Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf (5 page)

But wait. There was a glimmer of hope. As far as it knew, there had been no

witnesses. If the Goblins kept their mouths shut, there was a good chance that no one

would ever know. Pongwiffy probably hadn't even missed it. Woody cheered up. Perhaps

things weren't so bad after all.

But wait again.
What about the Goblins' plan?
Supposing they went through with it?

Supposing they did indeed come creeping up on the defenseless Broomsticks when they

were all alone in the Broom Park? Just think of it. A mass broomnapping, and all because

Woody had failed to give a warning. What would happen to its friends? More important,

what would happen to IT??!!

Woody wasn't keen to find out. Best not go to Crag Hill tomorrow night. Just as a

safety precaution. Though, of course, nothing was really going to happen, was it? The

Goblins would never do it, would they? They hadn't got the brains to organize something

like that, had they? So there wasn't any point in mentioning it, really, was there? No, of

course not.

Woody was no hero. It had made its mind up. It would keep its mouth shut, go sick

and hope for the best. Which is why we find it being dragged by a very fed-up Pongwiffy

back down Sharkadder's path. Insensible and in disgrace. The cause of yet another major

bust-up.

CHAPTER FIVE – Ali Pali

"Come on, you lump of dead wood," Pongwiffy growled through gritted teeth as she

stomped through the woods. "Just you wait ’til I get you home."

She was in a terrible mood. The sound of Sharkadder's slammed door was still

ringing in her ears, and she felt quite queasy from eating all that humble pie. The last thing

she felt like doing was dragging the comatose Broom all the way home to Number 1, Dump

Edge.

Autumn leaves lay thickly on the ground, disguising various hazards, some of which

were painful and some squelchy. Deep holes, sharp stones, stinging nettles, rabbit

droppings — you name it, Pongwiffy fell down it, tripped over it, brushed against it or

stepped in it. The Broom was not so much heavy as awkward. It got tangled in scratchy

bushes and wedged in tree roots. It trailed through boggy puddles. It was a liability.

Squelch! More droppings. Haggis ones, most likely.

"Oh, badness!" Pongwiffy screeched to the Broom, at the end of her tether. "I've had

enough of this! I'm going to leave you here to rot, that's what I'm going to do!"

And she just might have done it too. But, just at that moment, there was an

interesting turn of events. It happened with no warning. There was a sudden large puff of

sickly green smoke, a spray of luminous green sparks, and…
a Genie appeared!

Isn’t that astounding?

As well as the smoke and the sparks, the Genie was accompanied by quite a loud

thunderclap, causing several birds to fall out of trees and a passing rabbit to be treated for

shock. Even Pongwiffy, who, being a Witch, was used to these things, was mildly surprised.

You didn't often get Genies in Witchway Wood. It just wasn't their sort of place. Rotten

climate. Terrible food. Hardly any shops. No decent bazaars or coffee houses. No dancing

girls or fire-eaters. And all those terrible old Witches.

"Bother, bother, bother!" sighed the Genie, staring around, obviously unimpressed.

"Not another wood. I have taken yet another wrong turning. How incredibly ghastly."

"Watch it, Tubby," snapped Pongwiffy. "This isn't just another wood. This is

Witchway Wood. I live here. So mind your tongue."

This particular Genie did, in fact, have a weight problem which his traditional skimpy

Genie attire did little to hide. He wore a filmy blouse thing with big, puffy sleeves under a

red fringed bolero. The blouse thing was quite short, and there was a fair amount of
tummy

sticking out between that and the wide scarlet sash which held up his pants. The pants were

made from some flimsy material which tended to cling. On his head was a red turban. He

wore far, far too much jewellery. He twinkled and clinked with trinkets, rings and bangles.

Medallions swung from him like baubles on a Christmas tree. At his feet (which boasted

ostentatious, curly-toed slippers), lay a shabby old carpet bag. He looked very out of place.

His name was Ali Pali, and indeed he
was
out of place. He was also out of luck.

Beneath all the flashy gear, Ali was a very worried Genie. The reason he was worried was

because he was lamp-less. He had lost his lamp and had nowhere to go. Being without a

lamp made him very vulnerable. (That's why he had a weight problem. Being vulnerable

made him eat a lot.)

The reason he had no lamp to return to was simple. Somebody had dropped it.

Luckily Ali was out at the time: answering a rub, building a magical Palace or something.

While he was gone, some nosey idiot had picked the lamp up to look at it, fumbled, then

dropped it on the floor, where it smashed into a thousand pieces. Poor Ali. He came back to

find that he had lost everything, including all his nice clothes and his carefully hoarded

treasure (which had been hidden up the spout).

Every Genie lives in dread of this happening. To be without a lamp is to be mocked

and sneered at by other Genies. It means you don't get invited to dinner any more. It means

you have to take a
proper
job! Horrors!

Ali had to find another lamp immediately. He had to get another lid over his head

without delay. The trouble was, lamps were expensive. Somehow, he would have to get

enough gold together for a down payment. But how?

