Goblins by Philip Reeve Page A

That’s no goblin; that is Master Skarper!”
    The giant lowered his club and bent his huge grey head to stare at Skarper. “ Looks like a goblin,” he rumbled. “ Smells like a goblin. . .”
    “He is a goblin.” Carnglaze’s hand came down on Skarper’s shoulder and gripped it firmly. “But this goblin saved my life,” he said. “I don’t know what his reasons were, but it would not be right to kill him now.”
    The giant pulled off his hat and scratched his thatch of hair. “Softlings vouching for a goblin? I’ve never heard the like of that before.”
    “A giant and a man fighting side by side?” said Fentongoose. “That’s new to me.”
    The young man bowed. “I am Henwyn of Adherak,” he said. In the dim light and all the excitement he had not recognized the three trembling sorcerers. The sorcerers recognized him, though, and exchanged uneasy glances while he explained, “This is Fraddon: he’s a giant. I came to Clovenstone to slay him, but he turned out not to need slaying, and when we heard those goblin horns parping and realized someone was in trouble we came as fast as our legs could – that is, as fast as Fraddon’s legs could carry us. I thought I might as well slay something, since I’d gone to all the trouble of coming here. . .” He looked regretfully at his dented sword. He felt rather proud of the way he’d gone straight for that big goblin. He’d had no idea its armour would be so thick.
    “Goblins,” rumbled Fraddon ominously, and looked northward, as if he were regretting not having flattened King Knobbler and a few of his boys while he had the chance.
    “He is quite safe , I take it?” Fentongoose asked Henwyn, looking up nervously at the giant.
    “And what about all these twiggy things?” quavered Prawl.
    The trees that overhung the river were thick with twiglings. Hundreds of black eyes peered down at them through the twilight.
    “There’s no real harm in the twiglings,” said Henwyn. “They don’t like people much, and they sort of captured me earlier, but they hate goblins even more, and Fraddon persuaded them to come with us. While Fraddon’s here they’ll do us no harm – oh, but do not make a light!” he added, for he had seen Fentongoose pulling out flint and kindling, ready to light a torch.
    The twiglings rustled ominously. “No fire. Fire bads, bads.”
    “Put it away, Fentongoose,” said Carnglaze.
    “Fentongoose?” cried Henwyn, and he suddenly understood why these three travellers seemed so oddly familiar. “You! The Sable Conclave!”
    “We can explain everything!” the sorcerers said hastily.
    “We didn’t mean for the cheese spell to work as it did. . .”
    “Indeed, we didn’t know that it would work at all!”
    “Then why did you make me pay eight gold pieces for it?”
    “Er. . .”
    “We needed that money!”
    “We had to have supplies and transport for our journey to Clovenstone.”
    “Boat fare up the Sethyn as far as Sticklebridge, a guide to lead us across the Oeth Moor. . .”
    “Such things aren’t cheap. . .”
    “So we mixed up that elixir. . .”
    “We’d heard from your neighbours in Adherak that you were a bit of a fool. . .”
    “That is, they’d said that you were broad-minded and open to new ideas. . .”
    “So we thought you might buy it from us. . .”
    “It was supposed to give life and body to your cheese.”
    “Well it did that all right!” shouted Henwyn, knowing that he would be well within his rights as a hero to chop off the heads of these treacherous magicians, and wishing they didn’t look quite so much like harmless, dithery old men.
    “If you can work magic on cheese,” said Skarper, “why can’t you work it on goblins? Why couldn’t you have turned Knobbler into a bat or a hat or something?”
    “To be quite honest,” said Fentongoose awkwardly, “we cannot work magic. Not yet, in spite of all our studies. Except for that one time, with the cheese, and we are none of us sure