What next?

‘When shall we attack?’ asked a warrior-like Mumtwip with a strong urge to attack anything that moved.

‘Eka Rbt Cyzl!’ said Cecil (sorry, there is a page missing from the translation book but I would hazard a guess that it meant ‘night of the eclipse, ten minutes after sundown’).

The group dispersed. Four muscle bound Mumtwips remained to guard the entrance. Not to stop anything undesirable from getting in but rather to keep something valuable to them from getting out.

George was still sat uncomfortably on the damp floor where they had left her. She was cold down here in only her pyjamas, hungry too, they had given her nothing but a measly bowl of murky water, which was lying untouched near her feet. From the opening up there, it looked to be a warm, sunny day. She wondered if she would ever see the light of day again. She dragged herself to her feet to stretch her limbs and as she looked around in the dim light she noticed that she had been sitting on something.

She picked the soggy piece of paper up off the ground. She could see it quite clearly now her eyes were growing accustomed to the light. On it was a drawing of a cluster of caves. One of the caves had been marked in red with the letters ‘OB’. Surrounding the caves on the picture were sketches of creatures resembling Boffwunglers, lying on the ground. George weren’t sure whether they were dead or only sleeping. A thought flashed through her mind. She looked back at the cave with the red letters on. It looked mighty familiar.

Umpwiffle

Whilst the heated discussion continued, George desperately tried to understand what was being said. She should have spent her time more constructively by, for example, figuring out how to get out of this mess.


That morning Umpwiffle was slouched on the stool by his work bench, his face painted with an expression of pure boredom. He was sick of this job. He looked around the large stone room in which all experiments took place. To his right, against the wall, was a cabinet, its shelves full of pots and jars all labelled with their individual function. Ungry was there now, carefully pulling out jar number 23, the spell about hedgehogs, he remembered that one as he had used it himself only yesterday afternoon. He watched Ungry meander back to his bench at the other end of the room with it.
Quibley wandered past him carrying one of the latest inventions stolen from the Moloks. He, along with one or two others, had been given the task of checking them for defaults. Umpwiffle wished it was his turn. That job was much more fun than his own at the moment. Last time he had been allocated the job, he had been overwhelmed by the Molok’s inventiveness. His favourite item was a pop-up recipe book where the pages actually popped out of the book and made your dinner for you. However, when he had been testing it, he accidentally turned a page half way through and ended up with a Broccoli flavoured Cheesecake infront of him.
Umpwiffle looked at his own work-surface. Jar number 49, simply labelled ‘knockout!’ This was a new mare and from the looks of it, Umpwiffle did not think it would be too nice. He had no urge to even open it yet he knew he must get on with it or else it would be Fogflops for a month.


Umpwiffle was aware that he was fortunate to even be here. After the shenanigans with the girl and his secret encounter with Dorus, he was lucky that jar 49 wasn’t destined for himself. Tolita was beyond furious about the girl’s disappearance yesterday. Once the spell which had transported the Boffwunglers had left her, she had opened her eyes and let out an almighty scream. Umpwiffle could still hear it ringing in his ears. Of course, she had blamed him for letting her prisoner get away and he would have been Mumtwip food if he hadn’t have said that the girl had put a spell on him, momentarily sealing his lips together - actually jar number 13 but Umpwiffle hoped that Tolita would not remember it was one of her own.
This had made Tolita even madder and she had returned back here alone. On arrival, she had whisked herself off to her private chambers and upon his own somewhat delayed return, Umpwiffle had sneaked back down to the workshop in the hope that he had escaped her wrath.
As he continued packing the sacks, he wondered what the Moloks were going to do to put a stop to the Judgess’ determination to ruin them. He couldn’t understand what Tolita had against them. Admittedly, he had only met one of them but he had come away from the unexpected meeting rather liking the tiny Wizard like character. He himself had not been to Dantor last night as he had been on wandering guard duty but obviously nothing had come of his little chat with the friendly Molok.
‘Aarrghhh!!!’ Quibley’s voice zoomed down the room as if travelling on a high speed train.
Umpwiffle jumped up, his knees nearly knocking his entire bench over and bounded in his friend’s direction, knocking over numerous things on his way. Then he was distracted by another cry, then another, all seeming to come from the workers in the Invention Testing section of the workshop.
‘Wha?...’ shouted Umpwiffle nervously, to anyone at all that was listening.
The whole room was now in a state of chaos. As the rumour drifted through the room, Trunglers began running for cover in every direction, falling over one another and sending benches and stools all over the place.
‘Quibley?’ Umpwiffle yelled as he was pushed and pulled like a post-office door.
His friend’s grief stricken face appeared right next to him.
‘Moloks!’ he said fearfully, grabbing one of Umpwiffle’s arms. ‘Joke’s on us this time!’



