Chapter One: Entertaining"Witch Sharkadder! My old friend!" cried Witch Pongwiffy, opening the front boulder with her very best welcoming smile firmly fixed in place.
"What a lovely surprise. Welcome to my humble cave. My, you do look nice. Is that a new hairdo, or have you had some sort of terrible shock, ha ha? Just my little joke. Come in, come in. Let me take your hat."
She seized the tall hat, gave it a respectful little brush and waited until Sharkadder?s back was turned before booting it into a dark corner.
"It?s hardly a surprise if you knew I was coming," remarked Sharkadder coldly, advancing into the cave. "I know you want to be my friend again, Pongwiffy, but I?m not at all sure I want to be yours. Do stop putting it on."
There was no doubt that Pongwiffy was being revoltingly smarmy -- but it was for good reason. You see, she and Sharkadder were usually best friends, but they had recently had one of their quarrels, and Pongwiffy was anxious to make amends.
"Oh, you're not still thinking about that silly old quarrel are you? Come on, Sharky, let bygones be bygones. Have a look at my new cave. I only moved in last week. You're my first guest."
Sharkadder stared around distastefully.
Pongwiffy's cave wasn't a pleasant sight. It had shocking damp problems for a start. Slimy green moss grew on the walls, and the floor was a seat of muddy puddles. The broken-down furniture wasn't so much arranged as thrown in any old how. Thick black steam belched from the horrible looking slop which bubbled and glopped in the cauldron.
"Well, sit down, Sharky, make yourself at home," fussed Pongwiffy, removing Sharkadder's cloak and dropping it into a slimy pool.
"There's nowhere to sit," observed Sharkadder truthfully.
"You'll have to use that cardboard box. I haven't sorted the chairs out yet. That's the trouble when you've just moved in. It takes ages to get organized, doesn't it?"
"You've never been organized," said Shark-adder. "What's that terrible stink? Smells like dead skunk."
"It is," said Pongwiffy cheerfully. "It's tonight's supper. My specialty. You'll love it. Skunk stew. I'll just give it a stir," and she took a large ladle and poked at the heaving goo in the cauldron.
"Oh," said Sharkadder, wishing she'd stayed at home. "Skunk stew. Really?"
"I knew you'd be pleased," said Pongwiffy. "Now, tell me truthfully. How do you like the cave? It's a little damp, I know, and perhaps a bit small, but it was very cheap. Of course, it's a nuisance being in Goblin Territory, but I can't afford anything better at the moment. What do you think of it?"
"It's a dump," said Sharkadder. "It's a smelly little slum. It's not fit to live in. It's squalid and yucky. It's the worst cave I've ever been in. It suits you."
"It does, doesn't it?" agreed Pongwiffy, pleased. "I feel it's me. It's a pity about the Goblins, though. I'll tell you about them later. Now then. How much stew for you, Sharky?"
"Er -- about half a teaspoon," said Sharkadder hastily. "I had a huge lunch. And I think I've got a touch of tummy trouble. And I'm slimming."
"Nonsense," said Pongwiffy, relentlessly approaching with a huge, greasy plateful. "Get that down you. You don't need to slim. You're beautifully thin. You could model rags with that figure. And that's a lovely perfume you're wearing. Don't tell me -- let me guess. Night In a Fish Factory, right? And I do so like the new hairstyle. It really suits you. Brings out the beakiness of your nose."
"It does, doesn't it?" agreed Sharkadder, finally coming around after such an onslaught of flattery. She scrabbled in her bag, took out a small, cracked hand mirror and examined the frazzled mess with satisfaction.
"I've got some new hair rollers," she explained. "Little hedgehogs. You warm them up. Not too much, or they get bad tempered and nip. Just enough to send them to sleep. Then you wind the hair around, and wait for them to cool. And it comes out all curly, like this."
"Beautiful," nodded Pongwiffy through a mouthful of stew. "You always look so nice, Sharky. I don't know how you do it."
"Yes, well I do try to take care of myself," agreed Sharkadder, tossing her tangles and applying sickly green lipstick. "You'd look a lot better yourself if you washed once in a while. And changed that disgusting old cardigan."
"What's wrong with my cardigan?" asked Pongwiffy, clutching the offending garment to her bony chest.
"What's right with it? It's got holes. It's got no buttons. You've spilled so many droppings down it, you can hardly see the pattern. It looks like it's been knitted with congealed egg. Want me to go on?"
"No," muttered Pongwiffy sulkily.
But it was true. Pongwiffy's sense of personal hygiene left a lot to be desired.
"As for those flies that buzz around you all day long, it's time you swatted them," added Sharkadder, enjoying herself.
"Swat Buzz and Dave? Never!" declared Pongwiffy, aghast at the idea. She was fond of her flies. They circled around her hat, shared her food, and slept on her pillow at night.
