by Andy Stanton
‘But why’s it so big?’ asked Jonathan Ripples, poking his head in through the round door.
Oh, how Martin Launderette chuckled inside when he heard this. Because the truth was, he wasn’t just building any old washing machine. He was building the Ripple-izer 2000 and when it was ready he was going to shove Jonathan Ripples inside and start it up.
He always acts so high and mighty! thought Martin. Well, the Ripple-izer 2000 will rinse the smile off his fat face once and for all! It won’t kill him or anything, because this is a children’s book. But it will teach that flabberwhopper a lesson, all right!
‘You’re not up to shenanigans, are you?’ said Jonathan Ripples, who knew the launderette owner only too well.
‘Who, me?’ protested Martin Launderette. ‘Gosh, no. I’m simply building a really big washing machine, that’s all. One that you could fit into – but that’s just a complete coincidence.’
‘Hmm,’ said Jonathan Ripples suspiciously, and off he waddled in all his glorious bulk.
Chapter 5
The Meeting at the Stone Table
Meanwhile, over at the Stone Table on the other side of town, there was serious business taking place. Now, the Stone Table was a mysterious and powerful object of Ancient Times, and it stood in a field of long grass, surrounded by questions and long grass.
How old was it?
Who had built it?
What had it been used for, so long ago?
No one knew the answers, but the best guess came from a famous scientist called Crunchy.
‘I have done careful scientific experiments with a ruler,’ declared Crunchy, ‘and I estimate that this Stone Table is over TWENTY YEARS OLD. And I estimate it was built by PEOPLE. And I estimate it was originally used AS A TABLE. Now I am off to mess around in pyramids and dig up a mummy because that is what scientists do.’
And now, sitting around the Stone Table in the thin December sunshine were Friday, Alan Taylor and Polly, all looking very solemn indeed.
‘Good friends,’ began Friday. ‘I have gathered you here this winter’s morn because Father Christmas has been kidnapped by an evil sparrow who wants all the presents for himself! And it is up to us to come to his rescue –’
‘Friday,’ sighed Polly. ‘That’s just that film we watched last week, A Very Sparrowy Christmas, remember?’
‘Not really,’ said Friday truthfully. ‘So why have I gathered you here this winter’s morn?’
‘Because Mrs Lovely got attacked on Goblin Mountain,’ said Alan Taylor. ‘Remember?’
‘Not really,’ said Friday truthfully. ‘Now listen, friends. Last night a wise dream came to me and a strange voice spoke unto me and it said:
“Hello, Friday. How are you? I like your hat. Oh, by the way, you must go on a brave quest and sort out those goblins before things get worse.”
‘The voice said I must go up Goblin Mountain,’ continued Friday. ‘And I must go armed only with pure thoughts, an honest tongue and a brave heart. Plus a sword in case all that stuff doesn’t work. And so, friends, I depart at noon. But I will need to pick one other brave traveller to accompany me on my quest.’
‘Oh, pick me, pick me, please!!’ cried Polly.
‘Sorry,’ said Friday, shaking his head in a little gesture he’d invented to mean ‘no’.
(Everyone in Lamonic Bibber used his ingenious system – why not try it yourself?)
‘I have decided to take Yellowbeard instead,’ said Friday. And he pointed to a thickset dwarf with a bushy black beard who sat by his side, dressed in chain mail and carrying a battleaxe. Until that moment Polly hadn’t noticed him there.
‘Yellowbeard?’ protested Polly. ‘But Friday, we’re a team, you an’ me! Together we’re the very best at adventures an’ suchlike!’
‘Sorry,’ said Friday. ‘But Yellowbeard the dwarf it is. And he’s my new best friend, by the way.’
Well, just then Alan Taylor gave a little giggle and suddenly Polly realised what was going on.
Hold on, she thought. This looks like one of Friday’s ’mazin’ jokes!
She took a closer look and saw that Yellowbeard was just made out of cardboard. Friday had been up most of the night cutting him out and colouring him in with felt tips.
‘Oh, Frides!’ laughed Polly, pushing Yellowbeard over into the snow. ‘You an’ your ’mazin’ jokes!’
‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’ laughed Friday affectionately. ‘Of course you’re coming with me, Polly!’
‘And I will stay and look after Mrs Lovely,’ proclaimed Alan Taylor. ‘I will teach her about the natural world with my collection of wildlife documentaries. I’ve got a brilliant one about leopards. They are fascinating creatures, and the spots on their fur are known as “spots”.’
‘It is well said, sir,’ remarked Friday, taking out his tuba. ‘Now let us all sing a song to bring this great meeting at the Stone Table to an end. I love songs.’
‘Sorry,’ said Alan Taylor, looking at his tiny chocolate wristwatch. ‘No time for singing – we’ve got to get you two ready.’
And the meeting was done.
The rest of the morning was spent preparing for the quest. Alan Taylor scampered off to buy pies, for he knew the most about baked goods, being one himself. Polly ran to buy thick cloaks, because it would be bitter cold up on Goblin Mountain. And Friday played a computer game down the arcade and got a really high score.
Eventually noon came round, as noon always does. Good old noon, it never lets you down. And it was time for the quest to begin.
‘Farewell, good travellers,’ said Alan Taylor, as Polly hugged him goodbye.
‘Farewell, my crumbly friend,’ said Friday, stooping to tickle the little fellow under the chin. And, having said their goodbyes, the courageous pair turned on their heels and started off down the long and winding road that would take them to Goblin Mountain.
It had started to snow once more, soft white flakes that fell from the sky like angels’ tears. Soon the travellers were just dots in the distance and eventually Alan Taylor could not make them out at all.
’Tis a brave and lonely day, he thought as he stood there, shivering in the icy wind. Will I ever see those two again?
Then he ate his chocolate wristwatch. It sort of spoilt the moment but he’d missed breakfast.
Chapter 6
The Great Gifts
It was coming on dark by the time Polly and Friday reached the foot of Goblin Mountain. The craggy rock loomed over them forbiddingly in the dismal gloom, all twisted like one of those crazy curly twirly funtime drinking straws you sometimes get. They’re hilarious! an old witch’s finger.
‘Polly,’ said Friday, ruffling Polly’s hair affectionately with a hair-ruffling machine set to the ‘affectionate’ setting. ‘Are you absolutely four hundred per cent sure you want to do this?’
But before Polly could answer, the wind howled louder than ever, and up blew a great blanket of snow, turning the world completely white so she couldn’t see a thing.
‘Friday!’ yelled Polly in the sudden emptiness. ‘What’s a-happenin’?’
‘I don’t knooooooow!’ came Friday’s reply – but he sounded a very long way off and in between all that wind and snow, Polly didn’t know which way was which. And now she seemed to hear peculiar noises – wolves a-howling, haunting voices from the past, doorbells ringing in outer space, the sound of a milkmaid sitting on a watermelon . . .
‘Meep,’ whimpered Polly in a small voice. ‘It’s all crazy an’ scary, like them late night films on TV what isn’t for children’s eyes!’
But then the unsettling noises were replaced by another sound, faint at first but growing louder. It was the merry tinkle of a music box, and as it grew in strength the blanket of snow cleared clean away. With some surprise, Polly saw she was still standing at the foot of the mountain, although for some reason Friday was halfway up a fir tree.
And now the sound of the music box seemed to be everywhere as a small boy came w
alking towards them through the snow. And just seeing that boy filled the travellers with warmth, for it was none other than the Spirit of the Rainbow.
‘Child,’ he greeted Polly, though he was no older than she. ‘For weeks I have lain awake thinking about your brave journey.’
‘But we only thought of settin’ off this very mornin’,’ said Polly in wonder.
‘I see many things,’ came the boy’s amazing reply. ‘Past and future, it does not matter which, for I see it all.’
‘Spirit of the Rainbow,’ said Friday, climbing down from the fir tree. ‘YOU were the voice in my dream, telling me to come on this quest! You were, weren’t you, you little scamp!’
‘Old man, I’ve no idea what you’re on about,’ answered the lad. ‘But you will soon face great troubles, so I have come to help you on your way.’