‘What do ya mean?’ said Umpwiffle, shaking him.
‘A trick....these things..’ Quibley picked a broken stick up off the floor and thrust it towards Umpwiffle’s face, ‘...This is supposed to be a Singin’ Walkin’ stick.....designed to keep ya’s company whilst ya’s out!’
‘Well? What’s up wi’ it?’ said Umpwiffle, somewhat slow on the uptake.
‘What’s up wi’ it! Listen to it!’ Quibley tapped the stick on the floor.
‘Ha! Ha! Had you fooled? Dantor you will never rule. This Judgess who has Wizard’s blood. Twists the rules for her own good. What lies in store we are debating. Warning! Next time we’ll be waiting!’ the stick crooned.
Umpwiffle threw himself straight into his impression of a surprised Trungler (he’d been practising all night in preparation for this, deep down he was really quite pleased that the Moloks had managed to call Tolita’s bluff ). He struggled to find something useful to say.
‘They knew we was comin’!’ Quibley beat him to it. ‘Blasted creatures must’ve had a tip off!’
There was a noise outside the door and one hefty kick was all that was needed to fling it wide open. Quibley made a dive for it.
‘WHAT IS GOING ON?’ Tolita boomed, scarlet with rage.
Umpwiffle looked around and gulped. Where was everybody?

What to do with it!

Cecil Mumtwip raised his right arm to silence the excitable crowd who had gathered here for this special meeting. (From this point onwards, it may be easier if I translate the script as best I can to facilitate the readers’ understanding. Full apologies to those who speak fluent Mumtwippian).

Cecil noisily cleared his throat.

‘Mumtwips, Mumtwippers and Mumtwippings,’ he began. ‘I think you are all aware why I have called this meeting?’

There was a general murmur.

‘Good. Now, at nightfall yesterday, we happened to capture a creature of unknown species...’

There came a gasp of astonishment from a Mumtwip who had obviously been otherwise engaged when the news had been spread. He was highly embarrassed when everyone turned their piercing eyes towards him, apologised and began to sulk.

‘Can we continue now Wilfred?’ laughed Cecil. ‘Good. Anyway, this new development changes our present situation.’

There followed an expectant hush.

‘I have a plan!’ Cecil said proudly. ‘Bring it forward!’

George backed away in fear as a herd of these little, yet terrifying, creatures (only half the size of Boffwunglers) scampered down the slope. It was impossible for George to see what was going on as her only source of light was now blocked off by the approaching creatures. Her imagination set to work once more. She screamed at the top of her voice and thrashed out as the lurking shadows reached out for her. It was no use. Before long she had been cornered. The amused Mumtwips simply ignored her outburst as they dodged the mis-timed blows and closed in. A dozen pairs of strong arms wrapped around her resistant body and mechanically lifted her over their heads and marched quickly up the slope towards the awaiting crowd.

‘Let go of me!’ George protested, her legs kicking in every direction, ‘and mind where you’re putting your hands. Ouch!’

She continued angrily shouting comments like, ‘Who do you think you are?’ and ‘I’m sick and tired of being thrown all over the place like a new toy!’ and was getting altogether carried away.

The Mumtwips threw her down in the centre of the circle.

‘See what I mean...’ she yelled, flicking her tangled hair off her flushed face. Then she turned a very funny colour.

Peering down at her in curiosity were lots and lots of horrid little faces, made up of tiny frosted blue eyes, small pointed noses which did not appear to have nostrils and great big mouths with a staggeringly large number of sharp, pointed teeth. It was this particular part of the description which made George shriek out loud. She had preferred the dark end of the slope.

‘Can we eat it?’ came a malicious voice.

George was lucky that she did not possess the ability to speak Mumtwippian.

‘No!’ said Cecil. ‘At least, not yet.’

‘What’s the plan?’ ventured another growling voice.

‘We caught the creature on the outskirts of the forest. I think she might come in extremely handy.’

‘As what? Breakfast?’ someone joked.

‘I don’t know where she comes from or what she was doing near the forest but it doesn’t take much to figure out that she must be some sort of spy,’ Cecil said, addressing the full company.

The wicked faces snarled down at George, who was trembling like a badly-set jelly. She felt that the beasts would be ready to ferociously rip her from limb to limb at any moment if given the command. This theory didn’t give her much comfort.

‘You think she knows something?’ asked a young Mumtwipping.

‘She might,’ replied Cecil thoughtfully. ‘It depends who sent her.’

‘What have you got in mind?’

‘I was thinking that we could use her as a trap!’

George's hotel

The vast company of animals were tightly huddled around a centre-piece. From the cluster there came an odd collection of unearthly noises. These droning sounds were what George had the immense pleasure of waking up to. She searched high and low for her senses until she finally found them cowering in a corner of her mind. She soon discovered that she was lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a damp slope. She swallowed. Her mouth was so dry. How long had she been here? She bravely stretched out her trembling hand and touched what she thought was a wall.