"Look, let's not talk about flies and cardigans. You'll never change me, Sharky. I like the way I am. Try some stew. I made it specially."
"I can't. I haven't got a spoon," hedged Sharkadder.
"What on earth do you need a spoon for? Slurp it from the plate, like I'm doing," said Pongwiffy, demonstrating.
"No, I want a spoon," insisted Sharkadder.
Pongwiffy sighed and went to the sink. Sharkadder watched her crawl under the table, duck under the cobwebs, heave a heavy wardrobe to one side and kick a dozen cardboard boxes out of the way.
"I don't know how you bear it," said Sharkadder with a shudder. "Don't you ever tidy up?"
"Nope," said Pongwiffy truthfully, retracing her route with the spoon.
Sharkadder eyed it with a critical frown. "It's dirty," she observed. "What's all this crusty stuff?"
"Last week's skunk stew," explained Pongwiffy. "No point in washing it, seeing as we're having the same. Now, what was I going to tell you? Oh yes. My new neighbors. You see..."
"I want a clean spoon," interrupted Sharkadder.
The strain of being a polite hostess was suddenly more than Pongwiffy could bear.
"Honestly!" she shouted. "You're such a fuss-pot sometimes. I go to all the trouble of inviting you for supper, and all you do is..."
Just at that moment, there came an interruption. There was an ear-splitting crash, and the walls shook. The Goblins in the cave next door had arrived home. You should know quite a bit about the Goblins Next Door, because they feature rather a lot in this story.
The Goblins Next Door consisted of a whole Gaggle. A Gaggle? That's seven Goblins. These were called Plugugly, Stinkwort, Eyesore, Slopbucket, Sproggit, Hog and Lardo. They moved in a week ago, about the same time as Pongwiffy, and they had already caused her no end of aggravation.
This seems a good time to tell you a little about Goblins in general. Then you can decide for yourself whether or not you would care to live next door to them.
The most important thing you should know about Goblins is this: they are very, very, very stupid. Take the business of their hunting night -- Tuesdays. That's when they hunt. It's Traditional. Whatever the weather, every Tuesday they all troop out regardless and spend from dusk till midnight crashing about the woods hoping to catch something. They never do. It's common knowledge that the Goblins are out on Tuesdays, so everyone with any sense stays safely indoors and has an early night.
The Goblins are always surprised to find the woods deserted -- but they'd never think of changing their hunting night to, say, Thursdays, thus catching everyone unawares. That's how stupid they are. Of course, you could forgive them their stupidity if they weren't so generally all around horrible.
After the futile hunt, Goblins always have a party. The party is always a flop, because there's never anything to eat, and invariably ends with a big fight. Goblins like fighting. It goes with their stupidity, and the Tuesday night punch-up has now developed into a Goblin Tradition. It's a silly one -- but then, all their Traditions are silly. Here are a few more, just to give you the idea:
Painting Their Traps Bright Red; Bellowing Loud Hunting Songs While Walking on Tiptoe; Stomping Around in Broad Daylight with Faces Smeared with Soot so they won't be noticed; Wearing Bobbly Hats, even in a heat wave, To Stop The Brains Freezing Up; Cutting the Traditional Hole in the Bottom of the Hunting Bag, so that whatever goes in immediately falls out again. Right, that's enough about Goblins in general. Let's now get back to the Gaggle in the cave next door to Pongwiffy.
All Goblins are great music lovers, and Pongwiffy's new neighbors were no exception. They kept her up to all hours, playing ghastly Goblin music at very high volume. Now, Goblin music sounds rather like a combination of nails scraping on blackboards, burglar alarms, and dustbin lids blowing down the road, so you see what she had to put up with.
It was most unfortunate, then, that the Gaggle next door chose the very night that Pongwiffy was entertaining Sharkadder to supper to hold their Official Cave Warming Party.
Just take a look at the following:
7 Goblins make a Gaggle3 Gaggles make a Brood
2 Broods make a Tribe
1 Tribe makes life unbearable.
The Gaggle next door had invited no less than two entire Tribes to their cave warming -- and that, if you can't work it out for yourself, is eighty-four Goblins! They all arrived at the same time, singing. Can you imagine?
A hundred squabblin' Goblins,Hobblin' in a line,
One got stuck in a bog, me boys,
Then there were ninety-nine...
they howled joyfully, pouring into the cave. Next door, Sharkadder leaped from her cardboard box, sending the plate of Skunk stew crashing to the floor.
"My new neighbors," explained Pongwiffy, scooping the spilled stew onto her own plate. "I'll eat this if you don't want it."
Ninety-nine squabblin' Goblins,Hobblin' out to skate,
One went under the ice, me boys,
Then ther...
--This text refers to the
Unbound
edition.
