“You’re not strong enough to stop them.” Elliot took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit that he was sort of scared to say the next part, but there was no choice. “Poof me up there.”
The Goblins holding Patches began playing with the rope. They swung her in a little circle so that the Goblins below would have to run to catch her when she fell.
“Stop that!” Patches yelled, wig
gling angrily. “I’m not a swing!”
“Fifteen!” Grissel said.
“Poof me up there,” Elliot repeated. His heart pounded and his fingers felt numb, but he had made his decision.
Mr. Willimaker shook his head. “I told you before, Brownies don’t have enough magic to poof humans. I’d send part of you up there, but the rest of you might not make it.”
“Thirteen!” Grissel said.
“You’re on number fourteen!” Elliot said.
“Never heard of that number,” Grissel yelled back. “Twelve!”
“Poof me now,” Elliot said to Mr. Willimaker. “Do it, or else they’re going to drop her.”
“Even for a Brownie, my magic isn’t powerful enough,” Mr. Willimaker protested, wringing his hands together. “Maybe a stronger Brownie could do it, but not me.”
From behind them, they heard a small and much humbler voice than usual. “I could try,” Fudd said.
“What?” Grissel snarled. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’ll never be on your side again,” Fudd said. “That was my terrible, unforgivable mistake.” As his rope swung him again to face Elliot, he added, “Your Highness, I know there’s no reason you should trust me. But Mr. Willimaker will tell you that I’m the only Brownie strong enough to attempt poofing you. I don’t know if I can do it, but I do know there’s no other Brownie strong enough to try.”
“Just for that, I’m skipping to ten.” Grissel stuck his long, snakelike tongue out at Fudd. “Ha! That’ll show you.”
Mr. Willimaker tugged on Elliot’s shirt again. “Fudd is stronger than me, sir. But this is still too dangerous. Even though she’s my daughter, I can’t risk the life of our king.”
“Nine!” Grissel said. “Release me now, or it’ll be too late for Patches.”
Elliot closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and then calmly turned to Fudd. “Poof me up there now, Fudd. I know you can do it.”
“I’ll do my best, King Elliot.” Fudd closed his eyes and snapped his fat fingers together.
Dear Reader, generally speaking, poofing is not a bad way to travel. It’s quick, painless, and at worst, only a little bit ticklish. But it’s always best to be prepared, or else poofing tends to confuse the brain for a moment as it tries to figure out how to keep all the body parts together during the trip.
Since humans aren’t used to getting poofed around, they should always start with a creature that has a lot of experience. The Brownies have no experience in poofing other creatures to places. None. Zip. Zero. It would have been better for Fudd to practice this trick a few hundred times with tiny worms who wouldn’t mind if they arrived somewhere without their arms or legs, because they have no arms or legs.
However, Fudd had no time to practice. And no second chances. In less than a second, Grissel would order his Goblins to drop Patches. Elliot was the only one who could save her.
To Elliot, getting poofed somewhere by a Brownie felt as if a bunch of invisible hands had grabbed every part of his body and pulled them all in whatever order they wanted to the top of the tree. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it wasn’t comfortable either. When he opened his eyes (after his eyes were returned to their sockets), he was standing beside two surprised Goblins on a tree branch high above the pile of Goblins below.
One of the Goblins lunged at Elliot, claws out. Elliot ducked and the Goblin flew directly over his head. He flapped his arms as he began to fall. Not being a bird, he continued falling, landing on some Goblins below who had been hoping to catch the far more edible Patches.
Elliot stood again, trying to regain his balance. Then he noticed one very important detail. His left arm was gone. Fudd had gotten most of him here, but not all. He fell onto the thick tree branch and with his right hand grabbed a bunch of leaves to keep from falling. He locked his legs around the branch and steadied himself.
“Where’s my arm, Fudd?” he yelled.
“I’m working on it, Your Highness!” Fudd called back.
“Eight!” Grissel screamed from his upside-down trap. “Eight, you idiot. Eight!”
The Goblin holding Patches looked confused for a moment, as if he couldn’t figure out the importance of the number eight. Then Grissel yelled, “Drop her!”