‘What was I expecting?’ he said to himself. ‘Of course it’s not a boat. After all, this is Muddle Earth.’
The bathtub gave a wild lurch as Joe stepped into it. Henry jumped in beside him.
‘Not there,’ said Veronica. ‘You sit at the other end where the taps are.’
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Randalf, climbing in and sitting down. ‘Just watch your head on the shower attachment if it gets a little bit . . . errm . . . choppy.’
‘It always gets choppy with Norbert in charge,’ said Veronica. ‘You’ve sunk two boats, one wardrobe and an inflatable mattress. Now we’re using our last bathtub. It’ll be the kitchen sink next!’
‘Shut up, Veronica!’ said Randalf. ‘Come on, Norbert. We’re all waiting.’
The ogre climbed into the bathtub, which wobbled about dangerously on the water. Kneeling down, Norbert seized two objects from the bottom of the bath. One was an old tennis racquet, the other was a frying pan. He leaned forwards and began paddling furiously.
The bathtub reared up in a great swell of spray and froth, and sped across the surface of the lake. Norbert’s arms were like pistons; up down, up down, up down they went. The edge of the lake came closer. Joe gasped.
‘We’re going to fall off!’ he shouted.
‘Trust me, I’m a wizard,’ said Randalf. ‘A little further left, Norbert,’ he told the ogre. ‘That’s it.’
Joe looked up. He saw that they were heading for a waterfall.
‘Hold on tight and watch out for that shower attachment,’ the ogre smiled, and paddled faster than ever.
Closer and closer the waterfall came, louder and louder grew the sound of the raging torrent spilling over the edge.
‘This is crazy!’ Joe yelled.
‘True,’ said Randalf. ‘But it’s the only way down. Trust me, I’m a . . .’
‘I know,’ Joe muttered as he gripped the sides of the bathtub with white-knuckled ferocity, ‘you’re a wizard.’
‘One last paddle should do it!’ Randalf shouted.
Norbert obliged. For a moment, the bathtub see-sawed up and down at the very edge of the lake. Joe gasped as Muddle Earth opened up before him in a broad, panoramic view.
‘Brace yourselves!’ came Randalf’s voice above the raging cascade as the bathtub toppled over the edge. ‘Here we go . . . o-o-o-oh’
Veronica screeched. Henry howled. Joe screwed his eyes tightly shut. Only Norbert seemed to be enjoying himself.
‘Wheeeee!’ he cried as the little bathtub with its five occupants hurtled down the roaring, foaming torrent of water.
The wind whipped past so fast, Joe could barely breathe. Stinging water slapped his face. His head pounded, his heart was in his mouth, his grip was slipping . . .
SPLASH!
The bathtub struck the pool at the bottom of the waterfall with colossal force.
It sank.
It rose.
It bobbed around on the surface like a ball, until the current swept it down into the relative calm water of the river beyond. Joe opened his eyes.
‘That was . . . terrifying,’ he gasped.
Veronica snorted. ‘You wait until the return journey,’ she said.
‘We’ve taken on water!’ Randalf announced. ‘Quick, Norbert, start bailing!’
Norbert looked down at the water swilling around the bottom of the bathtub. He picked up the frying pan, then paused. ‘Don’t worry, sir!’ he said, reaching down into the water. ‘I’ll save us!’
‘No, Norbert!’ Randalf shouted. ‘Remember last time!’
Too late. The ogre had already yanked out the plug and was holding it aloft.
‘There,’ he said. ‘I’ve let the water out, sir!’ He paused, and stared incredulously at the fountain of water gushing up from the plughole. ‘Oops!’ He looked up at Randalf. ‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I, sir?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Randalf.
‘Abandon bathtub!’ Norbert shouted.
With a gurgle and a plop, the bathtub abruptly disappeared beneath them. Joe kicked his legs, and headed for the nearest shore, with Henry doggy-paddling by his side. The pair of them dragged themselves up on to the bank. Veronica, who had decided to fly rather than swim, landed beside them, only to be soaked by a spray of water as Henry shook himself dry.
‘Well, that’s the last of the bathtubs,’ she said. ‘You’d think he’d have learned about plugs by now.’