‘Urghh!’ she squealed and recoiled her hand, now covered in a sticky, slimy substance, which she immediately wiped on her pyjama bottoms. She didn’t even want to think what that was.

George wondered if where she was now could be any worse than where she had been earlier. A picture of Tolita exterminating the Boffwunglers in broad daylight flashed through her mind. No, surely not, she concluded. There was something terrifying about the Judgess. She did indeed have a certain look about her that resembled the human species but George didn’t question what the Boffwunglers had told her. She had experienced, first-hand, the feeling that Tolita could appear as human or as inhuman she liked, depending on what mood she was in. She could see into your mind and control it, even turn it off at the flick of a switch, like she did to the Boffwunglers. She was exceedingly dangerous and George never wanted to lay eyes on her ever again.

‘Ung?’

‘Plg.’

‘Fnp?’

‘Skopwodfle!’

A selection of sounds slid down the slope on an invisible toboggan.

The Mumtwips could actually speak as well as anyone else yet most of the time they couldn’t be bothered and simply substituted short and abrupt sounds. What was even more amazing was that they could understand one another. Translated, the above went as follows,

‘What shall we do with her?’

‘Eating her would be my suggestion.’

‘Are you sat on my knapsack?’

‘Oh yes, sorry old chap.’

George anxiously studied the group of animals. She could not make them out too well as it was dark at her end of the hole, yet she could see several silhouetted shapes perched on a ledge, against the bright light pouring in from a small opening right at the top of the slope. A new day, thought George worriedly, she must have been here all night. The last memory she could recall was of losing her way in a forest of some kind. It had been night time and she had no longer been able to pick out the right way. She knew she hadn’t been far from Otherin because she had not long before crossed the old bridge over the River at Thorny Point. From then on it all went blank and now she found herself here, wherever here was.

There were a large number of these animals as far as George could tell. Her imagination decided, at this point in time, that it would be fun to form colourful and detailed pictures of all the evil-looking, flesh-eating beasts that it possibly could, before she snapped out of it and concentrated on decoding the animal’s motives. She would worry about the flesh-eating bit later. Much later, she hoped. They all appeared to be looking down at something in the centre of the group. They were discussing something, she was sure of it, she just hoped it wasn’t her.

The narrow opening at the top of the slime-ridden slope was the only visible exit. She closed her eyes in despair, boy was she in trouble.

Moloks

Dorus peered down from his high perch before glancing at his antique miniature pocket-watch, which hung on a thin silver chain around his neck. He impatiently drummed his fingers together. The sky was gradually beginning to darken, bringing with it the voices of creatures just beginning to awaken. An owl hooted from a neighbouring branch and still the frightened creature sat in silence, waiting.

The Moloks had decided that it was high time desperate measures were taken. Dorus had been elected for the job and it was safe to say he was more than a little worried. Never before had they disclosed themselves to outsiders. Well, not counting Tolita that is, the child they had raised as one of their own. She was the real reason that they were having to come out into the open now. She knew their weaknesses all too well and after the betrayal of their trust again last night, the Moloks realised that she would stop at nothing until she had stolen everything of any worth to them, including their deepest inner-most knowledge.

Dorus was not sure how an outsider would react to him. Being the descendants of the Great Wizards of Valdox, Moloks were what most folk would call unusual looking. Mainly because they did not share their ancestors tall stature. However, they had retained a certain Wizard-like appearance in terms of their slim and well-proportioned build and their honest, trustworthy faces. This conflicting mixture of genes was due to the Great Wizards closeness to the inhabitants of the Enchanted Wood. The two races, joined together, resulted in the Moloks odd but favourable looks.

There was a rustling below and Dorus hitched his round spectacles further up his nose and stuck his head through the camouflage of leaves. Sure enough, lolloping along the ground, heading towards Zlexis, was a giant creature, blessed with no less than five legs.

Dorus hesitated. He really wasn’t too sure about all this. If he got into trouble and things started to go drastically wrong, he could always utilise his outstanding magic skills, although he knew he must only stoop to that as a last resort. Moloks are wilfully opposed to using their gift of magic for any intent other than good. It is forbidden to use it negatively against any living being. Anyway, Dorus hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After all, he only wanted to talk to this....Monster.

He was beginning to think about giving the whole thing a miss when the creature below stopped dead in his tracks. He was actually wondering why lots of leaves kept falling on and around him. The Monster suddenly looked up and Dorus gasped and jerked his head back, sending his spectacles hurtling to the ground. He could have sworn the thing had three eyes. Dorus thought he might be in need of a new pair of spectacles.

Umpwiffle bent down, picked up the glasses and offered them back to the curious fellow in the tree.