mad caper.
It was a curious sort of rout altogether though. Howls of laughter rolled out over the water, and within the space of a moment, all the goblins were blazing like little upright bonfires. Ahab leaped up behind the great pot-stirring goblin and, unmindful of his grim, melting face and flaming head, picked him up by the seat of his trousers and, with a shake and a bit of prancing, flung him overside and into the river.
The thing shrieked as it fell, hissing and bubbling. When it finally sputtered to the surface, the goblin didn’t appear half so terrifying as when it went in. Now it looked simply like a very wet, evil, sorry little man. Its companions on the raft, however, remained flaming and ranting and took to throwing things at the floating goblin.
Ahab was pleased with his work and wasted no time before latching onto another and sending him riverward. Jonathan, bucked up at the sight of the courageous Ahab, and Professor Wurzle, fearing that his oboe gun would be lost in the river, shot across the final few feet of water between them and the raft and looped the painter around the bolt in the stern.
Then it was but a simple thing to climb up over the rail because the goblins – the six or so that were left – were dashing in a fiery circle about the deck, round and round the hold. It was impossible to tell whether Ahab, smack in the center, was chasing the goblins or the goblins were chasing Ahab.
What stirred the Professor into action was the sight of one of the goblins brandishing the dripping oboe gun above his head. The weapon had clearly been cranked up, for the whirl-gatherers were twirling and it seemed as if at any moment, the thing would wrench itself free and sail off on one of its lunatic journeys.
The Professor went for the goblin and grabbed at the gun, but the goblin held on, hooting and shrieking and tearing at Professor Wurzle with its talons. Old Wurzle, unmindful of the pain, flew into a very pretty rage when the oboe gun pulled free and sailed out over the river. Through a clear space in the fog the Professor saw the gun sail fifty feet or so, bury itself in the water, and emerge again a bit further on only to disappear into the swirling mists. His oboe gun was lost, and this time there were no handy trees to climb to fetch it back.
Professor Wurzle, in a fit of rage, dumped the clawing, flaming goblin, still laughing and hooting in a tiresome way, into the river.
Jonathan and Ahab pursued the last of the goblins around the deck. Finally, Dooly, plucked up enough courage to clamber up onto the raft and, emboldened by the sudden lack of goblins on board, collared the last one. Then, shutting his eyes so as not to have to look it in the face, Dooly pitched it into the river.
Goblin heads bobbed out of sight in the direction of the far shore. Their laughter, now somewhat dampened, faded in the night. Besides the gallant Ahab, the three companions sat puffing on the bow, Jonathan tut-tutting over the loss of the oboe gun. If truth were told, however, he wasn’t as concerned as he seemed, for he had never been entirely convinced of the thing’s usefulness.
It must have been close to three in the morning when finally they sailed out of the bank of fog into the clear night again. The Goblin Wood was a dark, misty blotch on the hillsides behind, and the bright moon shined once again along the riverside. Hillocky grasslands ran away for miles on either side toward the sea.
It took an hour of puttering about for the crew to straighten the mess and tally the losses. The strangest thing was that the cauldron had entirely disappeared. Where it had been, or had appeared to be, was a heap of scrap and trash: several broken barrel staves, some rusted bits of metal, fragments of crockery, Dooly’s troll chain, and the skeletal remains of a half dozen oddly shaped fish no doubt caught, from the river by the goblins.
They threw the whole mess overboard with the exception of Dooly’s chain which
It was a curious sort of rout altogether though. Howls of laughter rolled out over the water, and within the space of a moment, all the goblins were blazing like little upright bonfires. Ahab leaped up behind the great pot-stirring goblin and, unmindful of his grim, melting face and flaming head, picked him up by the seat of his trousers and, with a shake and a bit of prancing, flung him overside and into the river.
The thing shrieked as it fell, hissing and bubbling. When it finally sputtered to the surface, the goblin didn’t appear half so terrifying as when it went in. Now it looked simply like a very wet, evil, sorry little man. Its companions on the raft, however, remained flaming and ranting and took to throwing things at the floating goblin.
Ahab was pleased with his work and wasted no time before latching onto another and sending him riverward. Jonathan, bucked up at the sight of the courageous Ahab, and Professor Wurzle, fearing that his oboe gun would be lost in the river, shot across the final few feet of water between them and the raft and looped the painter around the bolt in the stern.
Then it was but a simple thing to climb up over the rail because the goblins – the six or so that were left – were dashing in a fiery circle about the deck, round and round the hold. It was impossible to tell whether Ahab, smack in the center, was chasing the goblins or the goblins were chasing Ahab.
What stirred the Professor into action was the sight of one of the goblins brandishing the dripping oboe gun above his head. The weapon had clearly been cranked up, for the whirl-gatherers were twirling and it seemed as if at any moment, the thing would wrench itself free and sail off on one of its lunatic journeys.
The Professor went for the goblin and grabbed at the gun, but the goblin held on, hooting and shrieking and tearing at Professor Wurzle with its talons. Old Wurzle, unmindful of the pain, flew into a very pretty rage when the oboe gun pulled free and sailed out over the river. Through a clear space in the fog the Professor saw the gun sail fifty feet or so, bury itself in the water, and emerge again a bit further on only to disappear into the swirling mists. His oboe gun was lost, and this time there were no handy trees to climb to fetch it back.
Professor Wurzle, in a fit of rage, dumped the clawing, flaming goblin, still laughing and hooting in a tiresome way, into the river.
Jonathan and Ahab pursued the last of the goblins around the deck. Finally, Dooly, plucked up enough courage to clamber up onto the raft and, emboldened by the sudden lack of goblins on board, collared the last one. Then, shutting his eyes so as not to have to look it in the face, Dooly pitched it into the river.
Goblin heads bobbed out of sight in the direction of the far shore. Their laughter, now somewhat dampened, faded in the night. Besides the gallant Ahab, the three companions sat puffing on the bow, Jonathan tut-tutting over the loss of the oboe gun. If truth were told, however, he wasn’t as concerned as he seemed, for he had never been entirely convinced of the thing’s usefulness.
It must have been close to three in the morning when finally they sailed out of the bank of fog into the clear night again. The Goblin Wood was a dark, misty blotch on the hillsides behind, and the bright moon shined once again along the riverside. Hillocky grasslands ran away for miles on either side toward the sea.
It took an hour of puttering about for the crew to straighten the mess and tally the losses. The strangest thing was that the cauldron had entirely disappeared. Where it had been, or had appeared to be, was a heap of scrap and trash: several broken barrel staves, some rusted bits of metal, fragments of crockery, Dooly’s troll chain, and the skeletal remains of a half dozen oddly shaped fish no doubt caught, from the river by the goblins.
They threw the whole mess overboard with the exception of Dooly’s chain which
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