What was needed was some sort of gigantic fiddle. Something which would earn him

an instant fortune. Ali was rather hoping that something of this sort would present itself. On

the surface, Witchway Wood didn't appear all that promising — although funnily enough,

hadn't he noticed something about it the other day in the
Genie Journal?
A small,

tucked-away article about a Wall Of Smell which some nutty old Witch had constructed in

order to keep the local riffraff from raiding her rubbish dump. Now, what was her name

again?

Waving away the last of the green smoke, Ali Pali found himself face to face with the

woman who had just spoken. Politely, he bared his teeth in his most charming smile and did

one of those bows that should ideally be accompanied by the clash of cymbals.

"A thousand pardons, madam," he said smoothly. "No offence intended, I am sure.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ali Pali. I am a Genie by profession. Ali Pali is my

name, granting wishes is my game, ha ha. I am delighted to meet you. I trust you were not

startled by my sudden appearance. Please. Allow me to offer you a little present. It is

customary amongst us Genies to do this when we meet new friends."

Still smiling his oily smile, Ali gave a theatrical snap of the fingers. There was a little

puff of pink smoke, looking for all the world like airborne candyfloss, and he cleverly

produced a gift-wrapped boxfull of pink turkish delight, which floated temptingly through

the air, slowly opening its own lid as it came towards Pongwiffy.

"Get it off me!" snarled Pongwiffy, swiping bad-temperedly at the box. "I hate

turkish delight. You Genies make me sick. You're all the same. To you it might be just

another wood, but to us Witches, it's home. Clear off. You can't bribe me with your silly,

sickly, pink, little spells. Nobody asked you to come."

Traditionally, Witches don't trust Genies. They look down their noses at that sort of

flash in the pan, showy oriental magic. They hate their towny ways and the clothes. Witches

consider that Genies are too flash by half.

"You are right. Please. I meant no rudeness to your wood," said Ali Pali quickly,

snapping his fingers. The rejected turkish delight floated back to him, then down into the

carpet bag, which opened all by itself to receive it.

"I'm just not dressed for it, you see. I am sure if I lived here I would love it. Nature.

The great outdoors. The crisp smell of an Autumn morning..."

Enthusiastically, he threw his arms wide, took a step forward and tripped over

Woody. He stumbled, waving his arms wildly. One golden slipper sank into a pile of

something unpleasant.

"Watch out, clumsy. That's my Broom you're treading on," scolded Pongwiffy.

Ali Pali scraped his foot off on a clump of grass. One of his medallions had got

tangled up in a nearby bramble bush, but he still managed to keep smiling. He was a real

pro.

"A thousand sorries. I sincerely apologise. But tell me. Your Broom. Why is it like

this? Is it sick?"

"What's it look like?" snapped Pongwiffy.

"Hmm." Ali Pali nudged Woody with a curly toe. "Can I help in any way? I have a few

tricks up my sleeve. I have a certain way with flying carpets. If you would allow me to

examine it, perhaps I..."

"Look, do you mind?" said Pongwiffy, bristling crossly. This Genie was really

beginning to get on her nerves. "You're talking to a Witch, remember? I could fix it myself if I

wanted to. It so happens that I don't want to, that's all."

"Oh, fool, fool that I am!" wailed Ali Pali, striking his head, in an agony of remorse.

"Of course you can fix it yourself! Why am I offering a Witch my help, poor pathetic conjuror

that I am? Forgive me. If Witch Magic can't fix it, nothing can. I know that. Powerful stuff.

Witch Magic. All those brews you do. All that mysterious chanting and cackling, eh? Amazing

results. That Wall Of Smell, for instance. Everyone is talking about it. Even the Wizards are

impressed. There's a whole article about it in the
Genie Journal.
Most interesting. Now,

what was the name of the Witch who created it... it's on the tip of my tongue...?"

Pongwiffy couldn't believe her ears. This was too good to be true.

"Me! Pongwiffy! It's me!" she burst out, unable to contain herself. "I did it! It's my

Wall. What paper was it in, did you say?"

To Pongwiffy's amazement, Ali Pali suddenly did something very unexpected. He

took her hand and planted a wet, unpleasant kiss on it!

"Get off," snapped Pongwiffy, snatching her hand back and wiping it on her sleeve.

"Yuck."

"A thousand rejoicings!" crowed Ali Pali, hopping from one curly slipper to the other,

jangling his bracelets, beside himself with pleasure. "Luck is with me this day! That's the

name! Witch Pongwiffy!
The
Witch Pongwiffy. What an honour. Just wait till I tell the rest of

the guys."

"Well," said Pongwiffy, terribly pleased and flattered. "Well, fancy that. Me in the

paper."

"I am so excited!" babbled Ali Pali, wild with enthusiasm. "The creator of the famous

Wall Of Smell herself! I am your number one fan. If only I could do such Magic!"

"Oh, you probably could, in time," said Pongwiffy graciously. She found herself