The Trunglers

‘Ssshhh!’ instructed Tolita in such a manner that her men shook in their boots. This was a highly complicated mission and Tolita wished that she did not have to rely on a bunch of fools to get the job done.

The army, made up of a bundle of cowardly creatures known as Trunglers, crouched impatiently and waited for their next command. These pitiful beings were not here of their own accord, actually they had a very limited career choice, either they served Tolita or they were dead. An easy enough choice for most of them.

Tolita was otherwise known as the ‘Judgess’ of Valdox. Biffleworth, her late husband, had been the Kingdom’s Judge for many, many years and his fairness was renowned throughout the land. Tolita took over his position, after his untimely and somewhat suspicious death.

Anyway, here the Trunglers were, trying their hardest (which, incidentally, is not all that hard) to keep their minds centred. The main reason why they could not do this was because they were creatures with a love for beautiful things. In fact, right now their three eyes were busy studying the interior of the somewhat cramped, damp passageway in which they were huddled. They had, of course, ventured this way many times before, yet the architecture never ceased to amaze their puzzled minds.

Either side of the passageway had been decorated with a curious silver and violet substance, the likes of which the Trunglers (and, indeed, all the inhabitants of the land, well, nearly all) had never seen. The substance’s flow was only ever interrupted when it hit small crevices in the rock, behind which could be seen constant eruptions of mystical sound and vibrant colour.

What bemused the Trunglers most of all (and Tolita herself although she would never admit it) was that the designs painted on the stone always managed to look different. Each time the small party travelled along this same tunnel it was like entering it for the first time. A peculiar thing.

Now, it must be said here that the Moloks are an exceptionally creative race and their ability to design such tunnels remains a mystery, especially considering their size. A Molok never grows taller than a blade of Deep Forest grass (but I would not advise travelling to such parts to find out if I am telling the truth).

‘Advance!’ hissed Tolita, sensing now was the time to strike.

The Trunglers, already numb, aching and suffering from severe pins and needles, gradually realised which body parts were their own and which belonged to fellow creatures and began shuffling down the tunnel on all fives.

Sigworth

After Ponkle had gone, Sigworth began restoring the cave to its former glory, well, not glory exactly. Sigworth Boffwungler was a clever fellow and could well imagine what events had occurred whilst he had been out collecting his special ingredients. As he put the last object, the satin box, back where it belonged, under the stone carving of Ponkle’s father, he decided that stronger measures must be taken. Things were getting out of hand, things were going beyond dangerous. He had in his possession a very harmful weapon. He must not let others use it.

Ponkle

‘No...please...I really don’t know where he keeps it!.....No..not that..I beg of you ..please..anything but that!’

Ponkle’s plea was blatantly ignored as the sheets from under him were mightily yanked, sending the half-asleep creature to the ground below. As he rose his hand to rub the aching lump now appearing over his left ear, his eyes focussed on the stubby figure hovering over him.

‘It’s a q-q-quarter to Sixteen!’ pronounced Sigworth, who was becoming rather bored with Ponkle’s curious ability to sleep for so many days at a time.

‘Oarghh,’ was all that Ponkle could manage as he curled up into a ball on the floor and once more closed his heavy eye-lids.

Sigworth decided to utilise plan B, considering the drowsy state in which he had found his companion.

'I’ve just had news that T-T-Tolita is swiftly on her way to G-Gitwit after hearing a vicious rumour that someone not t-too f-far from here is l-l-late for work!’

That did the trick. Ponkle was on his oddly formed feet before Sigworth even had time to stop chuckling. Of course, the mere mention of Tolita’s name was enough to make anyone wary.

Once Ponkle was fully conscious, Sigworth explained that his last statement may have contained a slight exaggeration (he knew that Ponkle would not remember that Tolita always indulged in a game of chess at a quarter to Sixteen) and began to cook dinner.

'W-what on earth h-happened h-here?’ said Sigworth with a handful of vegetables, noticing that the furniture was in minor disarray, then he dropped the vegetables, ‘and what have you d-done to our b-b-beautiful door? I wasn’t out for long!’

‘Oh that,’ replied Ponkle who was now dressed in his black uniform.

