Goblins and Gold Page 3

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as Brian pulled a very large pair of sunglasses out of her bag and put them on over the top of her normal glasses.

  ‘See that chap over there?’ she hissed, pointing at a short man with a very long grey beard, wearing a tall, pointed hat.

  Joderick nodded.

  ‘I went to school with him and he’s the worst,’ she said. ‘Total braggart, always going on about how brilliant he is. Haven’t the time to deal with that particular goblin today.’

  Ooh, a goblin! thought Joderick, craning his neck to get a better look. He’d never seen a goblin before. In fact, he hadn’t even thought they were real until now. Fairies, goblins, talking bears … he was starting to wonder what other kinds of creature he was going to meet on this adventure.

  ‘What you waiting for?’ Brian said, snapping her fingers at the distracted prince. ‘We’ve got a half-fairy to find – there’s no time to waste!’

  There were lots of things Cinders didn’t especially enjoy. Doing the dishes, mopping the floors and clipping her stepmother’s toenails on a Sunday evening were among her least favourite activities, but it turned out the thing she liked least of all was being trapped in a goblin’s living room. Even though she felt as if she’d been in there forever, it had only been about half an hour, but, in that time, she’d already wished up three big bags full of gold.

  ‘I’ll be back when I’ve spent all this,’ the little man cackled as he waved on his way out. ‘Don’t you go anywhere!’

  Hilarious, Cinders thought, staring wistfully at the door.

  ‘He’d better let me have a go on the FunStation,’ she muttered, stretching her legs out as far as she could.

  She looked round the living room. Surely there had to be something she could do to get out of there even without magic. After all, she’d only been able to grant her own wishes for the last few days, and her dad always said she was a clever girl. She would get herself out of this pickle without wishing if she had to.

  ‘There has to be at least one thing in here with his name on it,’ she said out loud. ‘If I can just find it, I can get out.’

  Cinders’s sisters had lots of things with their names on. Eleanor and Agnes had hats and T-shirts and jumpers and necklaces and badges and even special mugs that they took with them to the coffee shop in the village, all inscribed with their names. Cinders had written her name on the label of her nightie, but that was about it. Cinderella wasn’t an especially popular name in the kingdom. Or anywhere else for that matter.

  But there wasn’t a single named necklace, special mug or even so much as a piece of post lying around the living room that displayed the goblin’s name.

  For the time being, at least, Cinders was stuck, but she wasn’t ready to give up. She knew her friends were out there, probably searching high and low for her. Sparks, Hansel and Mouse would move mountains to find her, of that she was sure.

  *

  ‘Do you reckon Cinders will be mad that we’ve started without her?’ Hansel asked Sparks, while stuffing his face with a particularly yummy ham-and-cheese sandwich. This was his second particularly yummy ham-and-cheese sandwich of the ten particularly yummy ham-and-cheese sandwiches they had bought with their magic gold. While Cinders was trapped in the goblin’s front room, Sparks and Hansel were halfway through a most delicious picnic.

  The big red dog looked at the boy with a very serious expression on his face.

  ‘Cinders never needs to know,’ he instructed. ‘Besides, if she was that hungry, she wouldn’t have run off and disappeared, would she?’

  They had returned to the spot where they’d left her very promptly, but she wasn’t there. Well, it was fairly promptly … After they’d both gone for a wee, washed their hands, had a drink of pop and a hot dog, wandered around a bit, then been to find the sandwich stand. It wasn’t their fault. There really was an awful lot to see at a marketplace halfway to Fairyland.

  ‘Sparks, have you always known that Cinders’s mum was a fairy?’ Hansel asked.

  ‘I can’t remember everything from when I was a puppy,’ Sparks replied. ‘But I always knew she was special.’

  ‘Did you know Cinders was a fairy?’ Hansel asked.

  ‘I got an idea about it when she wished me a metre up off the ground,’ Sparks replied, growling at the memory. Dogs were not meant to fly.

  ‘Do you think Cinders likes me?’ Hansel asked.