Joe said nothing. The sight of the Enchanted Lake suspended in mid-air far, far above his head had left him speechless. As he watched, a fat silver fish dropped out of the bottom of the lake, fell down through the air and into the gaping beak of one of the waiting lazybirds clustered together beneath the lake.
Randalf and Norbert climbed out of the river, dripping with water. Norbert shook himself dry, drenching Veronica for a second time.
‘Thank you very much!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Now you’re trying to drown me on dry land!’
‘Sorry,’ said Norbert meekly.
Randalf looked up at the sun, which was now peeking over the distant mountains. ‘No harm done. Quite refreshing in fact,’ he said. ‘Let’s set off. With a brisk pace, we should arrive at Goblintown by midday’ He turned to the ogre. ‘If you’d do the honours, Norbert, my good fellow.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Norbert. He crouched down on his hands and knees.
With the budgie perched on his head, Randalf climbed on to one of the ogre’s great, broad shoulders. He looked at Joe. ‘Well, come on. We haven’t got all day,’ he said.
Joe climbed gingerly on to the other shoulder. ‘Won’t we be too heavy?’ he said.
‘Of course not,’ said Norbert. ‘I’m a two-seater. Now, my cousin Ethelbertha is a four-seater with an extra box-seat at the front and back . . .’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Randalf. ‘If you’re quite ready, Norbert.’
Norbert straightened up and climbed to his feet.
‘Forwards!’ ordered Randalf, and tapped the ogre on the head with his staff. Norbert lurched into movement and strode off, with Henry trotting along by his side.
On her lofty perch, Veronica tucked her head beneath her wing. ‘I always get ogre-sick on long journeys,’ she said weakly.
They were following a track which ran parallel to the Enchanted River. It was clearly seldom used, and had become totally overgrown. Tall jub-jub trees lined both sides of the path, their bendy branches heavy with sleeping batbirds. Norbert brushed past them.
‘Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!’ they cried.
Joe couldn’t believe he was riding to Goblintown on an ogre’s shoulders. About now, he should have been handing in his essay. He ducked to avoid a jub-jub branch and, with a thud, a batbird landed in his lap. Of all the excuses for late homework, ‘Sorry, sir, I was too busy riding ogres and dodging batbirds,’had to be the weirdest. How on earth would he explain this to his teacher?
‘It’ll be easier once we hit the road,’ said Randalf brightly. ‘Not far now.’
‘Liar,’ muttered Veronica queasily.
By the time they did finally reach the road – or rather roads, since they had arrived at a three-way junction – Joe was feeling a little ogre-sick himself. Norbert had stopped at a signpost which stood by the side of the road.
To their right, according to the peeling gold lettering, was Trollbridge (not very far). To their left was Musty Mountains (quite a long way) Joe craned his neck to check whether Goblintown was also marked. It was.
‘Charming!’ said Joe.
‘Come on, then,’ said Randalf, tapping Norbert on the head. ‘Let’s get going.’
Norbert shuffled about awkwardly. ‘Which way, exactly, sir?’ he said.
‘To Goblintown, of course,’ said Randalf impatiently.
‘I know that, sir,’ said Norbert, staring at the signpost with a perplexed frown. ‘But . . .’
‘Norbert,’ said Randalf, ‘when I took you on as an official Wizard Carrier, you assured me you could read.’
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‘Believe that, you’ll believe anything,’ said Veronica.
‘I can!’ said Norbert. ‘Little words, anyway He nodded at the signpost. ‘These are all so long’
Randalf breathed in sharply. ‘This way, Norbert,’ he said. ‘A very long way away so stop looking at this sign and get a move on, stupid,’ he read.
‘Who are you calling stupid?’ Norbert muttered in a hurt voice as he set off. ‘My cousin Ogred the Dribbler,’ he said, his pace increasing, ‘now he was stupid. Did I ever tell you about the time he got his head stuck in a . . .’
‘Snuggle-muffin,’ Randalf mumbled drowsily, his head suddenly lolling on his shoulders.
‘Typical,’ said Veronica. ‘Sleeping like a baby again!’
‘Sir always falls asleep when he’s travelling,’ said Norbert. ‘And usually right in the middle of my best stories.’
‘Can’t imagine why,’ said Veronica testily.
