The Sleeping Giant of Goll

by Tony Abbott

  Sparr, of course, was the wickedest of wicked sorcerers. He was always trying to take over Droon. Now he was searching for something called the Golden Wasp. Galen had told them the Wasp was an object of awesome magical power.

  Good thing it was hidden. For now.

  Ping! Bong! Mr. Hinkle kept on hammering.

  “Look at this,” Julie whispered, showing Eric a silver bracelet dangling on her wrist. “I bought a little fox for my charm bracelet. It reminds me of Batamogi.”

  “Cool!” Eric said. On their last adventure, a fox-eared king named Batamogi had crowned Julie a princess. That sort of thing happened in Droon.

  Blam! Blam! Mr. Hinkle knocked the pipes even more loudly.

  “I got new socks,” Neal said. “Wanna see?”

  “No!” said Julie, pinching her nose.

  Neal pulled off his sneakers anyway. “Bright red. I call them my Ninn socks!”

  The Ninns were Sparr’s soldiers. They were chubby and angry and their skin was bright red.

  “Just don’t lose your socks in Droon,” Eric warned. “You know what Galen says. If we ever leave anything behind, something from Droon will come here. And something from here will go there.”

  Just then, Eric’s dad stopped banging, stood up, and sighed. “I’m not quite sure what’s wrong,” he said.

  Neal nudged Eric aside and stooped under the sink. “Turn that nozzle,” he said, pointing. “You need to release the pressure or it will explode.”

  Mr. Hinkle frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Neal nodded. “My dad does plumbing stuff all the time. That nozzle turns.”

  Mr. Hinkle tried it. “It won’t budge. What am I doing wrong?”

  “Listening to Neal,” Julie said with a chuckle. “Now put your sneakers back on, Neal.”

  “Yes, princess!” he said, scowling.

  “Wait, I think it’s moving —” Mr. Hinkle said. The nozzle squeaked — err-err-err! — then POP! It exploded under the sink. Water burst from the pipe and onto the kitchen floor.

  “Wet socks!” Neal cried. “I hate wet socks!”

  “The pipe broke!” Mr. Hinkle shouted. “Holy cow! We need a towel. Eric, get me a wrench! Everybody out of the way!”

  The kids shot down to the basement for a wrench.

  “There’s water everywhere,” Neal said. “Your mom’s going to be really mad!”

  “Neal, will you just —” Eric started, then he stopped. Julie was standing at the tool bench. Her eyes were wide with wonder.

  And with fear.

  In her hands was not a wrench, but the soccer ball that Keeah had cast a spell on. It was supposed to tell them when they were needed in Droon.

  And now, across the surface of the ball words appeared in thin blue ink.

  “Eric-c-c-c!” sputtered his father from the kitchen above.

  “We’re looking for the wrench, Dad!” Eric called up.

  Neal pulled his shoes on, took the ball, and quickly reversed the letters in his head. Sparr seeks the Golden Wasp, help me, help Droon.

  “I knew it!” said Julie. “We’ll help your dad when we get back. But we have to help Keeah first! She’s in big trouble!”

  Eric nodded. Time ran differently in Droon. He knew they would be back before anyone missed them.

  They shoved aside the large carton that blocked the door beneath the stairs. They jammed themselves inside a small closet. Julie shut the door. Eric flicked off the closet light.

  Whoosh! Instantly, the floor vanished beneath them and they stood at the top of a long, shimmering staircase.

  The magical staircase to the land of Droon.

  Eric took the first step. Then another and another. His friends followed close behind.

  The air was pink all around them.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a rocky plain stretching for miles in every direction. Boulders lay scattered like pebbles tossed by a giant.

  Eric wondered if maybe they had been.

  “Welcome to the middle of nowhere,” Julie said.

  As the stairs faded into the pink air, a plume of dust rose from the horizon. The ground thundered with beating hooves.

  “It’s a pilka!” Julie cried out, pointing to a shaggy-haired beast with six legs galloping toward them. “It’s Galen’s pilka, Leep. And Keeah and Max are riding her! They’re coming this way.”

  “So is he!” said Eric, pointing to a big flying lizard, diving down from the sky.

  “A groggle!” Neal said. “This is not good.”

  The groggle swooped down at the pilka. On its back was a single rider, a man dressed in a long black cloak. Two purple fins stuck up behind his ears, and a row of spikes ran back from his high forehead. His eyes burned like fire.

  “Uh-oh,” said Julie. “It’s … it’s …”

  “… Lord Sparr!” Eric cried.

  “Wet socks and Lord Sparr?” Neal groaned. “Already my day is ruined!”

  Copyright © 2000 by Robert T. Abbott.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.

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  First Scholastic printing, February 2000

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-42762-3

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