And then the Spirit of the Rainbow turned his face to the sky and spoke a few strange words, words from long ago before the World began. And when he turned back a moment later, he was bearing Great Gifts in his honest hands.
‘Here,’ he said. And very solemnly he presented Friday with a fabulous horn. It shimmered with all the colours of the Universe, and it had a cool picture of a monkey wearing sunglasses on the side.
‘Behold! The legendary Horn of Q’zaal Q’zaal, forged thousands of years ago by the High Otter Priests of Bastos,’ said the boy. ‘When you blow upon it I will come to your aid. But be warned – you may use it only once. After that it is powerless forever.’
Then the boy turned to Polly and handed her his second gift. It was a fruit chew.
‘Behold!’ said the boy, ‘the Fruit Chew of Babylon. It might not look as good as the Horn of Q’zaal Q’zaal,’ he admitted. ‘But a time may come when you learn of its true greatness.’
‘Thank you,’ said Polly. ‘But, please – won’t you come with us an’ help us out?’
‘I wish I could,’ sighed the Spirit of the Rainbow. ‘But long ago before the World began, I made a deal with Robert, the Creator of All Things. And the deal is that I can only help out every now and then. Besides, I have to revise for my maths exam or my Mum will kill me.’
‘Spirit!’ called a voice from down the way. ‘You get inside right now an’ learn yer fractions!’
‘See?’ said the Spirit of the Rainbow. And off he ran.
‘I bet it WAS him in my dream,’ said Friday, watching him go. ‘That’s just the sort of thing he’d get up to.’
So, armed with their Great Gifts, the travellers continued on their way feeling far more courageous than before. But their courage would have turned to porridge and been eaten by the Bears of Doubt if they’d known who was watching them. For high up in his cave, the Goblin King was observing the travellers’ every move.
Chapter 7
The Three Impossible Challenges
‘BLEM!’ yelled the Goblin King furiously as he peered into a golden telescope he’d ‘borrowed’ from a department store. ‘It’s them meddlers! Comin’ up the mountain to meddle with me tunnel-diggin’ plans, no doubt!’
‘Don’t fret, me old shoelace,’ coughed the Burger Wizard, choking on a pipe full of horse fat. ‘They’ll never make it past the Three Impossible Challenges.’
‘Phew,’ said the Goblin King. ‘I’d forgotten about them blurpin’ challenges what all travellers climbing Goblin Mountain have to face. Oho,’ he cried, turning back to the telescope, ‘here comes the first challenge now!’
‘This is gonna be really funty!’ snickered B.W. (You see, that was how the Burger Wizard pronounced the word ‘funny’.)
At that precise moment down on the mountainside the earth shook and trembled, and a dirty great troll stepped out from behind a boulder. He had greasy hair because he only bought cheap shampoo, and like all proper trolls he carried a knobbly wooden club with a nail through it. Oh, he was a fearsome sight. As tall as three men he was, and he went to the gym every week to keep his muscles strong for crushing travellers, and also to impress the girl trolls. Polly hid behind Friday, and Friday hid behind an atom but it was no good – the troll spotted them anyway.
‘RIGHT,’ he shouted in a great booming voice. ‘SHUT UP AND DON’T MOVE!’ He took a roll of parchment from his nostril and began to read:
‘This looks like trouble,’ Friday gulped. ‘Shall we blow the Horn of Q’zaal Q’zaal?’
‘Nah, we only gets one go at that,’ said Polly. ‘I reckon we can handle this one.’
Bravely she stepped forward.
‘Your name is Arthur the Troll,’ said Polly. ‘An’ don’t lie cos I know it is! Now yangle off, hairy!’
‘Lucky guess,’ muttered Arthur the Troll as he yangled off. ‘I’m going to the gym.’
‘NO WAY!’ shouted the Goblin King in disbelief. ‘Somehow them meddlers got past the troll!’
‘Don’t you worry,’ laughed B.W. ‘It’s the witch next! That’ll muck ’em up!’
Down on the mountain a secret door in a rock opened with a scary creaking sound and a witch came out, hobbling along with her little bent back and leaning on a cane.
‘I’m gonna do spells on you!’ she cackled. ‘Yes, that’s right – spells! I’m gonna muck you up!’
