Wumples dance of the Twing-Twops

‘Where is this place?’ asked George who was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she must have gone completely mad.

Ponkle looked around, his manner resembling that of an escaped prisoner. He did not want to be here but in truth, part of him was hopelessly relieved. Relieved that his navigation had led them here instead of Swamp Valley.

George nudged him, bringing his attention back to the present tense.

‘Over there!’ she said excitedly, pointing to an odd fellow stood in a field some distance away. ‘What’s he doing?’

Ponkle followed George’s gaze. Sure enough, Ponkle could pick out a shape on the edge of a field full of wild grasses. George saw a cloud of sadness hover over Ponkle’s face.

‘Who is it?’

The shape was, in fact, another Boffwungler and Ponkle was thankful for the girl’s naivety for the Boffwungler in question was doing something quite extraordinary.

‘That’s Wumple,’ said Ponkle, desperately trying to avoid looking at the young Boffwungler, who had now spotted them.

‘What’s he doing?’ George persisted, curious as to why the top half of the small, round creature’s body was engaged in some sort of exotic limbo dance, whilst his enormous feet remained firmly attached to the ground, as if refusing to join in the charade.

‘He’s..um...’ Ponkle mumbled nervously, ‘..um..celebrating the gift of such a glorious morning.’

He hoped that might be the end to their conversation as he started walking down the stony path. Now if they could just pass through the Valley of Otherin unseen, they could cross back over the River at Thorny Point. Naturally, it would cut their journey time in two if they simply hiked over Bogglers Hill to their right but that would be too conspicuous. That was his normal route, they were sure to be waiting in ambush for him there.

‘Funny,’ said George from ten paces behind, still mesmerised by Wumple’s dance. ‘Is that the done thing here? I’ve never seen anything quite like it!’

‘Oh yes,’ said Ponkle uneasily, now realising that George would not be satisfied until she knew more. ‘It’s a famous tradition here to...um...’ he sought frantically for an explanation, ‘to....acknowledge how fortunate we are by...um...by doing the symbolic...um...symbolic dance of the Twing-Twops.’

He was then silent. He dared not look at the inquisitive girl for fear she would guess he was lying through his enormous back-side. All this thinking was not easy for him at this time of the morning. He turned again to where Wumple was stuck and the two friends exchanged a sorrowful glance. There was nothing either of them could do. There was a great power in the air and it was not in any mood for an argument.

‘Look!’ shouted George.

‘Sshhh!’ cried Ponkle, running back to her. ‘What now?’

‘Can you see? His mouth’s making odd shapes,’ she laughed, ‘it’s as if he’s shouting but we can’t hear him. Do you think we should go over?’

George had long forgotten that she hadn’t wanted to come here. She was fascinated and more than content to explore the day to day activities of this new found race.

‘NO!’ yelled Ponkle, nearly blowing his cover. ‘I mean, I don’t think that would be advisable. If you must know...he’s...miming a traditional chant...which loses its meaning if anyone hears it. Now, let’s get going shall we?’

Ponkle set off once more and this time, to his delight, George followed. They did not look back. Whatever Wumple Boffwungler had done, no, better not to think of it. Anyway, a faithful army of strapping Trunglers would be here very soon to collect him so it was high time the two of them were not.

‘You don’t really want me to meet this Judgess of yours, do you?’ asked George as they trundled along the rough path. She wished she’d put a pair of shoes on.

Ponkle sighed. ‘I don’t really know what I plan to do,’ he said honestly. ‘I didn’t think she’d let me get this far’.

He halted and turned to her as if he had reached a life or death decision. Looking her straight in the eye he made her an offer any sane person could not refuse.

‘I’ll take you back, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking of bringing you here like this. What must you think of me? I could get you back in no time at all, no-one would notice you’ve even been gone. Please forgive me, I’ve not been myself lately, you must believe me, I haven’t the slightest bit of common sense. What do you say?’

‘I say that if you ever want to reach your village, we’d better get a move on. We won’t achieve anything standing here all day!’

George smiled at her new acquaintance who was beaming up at her as if suddenly given a new lease of life. She was growing rather fond of him. Then, as if hearing a starting whistle, the pair set off towards the Otherin Valley, talking as if they had been friends for years.