  ‘You’re full of questions today,’ Sparks said, snaffling another sausage. ‘What’s brought on this sudden and uncharacteristic quest for knowledge?’

  Two pink spots blossomed in Hansel’s cheeks.

  ‘Just wondering is all,’ he mumbled as he took another bite of his sandwich. ‘Sometimes I’m not sure.’

  ‘Perhaps a better question would be: do you like Cinders?’ Sparks asked.

  Colouring up, Hansel brushed the crumbs off his face and straightened his little hat.

  ‘On to more important things – how much money have we got left?’

  ‘More than enough,’ Sparks replied, pawing through their stash of coins. ‘I think we should look for some dessert. Wherever Cinders has disappeared to, I’m sure she’ll come running back at the first sniff of a freshly baked doughnut.’

  Hansel gave a confirming nod and the two of them set off into the market once again, weaving in and out of the stalls, following their noses with happy hearts.

  ‘You like Cinders, don’t you?’ Sparks asked, trotting alongside Hansel.

  ‘For a half-fairy, half-girl who can do magic and almost got us eaten by a munklepoop,’ Hansel said, blushing so brightly that even the tips of his ears turned bright red, ‘she’s all right.’

  Sparks grinned, his tail wagging extra hard.

  ‘Say, isn’t that Mouse?’ Hansel asked, pointing across the marketplace.

  ‘Don’t you try to change the subject,’ Sparks woofed. ‘You admitted it! You like Cinders!’

  ‘No, really!’ Hansel yelled as a tall speckled horse with big, flickering whiskers careened around the market, crashing into stalls, dodging the angry stallholders and squeaking in a loud and very un-horse-like manner. ‘It’s definitely Mouse, and Cinders isn’t with him!’

  ‘Wherever has she got to?’ Sparks wondered, his fur bristling with worry. It wouldn’t be the first time Cinders had found herself in deep trouble, after all.

  ‘Mouse!’ cried Hansel, leaping into his path. ‘Mouse, stop! It’s us! Where’s Cinders?’

  But, if Mouse recognised them, he didn’t show it. His eyes were wild and his whiskers were twitching and he looked very, very worried indeed.

  ‘Grab that mouse-horse!’ Sparks barked as Mouse raced towards them, galloping faster than ever. Hansel readied himself, arms outstretched, legs bent, ready to grab Mouse’s reins as he ran by. Mouse came closer, Hansel squatted lower, reached out, grasped the reins and—

  ‘Whoa there!’ he yelped as Mouse kept on galloping, Hansel still clinging to the reins. ‘Sparks! Help!’

  ‘A dog’s work is never done,’ groaned the shaggy red dog as he took off after the runaway Mouse and the boy that was being dragged along beside him.

  Most people would think it would be hard to sneak out of a palace and creep off to meet a witch to buy a magical potion when the king, who lived in the castle, hated witches and magic, but it was really quite easy.

  Or at least it was easy if you were as good at sneaking around as Margery.

  The witch in question was the same witch who lived in a lovely gingerbread cottage, not far from Hansel’s house, and her name was Veronica. She knew lots of people liked to tell stories about witches, about how they’re mean and they wear black all the time and they’re forever cooking children, but, other than enjoying a very stylish black ensemble from time to time, Veronica wasn’t anything like those kinds of witches. For starters, she was a vegan.

  ‘Knock-knock!’ Margery called as she opened the door to the witch’s cottage and let herself in. They had known each ot
her for years, but you wouldn’t exactly call them friends. Mostly because Margery didn’t really have any friends.

  ‘Hello,’ Veronica replied, waving to Cinders’s stepmother from behind her cauldron where she was stirring up something that smelled delicious, like caramel and cocoa and the first bite of a birthday cake. ‘What can I do for you today?’

  Veronica was not entirely thrilled to see Margery in her home. She only came to visit when she wanted something.

  ‘It’s my poor, dear husband,’ Margery said, swooning on to the settee in the middle of the living room. Very comfy, she noted, wondering whether or not she should buy the same one for her new, soon-to-be-permanent quarters at the palace. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard the news?’

