The Islands of the Blessed by Nancy Farmer Page A

ARRIVE
    â€œFestering fungi!” yelled one of the shapes. “What kind of company do you keep, Dragon Tongue? I thought the Great Worm and her nine wormlets had come to devour me!” A creature with large eyes shining in the moonlight and a wide, lipless mouth bounded up to them.
    â€œThe Nemesis?” said Jack, hardly daring to believe his eyes.
    â€œWho else would I be?” the hobgoblin snarled. “Certainly not his Royal Stupidity there. ‘Let’s visit Jack’s village,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if darling Pega has changed her mind about marriage.’ Idiot! Why would a winsome girl like that want an oaf like him?”
    Jack laughed in spite of himself. The Nemesis went on spouting insults as the Bugaboo appeared, filthy and dripping. “Any port in a storm, eh?” the hobgoblin king said cheerfully. “When I heard that howl, I ducked into the nearest hole. Too bad it was full of mud!”
    â€œYou can bathe in a stream on the way home,” the Bard said.
    â€œDelighted to see you again, sir,” the Bugaboo told the old man. “And you, too, Jack. What a treat! Tell me, is Pega, um, her lovely self? Does she miss me?”
    Jack didn’t know what to say. Pega thanked God on her knees every day that she hadn’t married the hobgoblin king and gone to live in a musty cave full of mushrooms.
    â€œI’m sure she’ll faint dead away when she sees you,” sneered the Nemesis.
    â€œIt might be a good idea to limit the number of people who do see you,” the Bard suggested. “Folks here might mistake you for demons, and we wouldn’t want them to take after you with rocks and rakes.”
    â€œIt’s our traditional welcome,” the Bugaboo said, sighing. “What was that horrible cry we heard in the woodland?”
    â€œSuch a tale is best left for daytime.” The Bard hunched over his staff, and Jack realized that the old man was completely exhausted.
    â€œWe should go home now,” the boy said. “I’m sure we can find room for a pair of old friends.”
    â€œMore than a pair, actually,” said the Bugaboo. “You can come out now, Blewit. It’s perfectly safe.”
    A skinny hobgoblin appeared from behind a bush, struggling with a bundle. Jack was amazed to see the long, gloomy face of Mr. Blewit. The bundle wriggled free and dropped to the ground.
    It was Hazel, Jack’s long-lost sister.
    The little girl bounded over the grass exactly like a sprogling, or young hobgoblin. “Oh, goody! Mud men! My favorite treat,” the child squealed.
    Jack lifted her into his arms, intending to swing her around, but she weighed twice as much as he’d expected. He put her down again.
    â€œI’m along to make sure you don’t steal my baby,” growled Mr. Blewit. “This is a visit, mind you. Don’t get too used to her.”
    Get used to her?
Jack wasn’t sure he could ever do that. He loved her, of course. She was his sister. But she’d been stolen as an infant by hobgoblins. When he’d found her in the Land of the Silver Apples, Hazel didn’t even know she was human. She imitated the hobgoblins’ froggy ways, blinking her eyes one after the other as they did. She attempted to snag moths out of the air with her tongue. She even gleeped, making an ugly plopping sound that indicated joy.
    â€œStop nitter-nattering, Blewit,” the Nemesis ordered. “Our feet will have put down roots by the time you finish moaning. I’ll carry Dragon Tongue.” The hobgoblin hoisted the Bard as easily as a man picking up a kitten. Jack was relieved that the surly Nemesis had realized the old man’s exhaustion. Being carried like a baby wasn’t the most dignified way to travel,but the Bard didn’t complain. With Jack leading the way, the group set off for the old Roman house.
    â€œI remember this place,” said the Bugaboo as they reached