Sigworth

Sigworth cowered behind a hazardous cluster of rocks. From here, he could see the events which were taking place quite clearly. He had been remarkably lucky. If he had not stopped to gaze in wonderment at a blooming batch of colourful Fogflops near Mellomdale Meadow he would have been right in it.

He watched in alarm as a multitude of Trunglers oafishly attempted to break down the lovely red door of his lovely little home. It was a sight almost too much to bear but it was, fortunately, a sight that Sigworth was prepared for.

He felt around his neck for the locket (actually, Boffwunglers do not have what we call a neck, only a non-descript area where the head meets the rotund body). He opened it just a fraction, just enough for him to sit tight on the knowledge that inside that locket lay a scrap of paper, inscribed in the tiniest letters, with his secret recipe. He hoped that he had thought of everything...then he remembered. He shook his head in disbelief. He suddenly wished he had not done what he did yesterday.

Sigworth did know, of course, that Tolita had no idea of his alternative occupation. Nor the Trunglers for that matter. Yet he was glad that he had the good sense to take all, well, nearly all, the evidence out with him. If she got her meddlesome hands on it, it would be worse than handing it over to the Mumtwips. Sigworth shivered. No, maybe not.

‘He’ll be in the chamber for this one,’ his thoughts returning to the real reason Tolita’s army were invading his home.

He made a mental note to give his cave-mate another bottle of common-sense seeing as he had plainly lost his.

Sitting on the outskirts of events, Sigworth began to ponder. What was Ponkle up to and exactly why were the Trunglers playing tiggy-off-ground instead of thoroughly searching the cave? Activities easily confused, obviously.

Lost

‘Where are we?’ enquired George, sulkily taking in the new surroundings.
It felt like a great expanse of time had passed since they had been in the comfort of her bedroom yet she could not remember how they had spent it. She must have slipped into sleep during the journey. She wondered where this place was.
‘Home,’ replied Ponkle, who was studying each of the un-inviting tunnels which branched out from the underground cavern in which he stood.
‘Well, I haven’t a clue where I am and I’m certainly not about to run off. So would you mind putting me down now?’ said George frustratedly.
‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ said Ponkle, gently placing the girl down on the hard, rocky ground.
Ponkle paced around the cavern, surveying each possible route. To be honest, he hadn’t the foggiest where he was either. Of course, he came this way home regularly. What had really thrown him was that this was the first time he had returned in daylight and the sun was sending dusty rays streaming through the crevices in the white rock, illuminating the mass of tunnels, twisting this way and that - and this made one sorry looking Boffwungler very confused.

I spy

‘Sausages?’

‘No, not sausages! Where can ya see sausages in ‘ere?’

‘Dunno....give up.’

‘Can’t give up! Only ‘ad one guess!’

‘Um....’

‘Come on! ‘S’ Somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘S’!’

‘Sunflowers?’

‘Soup?’

‘Sheep?’

‘No, no, no! Y’aven’t got the ‘ang of it...ya’ve got ta be able ta see it!!’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh!’

‘Right!.....Sandcastles?’

‘That’s it. I give up wi’ ya! Ungry, you have a go..’

‘I spy, wi’ my three eyes, somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘Q’.’

‘Quibley!’ shouted Quibley.

‘Arhh, not fair! How d’ya know?’

‘Well what else in ‘ere begins wi’ ‘Q’ stupid!’

Ungry started sulking. He never had been very good at that one.

‘Better luck next time, eh!’ laughed Ubwig, nudging him.

Ungry, Ubwig and Quibley shared the same work-bench near the back of the chamber.

‘Right, someone else choose one,’ Umpwiffle’s voice sailed the length of the room.

Umpwiffle’s bench was at the opposite end and he was lucky enough to have one all to his self. Although he didn’t consider himself lucky as he liked a good natter at the best of times to take his mind off the job in hand. There were eighteen rows of benches in all, each occupied by as many Trunglers as could be spared that day.

It had been a dull, uneventful morning and they were running out of games to indulge in, mainly because Trunglers are a race easily bored.

Ungry grumbled at the choice of entertainment as he secured the lid on the container he was holding.