‘Did you hear that?’ said Friday in fright. ‘Spells!’
‘Quick!’ said Polly. ‘Blow the Horn of Q’zaal – hold on a moment! She’s not gettin’ nowhere near us!’
It was true. The witch was moving along at about one centimetre a minute. As the travellers watched, she was overtaken by a dead snail.
‘When I get near enough I’m gonna do spells!’ called the witch, brandishing her cane. ‘Then you’ll be sorry! Spells!’
Friday and Polly looked at each other.
‘Shall we escape now or later?’ said Friday.
‘Later,’ said Polly. ‘After supper.’
So Friday fetched some sticks to start a fire, and Polly took out the pies and some apples, and they made a fine meal. And all the while the witch inched along, occasionally calling out her threats.
After they had eaten, the travellers sat and talked awhile. Then they played a few games of backgammon, and after that they did a 10,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. Altogether it was a very jolly time but eventually Friday stood up.
‘Well, we’d better hurry off or the witch will catch us in a few hours,’ he said. So up Polly got and together they continued on their way.
‘Just you wait ’til I’m close enough to do my spells!’ the witch called after them, shaking her fist very slowly. Moss was growing on her shoes. ‘Then you’ll be sorry!’
‘UNBELIEVABLE!’ screamed the Goblin King, staring into the telescope. ‘Somehow them meddlers beat the witch an’ all!’
‘True,’ admitted B.W. ‘But they’ll never survive the final challenge.’
‘What, that thing that looks like a gherkin?’ sneered the Goblin King. ‘Come off it, he’s the easiest one of the lot.’
Down on the mountain, the thing that looked like a gherkin rolled menacingly towards the travellers. Friday stepped on it with his boot and they continued on their way.
‘FRIMP!’ shouted the Goblin King. ‘If you ask me, them Impossible Challenges is a load of old toilet. Hoi! Captain Ankles!’ he called – and instantly the Goblin Captain appeared, accompanied by his faithful Lieutenant, Oink Balloon.
‘Now, listen, Ankles,’ said the Goblin King. ‘I wants you to go an’ capture some meddlers for me. It’s a big important job, right, so take yer best soldiers with you. Take Wippy, Livermonk, Big Steve, Funk-Whistle, Soupdog, Jingles and Yak Triangle. An’ don’t you let me down, Ankles, or I’ll introduce you to me bashin’ fist!’
Once he’d dealt with that, the Goblin King turned to more important matters.
‘Oi, Burger Wizard, where’s me supper?’ he demanded.
‘Right here, me old balaclava,’ laughed B.W., holding up a plate of greenish meat and thistles.
And there in the cave the two ruffians dined on their slops like common swine, whi
le all around the goblins shrieked and hooted and roared.
‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed the Goblin King through a mouthful of pig’s bladder. ‘This is the life!’
Chapter 8
Night on Goblin Mountain
As night fell, the travellers were making camp. Polly lit a fire and Friday found a wild rabbit to cook, which was lucky because he was too tired to cook for himself. The rabbit whipped up some omelettes while the travellers gazed out over the mountainside into the vast, starry night.
Far below, the lights of Lamonic Bibber twinkled welcomingly. The houses looked warm and inviting, and Polly imagined she could hear the happy laughter of children coming from within. In the middle of town a plume of blue smoke was just visible. It was coming from Martin Launderette’s VERY SECRET INVENTION, the Ripple-izer 2000.
Gazing over the scene, Polly felt tears well up in her eyes, not just because the rabbit was peeling an onion, but because she realised how much she loved Lamonic Bibber, every last bit of it.
‘I loves that town,’ she said fiercely, and her heart swelled with pride as she spoke. ‘It’s the best place in the world an’ I don’t never wants to live nowhere else, that’s all I got to say on the subject, the end.’
‘Well said, Polly,’ nodded Friday. He himself felt a little homesick for his secret cottage in the woods and a nice Sunday roast and sitting on Mrs Lovely’s lap, eating yogurts. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, taking out his grand piano. ‘This is the perfect moment for a song. I’ve a new one I’ve been working on. It’s called “Me And Uncle Radish”.
