The cave

George swallowed the last mouthful of Vobwibble. Fortunately, it tasted better than it looked. Marginally.

She was still taking in the cosy interior of the cave. There were two hammocks suspended from the wall. One on top of the other. There was other furniture, a chest and a wardrobe, both hand-made in a curious fashion. She had noticed something else too. Above the pretty box there was an unusual wooden carving of a Boffwungler, an ancestor perhaps, there was some strange writing engraved on it too. It seemed out of place although she couldn’t explain why. She would ask Ponkle about it when he returned. As a matter of fact, he had been gone an awfully long time.

Trunglers in trouble

Tolita scowled.

‘Must I do everything myself?’ she bellowed.

‘Terrible sorry, your Honour-ess but really were no sign of ‘im,’ whimpered Quibley, who was, at this moment, an extremely worried Trungler.

‘Searched place top ta bottom,’ added Umpwiffle, trying not to think about those threatened Fogflops. They could be on their way any time now.

The bunch of anxious creatures were knelt before Tolita, who, incidentally, was preoccupied observing a comical little Boffwungler enjoying one of the new creations which had arrived a few hours earlier from the lab.

She did not have time for excuses.

‘Well...don’t just kneel there like overgrown worms,’ she yelled.

‘But...but..’

‘Get to work. Unless you want to join my friend here.’

The four Trunglers turned towards the chamber. Wumple stuck out his tongue in pure defiance.

‘Yes, your greatness.’

‘Right ‘way, your Judge-ness.’

‘No stoppin’ us.’

‘Ya wish is our...’

‘SHUT UP!’ Tolita was losing patience, she reckoned she could manage perfectly well without these four. ‘MASTER OF DARKNESS…..’, she began...

The four three eyed, five legged Trunglers scattered, then nearly fell over one another in panic, trying to escape through the small opening at the rear of the Judgmental chamber which had not been designed for so many awkward bodies to scramble through simultaneously.

Tolita smirked. This time she had only been joking. Now, there was work to do.

‘Umpwiffle!’ she summoned.

Well she certainly did not intend on walking.

Ponkles home

Is this where you live?’

‘Sshhh!’

Ponkle pushed open the front door. It creaked, then silence. He had seen the Trungler’s footprints leading up to the cave and although he also saw sets of prints leading away from the cave, he did not dismiss the idea that a trap may have been set for him. Fortunately, Trunglers are not that intelligent. They wouldn’t know how to set a trap if they were given a book on it. Ponkle knew it was inevitable that the Judgess would eventually catch up with him but he rather hoped it would be on his own terms. For now he had a weapon and it was standing right next to him. Yet before he even thought about using it, he was in need of a little help.

He peered into the cave. The room appeared untouched. The thought entered Ponkle’s mind that the Trunglers must have cleared up after themselves but then the thought gave up and went back to bed.

‘It’s safe,’ he said cheerily. ‘They’ve gone.’

‘How do you know?’ asked George who had learned most of what there is to know about Trunglers, which actually isn’t much, on the way here.

‘Sigworth’s here,’ said Ponkle.

They now entered the cave and Ponkle firmly shut the red door behind them, making sure it was bolted. He placed a stool behind it too, just to be sure.

‘Who’s Sigworth?’

George was enthralled by the inside of the cave. It was so much bigger on the inside and full of such weird and wonderful things. Over by the wall a beautiful satin box caught her eye and the floor was carpeted by an immense number of multi-coloured patchwork cushions, hand-made, she thought.

Ponkle was pleased that George was so taken with his home and gestured to her to sit down. George did so, her feet were so sore. She wondered if it would be rude to take her socks off. Probably, she concluded.

‘He’s a friend. Well, he’s more than that to be honest,’ he said, hanging the sack, containing one decidedly annoyed mare, back on the hatstand. ‘He gave me a home when my family vanished twenty-two years ago.’

‘Vanished?’ gasped George.

‘I should count myself lucky I suppose. I had just nipped out to gather some firewood when it happened. When I returned, there was no sign of them. Vanished into thin air. Mind you,’ he said sadly, ‘nothing surprises me here anymore.’

‘That’s terrible,’ said George sympathetically.

‘Vobwibble?’ said Ponkle, crossing to the far side of the cave, completely changing the subject.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Vobwibble. Would you like some? I don’t know about you but I’m starved!’

Testing...

Sigworth was hard at work now that the search-party of Trunglers had left him in peace. He had to work fast before anyone noticed his absence. He sprinkled the final ingredient into the tiny jar and held the product, which looked like crimson sand, infront of his studious face.

‘Looks right,’ he mused to himself.

‘But does it work?’ came a voice from inside him.

There was only one way to find out. Sigworth reached into the jar and sandwiched a few grains between two of his stout fingers. He slowly moved his fingers towards his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply....

....it didn’t work.

He searched through all the bits and pieces on his makeshift table until he found the ingredient he was looking for. Ground petal of the Moondrop flower. He added a smidgen to the jar, gave it a shake, took another pinch and inhaled.

Sigworth then became frighteningly aware of a creaking sound coming from the room above. He hoped to goodness that the Trunglers hadn’t returned for a second search, not only because he was tucked away experimenting in the concealed cellar but because it had taken him such a long time to tidy up after them - and that was the last thought which passed through his mind before hitting the floor.

and...

Wumple Boffwungler stood still for a moment. His arms felt like they were about to fall off and his throat was raw from all that shouting. He watched as his older neighbour and some strange creature, whose origin he vaguely recognised, became nothing but specks on the horizon.

He was not angry. He had heard stories of this sort of thing happening before and from what he had gathered, there was little to be done. He knew that he was not allowed to venture out to the Newland fields near the border, the Judgess had declared it out of bounds for all those except her night workers and the patrol guards, but he had only been chasing a playful Fobwit. It was a thing he was beginning to regret as two heftily built Trunglers came striding across the field towards him.