‘Well, it must be tiring being a wizard,’ said Norbert, ‘what with all that reading and spells and stuff.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Joe with a shrug.
‘Oh, Randalf isn’t a real wizard,’ Veronica whispered into Joe’s ear.
From up on Norbert’s shoulders there came the sound of soft snoring.
‘He isn’t?’ said Joe. ‘But I thought . . .’
‘Until the wizards – the proper wizards, the Grand Wizards – all disappeared, Randalf was just a lowly apprentice to Wizard Roger the Wrinkled,’ Veronica explained in a hushed voice. ‘It was only when they all went missing that Randalf started to pretend he was a Grand Wizard. He seems to have fooled the Horned Baron, but no one else is taken in. That’s why he’s so hard up. I mean, who wants to pay for the services of someone so useless?’
‘Useless?’ said Joe.
‘Utterly useless!’ said Veronica. ‘Oh, the stories I could tell. The invisible ink that kept reappearing. The flying bicycle that fell to bits in mid-air. And all those poor goblins who ended up bald as an egg after trying his magic memory-cream. Not to mention Dr Cuddles.’
‘Dr Cuddles?’ said Joe. ‘Who is Dr Cuddles?’
‘Only the baddest, meanest, most evil villain there ever was!’Veronica told him. ‘He won’t rest until he’s the ruler of Muddle Earth, with everyone under his thumb. Randalf is in a right mess. He needs help.’
‘And he’s expecting me, as a warrior-hero, to sort all this out?’
‘Good heavens, no,’ Veronica replied. ‘You’re just here to earn Randalf some money, though if I were you—’
At that moment, a loud clattering, banging noise echoed through the air, cutting Veronica off in mid-sentence. Joe looked up to see a flock of cupboards, their doors beating like wings, flying across the sky. ‘What are they?’ he gasped.
‘They look like cupboards to me,’ said Norbert.
‘Do cupboards normally fly in Muddle Earth?’ Joe asked, bewildered. He stopped and, with his hand shielding his eyes from the dazzling sun, peered into the distance. ‘They’re flying in formation – and they seem to be coming from that forest.’
‘Elfwood,’ said Veronica, nodding. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. There have been a lot of strange goings-on in Elfwood recently,’ she added darkly. ‘If you ask me, it’s all to do with Doc—’
‘Aaargh!’ shouted Norbert as, still looking skywards, he failed to notice a large pothole in the road. He tripped, stumbled and crashed to the ground. Veronica flapped squawking into the air. Joe landed in a heap beside Henry. Randalf rolled over in the dust.
‘My lovely snuggle-muffin,’ he murmured. ‘I . . .’ His eyes snapped open. He found himself sprawling on the ground. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Please, sir. Sorry, sir,’ said Norbert apologetically as he climbed to his feet. ‘I tripped in that pothole.’
He pointed at a round hole in the road containing an upturned cooking pot and a mess of smelly porridge.
‘Ruined!’ said a small elf by the side of the road. ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you big oaf!’
‘And why don’t you watch where you’re cooking!’ squawked Veronica.
‘What better place for a pot than a pothole!’ the elf countered indignantly.
‘Calm down everybody’ said Randalf, tucking his staff back under his arm. ‘There’s no harm done.’
The elf shrugged and, picking up the pot, strode off down the road. ‘Wizards!’ it snorted in a contemptuous voice.
The ogre leaned forwards, pulled Randalf Sgl up and began dusting him down vigorously.
‘Easy, Norbert,’ said Randalf. ‘I don’t know – soaked, dropped and now pummelled. This isn’t what I’d call first-class travel.’
‘No, sir. Sorry, sir,’ said Norbert.
Randalf looked ahead. He called Joe to his side, and pointed. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘Just beyond that hill, you can see the spires of Goblintown peeking up. We are almost at our destination. You will be soon kitted out with the finest warrior-hero costume that money can buy.’
‘Or rather, that you can afford,’ Veronica muttered under her breath.
As they approached the high wall that surrounded Goblintown, Norbert placed Randalf and Joe gently down on the ground. The noise from inside became louder and louder. There was shouting, hammering, wailing, whinnying, sawing, singing, ringing, bellowing, buzzing . . . all mixed up together in one tumultuous roar. And the smells!