  Veronica nodded. She had heard the news, but she was having trouble believing it. She’d known Cinders ever since she was a little girl and yes, she’d been known to get into the occasional scrape now and then but, for the most part, she was an outstanding girl. Always kind and polite and ready to help out, and very often carrying snacks. The thought that she might have been running round the kingdom, casting evil spells on people, seemed very unlikely to Veronica. While she preferred the term ‘herbal mixologist’ to ‘witch’, she did have an idea of how hard it was to cast spells, especially evil ones. Cinders didn’t have the heart for it.

  ‘Do you want me to see if I can bring Cinders home?’

  ‘Cripes, no!’ Margery frowned. ‘I need more of your sleeping draught, for her father. He’s been in a terrible state ever since she ran away, and it’s the only thing that helps him get any rest.’

  Veronica raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. She was a very well turned-out woman.

  ‘You need more?’ she asked cautiously. ‘But I gave you a month’s supply just last week. How much is he taking?’

  Margery pursed her lips. She needed to play this one carefully. As far as anyone else was concerned, Cinders’s father had fallen into a deep sleep ever since his daughter went missing. No one needed to know she had been slipping him a sleeping potion to keep him that way.

  ‘I’m following your instructions to the letter,’ she replied in a haughty tone. ‘Although, I must confess, I might have taken a smidgen myself.’

  But Veronica still didn’t look convinced.

  ‘And maybe my girls have popped a drop or two into their bedtime hot chocolate,’ Margery added.

  ‘Even so,’ Veronica said, ‘you’ve got through it awfully quickly, Margery. One spoonful of that potion is enough to put an elephant to sleep for a year.’

  Margery sat up on the sofa and fixed her sort-of friend with a very stern glare.

  ‘It’s a very nice home you’ve got here,’ she said, standing up and walking round the room, taking in all of Veronica’s lovely things. ‘You have heard the king is cracking down on all things magical, I suppose? It would be such a shame if he sent a search party here. They’re not terribly careful with people’s belongings.’

  Veronica set down her ladle, the cauldron bubbling before her.

  ‘And breaking your things is probably the best-case scenario,’ Margery went on, picking up a particularly pretty vase. ‘I’d absolutely, positively hate it if they ended up throwing you in the dungeons.’

  ‘And why would the king send a search party here?’ Veronica asked quietly. ‘Is that a threat?’

  The other woman turned round with a big smile on her face.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, sounding utterly relieved. ‘I’m so glad you caught on. I was worried I was being too subtle. Now, about the sleeping draught?’

  With great reluctance, Veronica pulled a large blue glass bottle from the shelf behind her and handed it over.

  ‘Be very careful with it,’ she warned. ‘If you take too much, there’s a very good chance you’ll never wake up.’

  Margery’s eyes glittered with happiness.

  ‘Is that so?’ she replied, smiling so broadly that Veronica could see all her teeth. ‘That’s very helpful to know.’

  With one last dashing grin, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door.

  ‘Say,’ she called over her shoulder, one hand on the door handle. ‘Where did you get your settee?’

  ‘It’s one of a kind,’ Veronica replied. ‘Custom-made.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Margery said as she let herself out. ‘That’s a shame, isn’t it?’

  The witch couldn’t quite work out whether it was a shame for her or a shame for Margery, but, either way, she was very, very worried.

  ‘Lovely to see you!’ Margery sang. ‘We must do this again soon … if you’re still here.’

  ‘So, my dad said there haven’t been any fairies in the kingdom for more than a hundred years,’ Joderick said, traipsing behind Brian as they scoured the marketplace. At each and every stall, Joderick was supposed to distract the stall owner while Brian searched for Cinders. So far they hadn’t found anything other than some interesting pyramid-shaped soaps, a pair of cufflinks made out of stardust and a strong telling-off from a man selling feelings.

  ‘A hundred years?’ Brian asked. ‘Well, that’s tosh, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joderick replied, struggling to keep up with her. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Cinders has been there in the last hundred years. Her mum was there in the last hundred years. I was there last week. I’m not sure your dad knows what he’s on about, you sweet idiot.’