‘Yes, that!’ Sigworth said, gathering up the ingredients and giving them a quick wipe with the bottom of his sleeve. Yet he didn’t really have to ask.

Ponkle ignored him and studied himself in the small oval mirror. No, he could not get used to this ‘look’. It was not simply the fact that the mirror made him look shorter and fatter than he already was. Or that it made his bottom stick out more than it already did. He felt too, well, dull. Something was definitely missing. He reached into the wardrobe he shared with Sigworth. Yes, that was more like it. He strolled into the kitchen and was greeted by a most wonderful smell.

‘I must say, I think you’re the best cook I know,’ said Ponkle grabbing a nearby cushion, trying to steer the conversation away from earlier events.

‘Why th-thank you, I’ve just whipped up a little.....w-what in g-goodness name is that you’re w-wearing?’

‘What does it look like? There’s no need to look so horrified, it’s only a waistcoat!’

'B-b-but it’s b-bright purple! H-hardly suitable for the occasion! I th-th-thought the idea was to b-blend into the night not leap b-brightly out of it!’

Ponkle shrugged his round shoulders and quietly ate Sigworth’s delicious concoction. As soon as he had emptied his bowl he rose to his feet, walked silently across the cave and cautiously removed the brown sack from the hatstand, being extra careful not to disturb what was inside and disappeared through the front door into the cover of darkness.

Chapter 3

The birds woke early and their cheery songs travelled through the frosty air like the smell of baking bread on a cold morning. Through the gap in the curtains the sun entered the room without an invitation.

A ray of sun-light rested on the bedcovers and as the morning declared its existence, the growing light surrounded the bed and its sleeper, who was lost in a satisfying dream.

A pair of arms appeared from under the covers and participated in a drawn-out stretch.

Eventually the eyes began to open as if unaccustomed to the light, like a creature emerging from hibernation.

George smiled as she remembered the dream. She liked the feeling of winning, of actually achieving something and proving to those around her that she wasn’t a nobody.

‘George, breakfast!’ came her mothers booming voice, as if it had been travelling for days.

George hesitated. She couldn’t help it. Daydreaming was her favourite part of the day, the time when she could be whomever she wanted and not just plain old Georgina Hartwell, who was no good at anything, not even maths.

She lay still for a few moments, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere. Or at least it would have been peaceful if her grandfather wasn’t in the next room, snoring as loud as his nasal passageways would allow. George thought he sounded like a helicopter circling above. She could never understand how he managed to keep doing it without waking himself up in the process.

George didn’t feel like getting up.

‘Five more minutes won’t hurt,’ she convinced herself and snuggled back under the covers.

George

George gulped down the air as she took another bounding leap forwards. Out of the corner of her eye she swore she saw something move. Frantically she picked up speed and set her eyes firmly ahead of her. Then all of a sudden she was all too aware of a presence beside her. Her aching body was pleading with her to stop yet she could not. Something inside her was willing her to go on. It would not be long now before this battle reached its conclusion one way or another, yet she was determined not to admit defeat. Tears were streaming down George’s flushed face due more to exhaustion than to the cold chill in the air. Yet she feared all her efforts might not be enough to overcome the powerful force that pursued her.

A sound to her right caused George to glance sideways. Immediately she wished she had not done so. The image left her in no doubt, capture was looming near and the struggle would soon be put to an end once and for all. Her fingers tightened around the brown material which she would not let go of for anything in this world and her tired legs carried her on with unimaginable speed.

If she could just hold on a little longer maybe she could outrun it, she told herself as her feet came into contact with the soggy ground beneath them. Her mind was racing yet her energy rapidly failing.

This was it then, the end. For a brief moment she lost her concentration. The next thing she knew she was lying in a crumpled heap on the muddy ground.

She had stumbled.....then it came to her.....she had bumped into something. She slowly gazed up and all at once became aware of a noise coming from every side. She felt many arms grab hold of her and was overcome by dizziness as she was lifted high into the air. She looked back to where she had fallen and sure enough she saw what had caused her to collapse. Tape, lots of it, attached to two sturdy Oak trees.

As she was carried off into the night she allowed herself a smile. ‘Junior sack-race champion,’ she thought. ‘This is the happiest day of my life’.