Goblins Read Free Page B

but he seemed to have less and less in common with his batch-brothers. He knew so much more than they did. . .
     
    Yet in the end, he thought, as he plummeted towards the rocks, all that knowledge and learning had been his downfall. It was difficult, when you knew so much, not to try to explain things to people, and set them right when they made mistakes. And that was not always a good idea. . .
     
    Tumbling over and over in the bitter gusts that roared up the face of the mountain, Skarper recalled the previous night, and the great mustering of the tribe that King Knobbler had called in the scoffery.
    All the goblins of the tower had gathered there, from the mightiest warriors to the lowliest snot-nosed hatchlings. The king, magnificent in all his armour, had stood on his special kinging chair in the firelight. King Knobbler was a giant of a goblin, almost as big as a man, which was how he had managed to make himself king in the first place. His craggy face was seamed with scars from countless raids and battles, and he wore a black patch to hide a missing nose. His fangs gleamed as he shouted, “Great news, boys! Tomorrow night, us lot are going to join with Mad Manaccan’s Lads and the Chilli Hats from Redcap and launch a great raid on the towers round the eastside!”
    The eastside towers – Sternbrow, Grimspike and Growler – were home to cheeky goblins who’d lately taken to ransacking old armouries in the very shadow of Blackspike. It was high time they were taught a lesson, and their towers were probably full of treasure, too. A raid that roared through all of them should come home laden with loot. The Blackspike Boys cheered, and the noise boomed and echoed under the stone ribs of the feast-hall’s roof.
    Old Breslaw, who was standing at the king’s side, nodded wisely. The idea for the raid was his of course – Knobbler and his captains were all big and strong and good at hitting things, but they didn’t really have ideas; it was Breslaw who did the thinking in the Blackspike. Still, he didn’t mind Knobbler taking the credit, as long as he ended up with a share of the loot. He raised a tattered umbrella to try to shield himself from the royal spittle, which gusted like rain into the faces of those goblins in the front row as Knobbler went bellowing on.
    “Us are going to sweep down on them eastside mobs and kill ’em all, and take their gold and silver an’ that. And you lot is going to be right at the fronts of things; the hammer of the Blackspike! We’ll show Mad Manaccan’s lot and them Redcap Pepperheads why King Knobbler’s Blackspike Boys is the best . . . the best . . . the best land pirates in all Clovenstone!”
    That was when Skarper, with his head stuffed full of facts and words, raised his claw.
    King Knobbler saw the movement. It put him off his speech. He forgot what he’d been going to shout next. His angry golden eyes were drawn to Skarper. He grunted and leaned forward, peering at this weedy little runt whom he’d never noticed before, but who had done what nobody else had ever dared do: interrupt him. The firelight shone sharp on the spines of his armour and the tips of his tea-coloured fangs.
    “What?” he said.
    “There’s no such things as land pirates, your majesty,” said Skarper uneasily. He already sensed that he had made a mistake, but he could see no way back.
    The glow in the goblin king’s eyes deepened, as if a fire somewhere behind them was being stoked up. (Down deep beneath the Bonehills’ roots the lava lake glowed much like that.) “We robs people,” he said. “We smashes in doors and burns houses and kills people and comes home laden with loot. What is we if we in’t land pirates?”
    “Well, it’s just that pirates generally work at sea,” Skarper explained. His voice got smaller and smaller as he spoke, but it was still easy to hear in the appalled silence that filled the Kingcave. “We’re bandits, your royal immensity. Or