  Joderick beamed at the insult. He was so used to everyone sucking up to him all the time, it was quite a refreshing change to have someone call him an idiot. Not very nice perhaps, but for Joderick it was different.

  ‘I suspect he might be keeping secrets from me,’ Joderick admitted. ‘But I don’t think my dad would tell lies.’

  Brian marched on, shaking her head.

  ‘Lots of people do things they know they shouldn’t because someone they trust told them to,’ she said. ‘Before you met Cinders, did you think all fairies were evil?’

  Joderick thought about this for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I did.’

  ‘And why did you think that?’

  ‘Because everyone says they are,’ Joderick reasoned.

  ‘And there you go,’ Brian replied, pausing to look underneath a golden violin stall. ‘What if everyone told your dad fairies were evil and that they hadn’t been in the kingdom for a hundred years? If he believed them and didn’t try to find out for himself, he wouldn’t know he was telling lies, would he?’

  Joderick marched behind her with a furrowed brow. It was a lot to think about.

  ‘I found a map hidden in his desk, along with a painting of a lady,’ he told Brian, casting his eyes back and forth at all the magical, marvellous things for sale in the market. Glove puppets that could talk for themselves, strap-on wings that actually flew, a book that read itself out loud. He was finding it harder and harder to understand why his father and his grandfather had been so determined to keep magic out of their kingdom.

  ‘I don’t think he wanted me to find them,’ Joderick said.

  ‘I should say he didn’t,’ Brian agreed. ‘Most people don’t hide things they want other people to find, especially maps, and especially, especially paintings of ladies.’

  ‘And I think there could be other things he’s hiding from me,’ Joderick added.

  ‘And I think you’re not as green as you are cabbage-looking,’ Brian said with a smile that faded quickly from her face. ‘Oh, doodleflip, there’s that pesky goblin again.’

  The prince looked round quickly to see the short man, this time wearing an even bigger and fancier hat than before.

  ‘That’s an awfully big bag of gold he’s carrying,’ he said, noticing a few stray coins spilling out of the top of the sack he carried over his shoulder. ‘Are all goblins as rich as him?’

  ‘No,’ Brian replied, squinting at the goblin to get a better look. ‘And, the last time I checked, he wasn’t remotely rich either. Something’s going on here.’

  Joderick’s newly
neon-green eyes lit up with excitement.

  ‘Shall we follow him?’ he suggested.

  ‘I think I know where he’s going,’ Brian said with a sigh. ‘But let’s keep our distance. I really don’t want to speak to him unless I have to. Honestly, he loves talking about himself and I don’t have the patience for it today.’

  The prince nodded and followed close behind his new fairy friend with his skin blue, his hair silver and gold and his identity hidden in plain sight.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ Hansel wailed as Mouse finally slowed down to a trot. Sparks bounded up alongside the duo, panting heavily, which did not please him in the slightest. Sparks was not a dog who liked getting out of breath. Eventually, Mouse stopped altogether and Hansel let go of his reins. Who would have thought a horse that used to be a mouse could run so fast?

  They were out of the market now, he realised, surrounded by small, peculiar-looking houses with doors and windows so tiny that Hansel had to crouch down to look inside.

  ‘Is Cinders in one of these houses, Mouse?’ Sparks asked, sniffing the air and trying to get a whiff of his best friend. Mouse squeaked wildly, pointing a hoof down a dark alleyway and flicking his long pink tail with impatience.

  ‘I’ll go,’ the dog offered, although it was more that he didn’t trust Hansel to get the job done than because he was feeling especially brave.

  Slowly, he padded down the alleyway, keeping as low to the ground as he could. At the end was a small wooden door, half the height of the door to their cottage at home, perhaps even a little smaller than that.

  ‘Cinders?’ he growled softly. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Sparks?’ a voice piped up from behind the door. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Cinders!’ the dog yelped with joy as a pair of eyes he would recognise anywhere peeped at him through the letterbox. ‘It is you!’