Burnt tar, sour milk, wet fur, rotting meat – each one fighting to be noticed above the nose-wrinkling odour of unwashed goblins. Joe tried thinking of nice smells – chocolate, biscuits, strawberry ice cream . . .
‘And I thought your socks were bad!’ Veronica commented.
‘Shut up, Veronica,’ said Randalf. ‘We don’t want to hurt their feelings. Goblins can be very touchy.’
‘Humph!’ said Veronica. ‘So far as I’m concerned, no one that smelly has the right to be touchy!’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Randalf. ‘Just remember, we’re here on important business. So, button your beak!’
‘Pardon me for breathing,’ said Veronica huffily.
‘By the way, my fine young friend,’ Randalf added. ‘I think Henry here is finding this pungent metropolis a little too exciting. Perhaps you’d better put your faithful battle- hound on the lead.’
Sure enough, Henry’s tail was wagging excitedly as his wet nose sniffed eagerly at the air. Joe clipped the lead into place.
They were now at the top of a tall flight of stairs before a set of huge wooden doors. Randalf seized the great knocker and hammered firmly against the wood.
Ding-dong!
Randalf turned to Joe. ‘The goblins will have their little joke,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ Veronica chirped up. ‘Like not letting us in.’
‘Patience, Veronica!’ said Randalf sharply. He looked at the door expectantly. Nothing happened. Randalf shuffled about, scratched his head, stroked his beard, rubbed his eyes. ‘That famous goblin welcome,’ he said at last. ‘It’s renowned throughout Muddle Earth.’
He knocked again, louder this time. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
The door flew open.
‘I heard you the first time!’ shouted a small, grubby, cross-eyed individual with gappy teeth and pointy ears. ‘I’m not deaf!’
‘A thousand, nay a million apologies, my goblin friend,’ said Randalf, bowing low. ‘Far be it for me to bring your hearing faculties into doubt. I merely . . .’
‘What do you want?’ the goblin scowled.
Randalf forced himself to smile. ‘We wish to avail ourselves of your finest outfitting-emporium,’ he said, ‘with the express intention of purchasing your most—’
‘You what?’ the goblin said.
‘We need to buy a warrior-hero outfit for the boy,’ said Veronica, flapping her wing towards Joe.
‘Leave this to me, V—’ Randalf started to say. He was interrupted by the goblin.
‘Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?
’ he snapped, opening the door for them all to enter.
‘Shut that door!’ shouted a voice. ‘There’s a terrible draught.’
‘Take a deep breath everyone,’ Randalf whispered over his shoulder.
‘Come in, come in,’ said the goblin impatiently. He slammed the door shut behind them. ‘Welcome to Goblintown,’ he intoned in a bored voice. ‘The city that never sleeps.’
‘Or washes,’ muttered Veronica.
‘Enjoy its many sights and sounds . . .’
‘And smells,’ said Veronica.
‘And unique atmosphere.’
‘You can say that again!’
‘Veronica, I warned you!’ Randalf hissed. ‘Will you shut up!’
‘Have a nice day,’ the goblin concluded, and yawned.
Joe screwed up his nose. ‘Veronica’s got a point, though,’ he whispered. ‘It really does stink here!’
‘You’ll soon get used to it,’ Randalf told him. He turned to the goblin. ‘Thank you, my good fellow. I’d just like to say what an honour, not to say, pleasure it is to . . .’
‘Whatever,’ said the goblin, and walked away.
Joe looked about him. Apart from the smell, Goblintown was amazing. Buildings had been built on other buildings, storey by storey, reaching up higher and higher. Teeming with life, the tall structures lined the maze of narrow alleyways on both sides. Joe looked up nervously as the great towering constructions swayed precariously back and forth. They looked for all the world as if they might topple over at any moment. What was more, since the buildings were so high, almost no sunlight penetrated to the alleys at the bottom.
Not that it was completely dark. Oil lamps hung from every building, bathing the bustling streets in a sickly, yellow light and filling the air with greasy smoke. The rank, burning fat joined the other disgusting smells of Goblintown: the foul odour of baking snotbread, the stale pong of unwashed bodies and the stench bubbling up from the drains.
Muddle Earth Page 3
