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‘But goblins and humans don’t like each other,’ Nightshade continued, puzzled.
‘I told you, Of Piston the Steam is Sid’s friend. But this isn’t about liking,’ Tiffany said. ‘It’s about helping each other out. If the goblin camp was on fire or something, the humans would help them.’ She looked down at Mrs Pigeon; the old lady was falling into a sleep now. ‘Look, I need to go outside for a minute,’ she said. ‘Stay with Mrs Pigeon, would you? Let me know if she wakes again.’
Nightshade was horrified. ‘But I can’t – I’m an elf! I’ve already carried that basket. I can’t . . . help another human.’
‘Why not?’ said Tiffany sharply. ‘Of Piston the Steam just did. Are elves less than goblins?’ But she had no time to waste, so she headed downstairs and threw the pain out into a pile of stones laid ready for building into a wall.
It made a rather unfortunate loud bang – there had been quite a lot of pain – which is probably why, when she got back upstairs, Mrs Pigeon had woken up. Woken up and asked for a cup of water.
The old granny was staring up at Nightshade, a smile on her gummy face as she reached out for the cup. ‘You’re a good girl, you are,’ she was saying weakly. ‘A good girl . . .’
A good girl? A good elf?
Nightshade put her hands to her stomach. ‘I think it is beginning . . .’ she said softly, looking up at Tiffany. ‘I feel a sort of warm spot. Here, in my stomach. A little glow.’
Tiffany smiled, laid a gentling hand on Mrs Pigeon, and then took Nightshade by the arm. ‘I need your help,’ she said. ‘Elves have put this glamour on the stream and it runs past several farms . . . can you put it right?’ She paused. ‘As your friend, Nightshade, I am asking for your help. The Feegles can help with the sheep, but to remove the glamour? This is something only one of your kind can do.’
Nightshade stood up. ‘A glamour from Peaseblossom?’ she said. ‘This will be no trouble to remove. That elf is weak. And yes, I will help you, Tiffany. You are my . . . friend.’ The word sounded odd in her voice, but there was no doubt that she meant it.
So she went down into the fields with Tiffany, past the skittish sheep in the yard – some of whom, courtesy of the ever-present Feegles, had just broken the county record for stream-to-yard time, one young lamb actually doing so on one leg – and down to the boiling water.
Where she did indeed put it right.
And the tiny little glow inside began to smoulder . . .
The old barn behind Mr Sideways’s shed was full of miscellaneous weaponry, souvenirs from many conflicts, lovingly oiled and meticulously labelled.
‘I’ve been collecting them,’ Mr Sideways said proudly. ‘Every campaign I bin in and more besides. You should always keep your weapons handy. I mean, I don’t say anything bad about the trolls and the dwarfs, but we fought them more’n once and so I say, you always have to make sure. Somebody says something and before you know it, we’re knee-deep in dwarfs. They give you the up and under. You can’t trust ’em with the up and under.’
Geoffrey looked around the walls of the barn in astonishment. The machinery of death was everywhere, if you looked at it properly. And there he was, this smiling old man with whom he’d just been sharing a cup of tea, eyes sparkling, ready to face the foe, especially if it wasn’t human. And he was known as Laughing Boy? What would he have been like if he had been known as Scowling Boy?
‘I can turn a lathe as good as anybody,’ Mr Sideways said.
‘A lathe,’ said Geoffrey. ‘You get swarf, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, terrible stuff if it gets in your eye.’ He smiled. ‘And it could be useful for something.’ There was a moment when he almost led Geoffrey back out again, but then he could not hold it in any longer – he had to show the boy what he had been working on. ‘Come, lad,’ he said. ‘Have a look at this. It was going to be a secret until it was finished, but of course I can tell you.’
At the back of the barn there was a huge shape covered with a tarpaulin. Mr Sideways led Geoffrey over to it, reached up and gave the tarpaulin a tug, and as it fell away Geoffrey gasped.
The machine looked like a great metal grasshopper, with a counterweight at one end, and an enormous leather sling at the other. As he gazed at the machine in astonishment, Geoffrey realized that he had seen something similar in the books Mr Wiggall had shown him at home. He said, ‘This looks dangerous.’
‘I hope so,’ said Mr Sideways. ‘I’ve always wanted one of these, ever since I saw them in action. The dwarfs had ones a bit like this which could throw a troll flat on his back. Those dwarfs know a thing or two, I must say, and I’m very big on gnome defence.’ He coughed. ‘Got the idea to build one after I’d been watching the lads down the pub do the Stick and Bucket dance.’fn4
‘So I see,’ said Geoffrey.
‘Captain Makepeace is very impressed,’ Mr Sideways added. ‘So me and the boys are going to try it out tomorrow, but nowhere anyone can see us.’
These old gentlemen have certain qualities, Geoffrey thought. Just because they are old doesn’t mean they can’t be powerful.
fn1 Quite correct. As the common joke says, most inhabitants of Slice are more than one slice short of a loaf.
fn2 It appears to be a fact of life that if two or more well-born ladies should gather together, cupcakes are essential. Otherwise the ceiling might fall on them.
fn3 A very kind term for Agnes, used only by her friends.
fn4 A dance that should only be performed when no women are nearby. If you saw it, you would know why.
CHAPTER 17
