The Land of the Silver Apples - Farmer Nancy - Страница 39

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“Not quite correct.” A larger and more lavishly speckled creature suddenly popped up beside Pega, and she screamed. “‘Kobolds’ is what we’re called in Germany. Here we’re known as hobgoblins. Some also refer to us as brownies, fenoderees, or, my personal favorite, bugaboos.”

“You’re a bugaboo?” Pega said faintly.

“Dear lady, I am theBugaboo, the ruler of this place.”

“And I’m his Nemesis,” said the creature who had been talking to Jack and Thorgil earlier.

“Hurrah for the Bugaboo and his Nemesis!” cried all the other creatures, dancing around so ecstatically that they popped in and out of sight.

“What’s a nemesis?” growled Thorgil. She was not taking the incessant interest of the hobgoblins well. She kept slapping little hands that were trying to feel her clothes, her hair, her skin. This didn’t do the slightest good. The creatures merely giggled and came straight back.

“Every king has to have a nemesis,” said the Nemesis, puffing out his chest, “to tell him when he’s wrong or being stupid or lazy. Otherwise, he gets too full of himself. Don’t you have them?”

“I don’t think our kings like to be criticized,” said Jack.

“Well, of coursethey don’t! Criticism is supposed to hurt. Otherwise, it’s no good.”

“Our kings,” Jack said, “kill people who make them angry.”

A shocked silence fell over the gathering. “Did he say ‘kill people’?” murmured one of the creatures.

“We don’t approve of it, but it happens,” said Jack.

“Perfectly disgusting,” said the Nemesis, running his long fingers through his hair. “I must say, I’m not surprised. Mud men are savages at the best of times.”

“Now, now. We mustn’t be rude to our guests,” protested the Bugaboo. “We’re perfectly delighted to have visitors. So little happens in the valley, especially since that awful rock slide. You must come back to our halls for a party. We have one every night.”

“There you go, sucking up as usual,” grumbled the Nemesis. But he joined the others in herding Jack, Thorgil, and Pega along the rocks in the brilliant moonlight.

They walked on, surrounded by the mob of hobgoblins with no chance of breaking free. They hugged themselves against the cold, and their breath came out as mist. Presently, they came to a path paved with round, transparent pebbles. The moon was reflected inside each pebble so that it appeared to be a path of raindrops shimmering in the night.

“What magic is this?” said Thorgil, halting. Several hobgoblins bumped into her.

“No magic. They’re moonstones,” the Bugaboo explained. The shield maiden immediately knelt down and scooped some up. But they dissolved into water in her hands.

Jack had been trying to remember stories about hobgoblins.

He recalled that goblins (who were surely related) had a bad reputation where children were concerned. “We should be going on our way,” he told the Bugaboo. “We’re most grateful for your invitation, but we’re on an important quest and have no time to visit.”

“Nonsense. You have all the time in the world,” said the hobgoblin king.

“I’m afraid not. My father is being held prisoner. He’ll be killed if we don’t return as soon as possible.”

“Look at the moon,” the Bugaboo commanded.

It was full and very bright. It was full last night, too,Jack thought again with a whisper of alarm.

The Bugaboo’s eyes were large and dark under their sleepy lids. The moon was reflected in them, as it was in the pebbles. “Night after night it rises, always perfect and never moth-eaten as it is in your world. The elves call it the Silver Apple.”

“But how—” began Jack.

“When the elves were cast out of Heaven, they were given the power to hold back time. The wheel of the year does not turn in the Land of the Silver Apples.”

“You mean time doesn’t pass here?” said Pega. She was pressed close to Jack and hadn’t lessened her grip on his arm since they’d begun walking.

“That’s right, my little dewdrop,” said the Bugaboo, chucking her under the chin. Pega hid her face on Jack’s chest.

“Less talk and more walk,” grumbled the Nemesis.

The tide of hobgoblins swept on, carrying Jack, Pega, and Thorgil along as effortlessly as leaves in a stream. The path curved around and about giant boulders, going steadily up until it ended at a door in the side of the mountain.

“This is ill fortune. We’ll be at their mercy inside,” said Thorgil.

“It might be all right,” Jack said doubtfully. “They havebeen feeding us.”

“Fattening us up, more like.”

The Bugaboo rapped on the door. Many locks were turned and chains withdrawn. It was flung open by a gloomy hobgoblin carrying a spear. “About time! Dinner’s burned to ashes,” he complained.

“That’s my son,” the Nemesis said proudly. The roof and sides of the passage beyond were covered with softly glowing mushrooms, and the air was filled with a pleasant, earthy aroma. Jack wondered whether you could eat the mushrooms. He was terribly hungry by this time. It probably isn’t safe to eat things that glow,he decided, but they did smell delicious.

They came to a second door, which was opened by another, even more insulting hobgoblin. “That’s my other son,” the Nemesis said with a chuckle. “He can turn milk sour just by looking at it.” Jack halted in amazement at the scene on the other side.

An enormous cave stretched as far as he could see. Overhead, fires burned in midair like lost stars. Jack tried to make out what they were, but they were too far away and too changeable. He cried out in surprise when some of them darted down and hung flaring over the arriving mob.

“Will-o’-the-wisps,” explained the hobgoblin king. “They’re always curious.” Thorgil shook her fist at them, and they darted away.

The path went down into a cluster of handsome little houses with thatched roofs and enclosed yards. Hobgoblin women in long dresses bustled about pots. Babies waved little arms from cradles. Everywhere creatures spun wool, gardened, hammered wood, wove baskets—all the things normal people did in a village. It was wonderfully cheering to Jack. In the distance he saw fields with animals. It was like an entire world tucked away in the heart of the mountain.

The Bugaboo strode along, nodding grandly to his subjects, who cheered him. Behind him, the Nemesis kept up a constant stream of jibes.

“Look at those fools,” he said. “You’d think they were welcoming the Forest Lord. He’s one of the old gods, but you’re only another hobgoblin who sleeps late and loafs the rest of the time. It’s not as if you’ve ever done anything clever.”

Jack knew he’d get angry if someone kept taunting him like that, but the Bugaboo sailed on blithely. His people really seemed to like him. Now and then someone yelled, “Go for it, Nemesis! Give us your best curses.” And the Nemesis would bow in return. They were a very odd folk.

The returning mob fanned out, going off to different houses until only the Bugaboo, the Nemesis, and the children were left. They arrived at a large hall with a forecourt enclosed by an earthen wall covered with mushrooms. The mushrooms had obviously been planted with an eye to color, for they formed patterns in red, yellow, purple, and white.

A flock of hobgoblins streamed into the forecourt, shouting greetings and hopping up and down with glee. A large woman grabbed the Nemesis and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. “So you’re back, you old rapscallion! I suppose you didn’t think of me once,” she said.

“Why should I? It was a relief to get away,” replied the Nemesis, kissing her back. He produced a dainty bouquet of violets from his pocket.

“I suppose these are crushed,” she sniffed.

“I hope so,” her husband said, although Jack thought the flowers looked fine.

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