‘Done,’ he muttered, passing the jar full of brown smoke to Ubwig, who in turn passed it to Quibley, who stood up and carefully took it over to the many shelves which were now beginning to fill up.

Quibley pulled the sheet of sticky labels from out of one of his pockets and took a felt tip from another. Number 769, he wrote before sticking the label on the jar and placing it next to number 768 on the top shelf.

The Mares

‘What’s in there?’

‘Well...’ Ponkle hesitated, wondering if he could trust a girl wearing checked pyjamas. ‘Oh, alright. I don’t suppose I could be in any more trouble than I am already.’

Ponkle was extremely weary. He was perched on the end of the bed and rapidly losing heart. George gave him a comforting smile.

‘They’re mares,’ he said at last, staring at the floor.

‘What?’ said George, soundin worried.

She didn’t like this any more. She desperately pinched herself. Yet to her utmost dismay, she didn’t wake up. She was beginning to get scared.

Ponkle shrugged his shoulders. He had been contemplating his actions for a short while now and had decided that this was his only option. Well, the only option which meant he might still be alive at this time tomorrow anyway. He stood up, walked over to George and firmly grasped her arm.

‘Look, I’m very sorry to inconvenience you but I promise it wont take long,’ he said, leading her back to the bed. ‘All you need to do is go back to sleep.’

Ponkle liked to think that he had a dominant streak. George, however, thought differently and squirmed out of his grip.

‘Keep away from me!’ she said calculatingly, ‘or I do one of two things. Either I run downstairs and tell my mother there’s a burglar in the house...or I stand right here and scream as loud as I can. Your choice.’

Ponkle sunk down onto the soft bed, his spirit well and truly deflated. He did not enjoy his job but he could just about perform it when the creatures were asleep. He had never encountered a real human in a waking state before. He felt exceedingly bad about the whole thing.

‘Well?’ threatened George.

‘Um.. to be honest, I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t do either of those things,’ said Ponkle on the verge of tears.

‘Then explain to me what all this is about,’ said George warily.

Ponkle saw no point in hiding the truth now. He didn’t think there was a fate worse than death. He didn’t think even the Judgess could manage that! Unless you counted being wrapped up and delivered to the Mountain Gubwats as a new plaything......he imagined that would be slightly worse.

‘Well,’ started Ponkle...and then there was no stopping him. ‘Judge Biffleworth went and fell in love…even married her…died a couple of weeks after the ceremony…broken heart, some say…witnesses say she turned into a snake….sucked the very life from him…now she rules over the Kingdom of Valdox……Stop that!’ he yelled at the sack which was slowly squirming towards a captivated George.

George gasped as Ponkle pulled her away from the advancing brown sack and sat her down next to him.

‘They’ve got a mind of their own,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s the trouble with magic. Tolita thinks that eventually she will be able to control everyone’s minds. You’re next. Wants to rule all the Worlds. These things are just the beginning. A small taster of things to come.’

George was finding this somewhat hard to take in.

‘Us? What does she want with us? …..And what do you mean, Worlds?’ said George.

‘Oh, never mind that. Yes, I’m sure she’ll find some good use for you, there’s always vacancies for Invention testers,’ chuckled Ponkle.

‘Invention testers?’

‘Oh, there are plenty of jobs going if you’ve got the right qualifications.’

Things were getting too much for George. She rapidly pulled herself up off the bed and walked swiftly over to a wooden chest of drawers at the side of the square room. She opened the top drawer and reached in. Her hand returned with a pair of blue and white striped socks.

‘Well, it’s been an experience meeting you,’ said George nearly losing her balance whilst trying to put a sock on her left foot, ‘but I’m afraid you must leave now as I’m going to be late for school.

‘No..No..No!’ Ponkle protested, his brain telling him that letting the girl go at this stage would be his biggest mistake yet. Especially since he hadn’t delivered the goods. She’d want an explanation. Wait, he had an idea. He wondered where in goodness name it had come from. The girl could simply tell the Judgess that she wouldn’t co-operate.

Before George realised what was happening, Ponkle had grabbed the sack in one hand and was now speedily coming towards her. She had only got the second sock halfway up her foot when, to her utter disbelief, she was thrown over Ponkle’s free shoulder. The next minute they were gone.