Dear Reader, you may wonder why I haven’t said anything yet about a character in this story named Diffle McSnug. The answer is simple. There is no character in this story named Diffle McSnug. As far as I know, nobody named Diffle McSnug has ever existed, so I’m not sure why you’d think I should write about him.
Even if Diffle McSnug existed, he wouldn’t have time to sit around in Elliot’s story, waiting to do something important. He’d be off on his own adventure, which right about now would involve his diving with sharks to recover some sunken pirate treasure. Only he’s almost out of air and the sharks are licking his toes.
I’m sure you’d love to hear how he escapes. It’s too bad he never existed, because if he did, I’m sure that would be a fascinating story.
There is someone far more important to write about in this book, and that is the Brownie known as Queen Bipsy. She had just reached the end of her 561st birthday. That would be extremely old for a human, but for a Brownie it was only very old. Her birthday party was the largest in the Brownie Underworld, because she was the queen of the Brownies, and not attending her birthday party was a crime punishable by ten years of hard labor. (Hard labor in the Brownie world is the nonstop eating of chocolate cake…without frosting or a glass of milk, if you can imagine the horror of it.)
Something happened to Bipsy that night as she walked home from her birthday party. From the corner of a cave someone whispered, “Psst, look over here.”
Everyone knows that if someone whispers, “Psst, look over here,” that definitely means you should not look over there. If there were a good reason to look, then they wouldn’t have to say “psst” in a whisper.
Queen Bipsy must not have known this, because she did look. From out of the shadows, she saw something bubbling to life. Ripples moved along leathery green skin, and the figure grew in size. Bipsy knew she should run, but all the wiggly juice she had drunk at her party weighed her down. She wanted to run but couldn’t move.
Her eyes remained fixed on the monstrous creature, even as it rose above her. The only reason she was still watching it, and not lying dead on the ground from terror, was that she was full up to her eyeballs with wiggly juice, which made her vision blurry.
She could see it well enough to cause her Brownie heart to do a cancan dance inside her chest, though. And she clearly heard the pleasure in the monster’s voice as he said, “It took me three years, but I finally got you, Queen Bipsy.”
“Queen Bipsy? Are you all right?” A hand touched her shoulder, breaking her trance. The monster that had been in the cave shrank away, and Bipsy turned to face her friend Mr. Willimaker. Even at this late hour and after such a happy party, he still looked morning fresh.
Ordinarily, Brownies don’t worry too much about their personal appearance. They usually have a lot of thick hair, which always looks a little gray no matter what color it really is. Their pointy ears often clog with earwax, and their fashion sense stalled a couple of centuries ago. Their only virtue is they bathe often. Just because one lives in the Underworld doesn’t mean they have to smell like the Und
erworld.
Mr. Willimaker was different. His clothes were made by a Pixie tailor and always the latest in Elfish fashion wear. He trimmed his hair and used a bit of magic each morning to get it pointing all the same way. He wore oversize glasses that made his oversized eyes look even bigger and which often slid off his undersized nose.
Most Brownies found it funny that Mr. Willimaker always dressed for success, because success was the last word they would use to describe him. Three years ago, he had run through Burrowsville, the Brownie city, warning everyone to get out while they could. They were being invaded by a strange creature that no doubt planned to kill each and every Brownie in some gruesome way. Mr. Willimaker caused near riots as Brownie families gathered what supplies they could and hurried into the streets.
The mystery was solved by Mr. Willimaker’s own daughter, Patches, who recognized the invading creature as a simple field mouse from the surface world. It must have gotten lost and somehow found its way to the Underworld. She scooped the field mouse into her arms and gave it a loving hug. With Queen Bipsy’s help they sent it back home.
The Brownies were angry with Mr. Willimaker for several months at the trouble he had caused. After that, he was laughed at wherever he went. Jokes were written about him, and every time something unusual happened in Burrowsville, the Brownies said, “Maybe it’s a mouse attack.” If it weren’t for the fact that Queen Bipsy was still his friend, Mr. Willimaker would have been laughed out of Burrowsville long ago.
“Are you all right, Queen Bipsy?” Mr. Willimaker asked again.
“No,” she answered. “I think I’ve just been scared to death.”
“Pardon me for correcting you, Your Highness, but I notice you’re still alive.”
Queen Bipsy plumped down on a rock and folded her arms. “Scared half to death, then. And I think very soon the other half of me will die.”
Mr. Willimaker wondered which half of her had died. Both halves of her body looked equally upset with him. “Could you wait to finish dying until tomorrow?” he asked. “Maybe by tomorrow you’ll change your mind and be fine.”
“I am the queen, and I’ll die when I want to,” Queen Bipsy insisted. “I’ve lived a full life, and besides, I’m pretty sure my spleen just died. You don’t seriously expect me to continue living with a half-dead body and no spleen, do you?”
Mr. Willimaker didn’t answer. He thought maybe it was a trick question.
Queen Bipsy looked around her. “I need to choose the next ruler of the Brownies. Where’s my royal scribe?”
Her royal scribe had been killed in a Goblin attack over a year ago. Maybe her spleen had been in charge of remembering that, before it died.
“I can write for you,” Mr. Willimaker offered. He patted his pockets. Somewhere he had a pen—ah, there it was. But paper. He didn’t have any paper! The future of the Brownie kingdom was at stake. Why couldn’t he find one tiny scrap of paper?
“I don’t have all day to die,” Queen Bipsy muttered. “Could you hurry it up?”
“Go ahead, Your Highness. Oh! I mean, go ahead and speak. Not go ahead and die. I’ll find some paper soon.” Mr. Willimaker continued looking through his pockets. He didn’t need much. An inch of paper would do.
Queen Bipsy’s eyes widened and she gasped. “Too late. I think this is it, the end. I believe this may be my last breath before I die.”
Mr. Willimaker gave up his search for paper. Then he did what everyone does when they have an emergency need to write something down. He put the pen to the palm of his hand and said, “I’m ready. What is the name?”