Goblins Vs Dwarves by Philip Reeve Page A

suspect they hope that the High King will give his blessing to their plans for Clovenstone!”
    â€œThe rotters!” shouted Henwyn, leaping up. “Of all the sneaky. . .”
    â€œIt seems to me,” said Dr Prong, “that you must make sure the High King hears your plea before the dwarves can tell him theirs.”
    â€œProng’s right!” agreed Carnglaze. “And I think it can be arranged. I have the ear of the High King.”
    â€œEww!” said Skarper.
    â€œThat is to say,” Carnglaze went on, “his majesty will listen to me. He has bought several statues from me for the gardens of Boskennack. I shall send Knobbler with a message first thing tomorrow. I am sure that the High King will see you as soon as he can.”

Carnglaze was as good as his word. At low tide the next morning Knobbler went hurrying along the causeway to the High King’s castle, wearing his fanciest frock and bearing a letter that explained the urgency of Henwyn and Skarper’s mission. But kings like to do things in their own good time. Three days passed, and still the two friends were lodging at the house of Carnglaze, awaiting their summons to Boskennack.
    At least they knew their dwarvish rivals were waiting too. Each morning Skarper left the house on the Street of Antiquaries and went scampering goblin-fashion over the city’s rooftops and chimney pots until he reached the tavern called The Sleepy Mermaid. By listening to the potboys and ostlers who lounged about in its courtyard on their breaks, he soon learned that the dwarves had rented rooms down in the cellar. (It was obvious, when you thought about it, that dwarves would feel more at home underground.)
    For someone who had grown up slinking and sneaking around in the goblin mazes of Blackspike Tower, it was easy to creep unnoticed down the steps into the gloomy, paved area outside the cellar entrance. The cellar had a door and a window, and the dwarves kept the door bolted and the windows shuttered, but Skarper’s sharp goblin ears had no trouble hearing their gruff voices as they talked together inside. There were four of them: Surveyor Durgar, his daughter Etty, and two lesser dwarves, Langstone and Walna, who seemed to have come along mainly to carry things and be scolded by Durgar. Each morning Skarper heard Durgar tell the others, “We must send word to Boskennack again. We have to see that bigling king at once, so we can give our side of the story before these goblins and their friends can ask his help.”
    â€œThe bigling king would not help goblins, would he, Dad?” asked Etty, the first morning.
    â€œWho knows, with biglings?” Durgar had replied gloomily.
    It was all welcome news to Skarper. The dwarves were no closer to a meeting with the High King than he and Henwyn were, and they did not have Carnglaze to speed things along for them. The more gloomy Durgar got, the better, as far as Skarper could see.
    Then, on the third morning, Skarper was caught. He was hanging from a water pipe that ran down the wall beside the cellar window, listening to Durgar grumble inside, when suddenly someone took hold of his tail by the ginger tuft on the end and tugged it as if it were a bell pull.
    â€œBumcakes!” said Skarper, losing his grip and landing with a thud on the cobbles below.
    The dwarf girl, Etty, was looking down at him. She must have come outside very quietly while he was busy listening to the others. Usually the scent of her would have warned him, but Mistress Carnglaze had made him wash that morning, and the clean ungobliny odour of the soap still clung to him, spoiling his sense of smell. Not only that, but Etty had been using the same soap – it was a Coriander speciality, made from kelp and sold in big cakes at the Soapmarket – so she smelled just the same, and not like a dwarf at all.
    â€œUgly gargoyle!” she said angrily. “What are you doing? Spying, I’ll be