugly's

Plan.

The Goblins are really trying hard with this one, and to give credit where it's due,

they haven't done too badly at all so far. A few minor details have gone wrong, but they've

got the most important things right. For a start, they have remembered to come. They also

have the correct evening. They have even made an effort to disguise themselves. Plugugly is

wearing a false nose, Lardo and Hog have done things with paper bags, and the others are

got up as bushes.

They are doing other things right too. They are attempting to blend into the

shadows. They are downwind of their prey. They have a secret password, which none of

them can pronounce. The word is UNPRONOUNCEABLE.

In the dark, it's difficult to tell friend from foe, so they keep whispering it, just to be

on the safe side. In between attempting to pronounce unpronounceable, they are making

the sort of noises that they feel small woodland creatures might make, in case the Brooms

get suspicious. They are armed to the teeth with everything you might possibly need for a

mass Broomnapping. Sacks, ropes, nets, gags, pitchforks, string, whistles, megaphones, a

bag of humbugs and a large box of matches. Ten out of ten for effort.

It was a terribly tense time for the Goblins. They never, ever managed to do anything

right, and they all felt the strain. It would be so nice if, just once, a Goblin Plan worked

properly — but it was always the same. Whatever they attempted — be it a simple hunting

trip, a raid on Pongwiffy's rubbish tip, or tying up their boot laces — they always seemed to

mess it up. Plugugly was particularly nervous, because it was his very own Plan.

It went like this:

1. Creep up in disguise

2. Capture Brooms

3. Take brooms Home in cart

This was very detailed for a Goblin Plan and Plugugly was rightfully proud of it. He

normally just fell in with other people's plans, but this one he had thought up all by himself.

That made him the leader. So he was responsible for attending to the details. For checking

the equipment. For telling everyone what to do. For making sure they did it. No wonder he

was nervous.

It was good, though, being the leader. Plugugly was enjoying the novelty of it all.

When he realised that he could boss people around, he told Sproggit to oil the wheels of the

cart. The one they would use to carry the broomnapping equipment to Crag Hill and their

victims back to Goblin Territory.

That was the first thing that went wrong. Sproggit forgot. So the cart squeaked most

irritatingly as the Goblins tiptoed all the way from Goblin Territory to Crag Hill — and

believe me, that's a very long way. Also, a squeaking cart rather tends to spoil the element

of surprise. So they decided to abandon it at the foot of Crag Hill and carry the equipment

the rest
the way.

The disguises hadn't really worked that well. Everyone and everything they met

along the way recognised them instantly and fell about laughing. That was disappointing.

However, Plugugly consoled himself with the thought that they hadn't yet mucked up

anything major. Part 1 of the Plan — Creeping Up In Disguise — was now complete. Time for

Part 2, which was Capture Brooms. The Goblins had rehearsed this bit over and over again.

At the signal - which was Plugugly shouting "Ready. Steady, Go!" — they would all leap out

with sticks and ropes and so on, grab the Brooms, wrestle them to the ground, and bind and

gag them.

This bit of the plan was hopeless. It had more holes in than the nets the Goblins had

brought. They never got it right in rehearsals, when there weren’t even any real Brooms. For

a start, Plugugly never managed to say Ready, Steady, Go! in the right order, so the Goblins

never managed to leap at the same time. Somebody always tripped over. Nobody was quite

sure what to do once he'd wrestled his Broom to the ground. Supposing it wrestled back?

Brooms were as slippery as eels, if Pongwiffy's was anything to go by. There they were,

then, hiding behind trees and bushes, waiting for the signal, feeling horribly nervous.

Plugugly adjusted his false nose, licked his lips, and tried to remember the order of the

words. How did it go again?

"Reddysteddygo," muttered Plugugly to himself. "Reddysteddygo. Dat's it. Right den.

’Ere goes. Er... REDDYGOSTEDDY!"

Poor Plugugly. The most important thing he'd ever had to do, and he mucked it up.

The rest of the Goblins stared at each other, wondering whether they should leap now or

make Plugugly do it again and get it right. Sproggit, Slopbucket and Lardo hesitantly leapt.

Hog, Eyesore and Stinkwort remained where they were. Sproggit, Slopbucket and Lardo ran

back again, red with embarrassment. It was a farce. But it didn't matter either way. Because

at exactly the moment that Plugugly mucked it up, the Brooms suddenly took off! Just like

that, of their own accord. No warning, straight up, all together. Once airborne, they hovered

for a moment — then, as one, they turned and flew off in a southerly direction. They were

off to visit their ol’ mate Woody. They didn't even know that they'd been sneaked up on —

let alone leapt out at.

The Goblins watched, open-mouthed, as the brooms flew away. There was a long

silence. Then...

"Typical," remarked young Sproggit with a shrug. Which it was.

CHAPTER ELEVEN – A State of Emergency

Meanwhile, back down the hill, the game of charades continued. Woody's performance was

reaching dizzying heights. Before or since, no Broom has ever hobbled quite as convincingly

and sincerely as Woody hobbled that night. It had found a stick, and was using it as a crutch.

It winced at every step. Desperation lent real strength and majesty to its performance. So it

wasn't surprising that, at long last. Hugo got it!

"’Obbling!" squeaked Hugo. "Ze Broom is ’obbling!"

Woody wept with relief.

"Oh, well done, Hugo," said Pongwiffy, patting him on the back. "Now then. What

sounds like hobbling? Bobbling, cobbling — Hey! Gobbling, of course! And gobbling sounds

like Goblin. I knew it! Remember, Sharky? It came over all weird earlier when we mentioned

Goblins. I'm right, aren't I Broom?"

Drained by its performance, Woody gave a weak nod, and there was general relief all

around. Everyone was having a great time. Well, not quite everyone. Sharkadder was

annoyed because Pongwiffy was the centre of attention yet again. Dudley was vexed

because Hugo had been the shining star of this particular game of charades. Macabre and

Rory were missing. Bonidle was asleep, and a few of the Familiars had lost interest and were

talking amongst themselves. But apart from
that,
everybody was having a great time.

"Right," Pongwiffy summed up, "we have Danger, Goblins. Now we have to get the

next bit. You've done all right so far, Broom. We've seen some brilliant acting tonight, eh,

girls?"

Scattered applause. Woody gave a weak bow.

"Concentrate, Broom," urged Hugo. "Ve need to know
vhere
and
vat
is zis danger of

vich you speak. Please act out ze next vord."

But Woody never got the chance. A sound of galloping hooves came from the trees

and Macabre, mounted on Rory, crashed into the glade. Her hat was over one eye, and she

was bursting with importance. She was shouting and whooping and waving something

triumphantly on high.

It was a grubby Goblin bobble hat!