Mossbelly MacFearsome and the Dwarves of Doom Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  The Legend of the Twisted Toenail of the Wicked Princess

  Acknowledgements

  This edition first published in 2019 by

  Andersen Press Limited

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road

  London SW1V 2SA

  www.andersenpress.co.uk

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  The right of Alex Gardiner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Text copyright © Alex Gardiner, 2019

  Chapter header illustrations copyright © James Lancett, 2019

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.

  ISBN 978 1 78761 158 0

  For Molly

  Prologue

  Queen Gwri looked at the warrior in front of her. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

  Mossbelly MacFearsome nodded. ‘I am ready.’

  ‘You have the covert cloak?’

  ‘In here.’ The warrior patted the black satchel hanging over his right hip.

  ‘Is it working?’

  ‘Yes-ish. As well as can be expected. It’s a long-ago thing.’

  ‘You should not go by yourself, without companions,’ said the Queen.

  Mossbelly MacFearsome shook his head. ‘I must go alone. You know the reason. No one can know our plan.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘And I am equal to a hundred companions.’

  ‘But the danger!’

  ‘It must be attempted. I will succeed.’

  ‘You have the hammer?’ Queen Gwri asked.

  The warrior pointed at the satchel, slapped his chest, and then tapped a finger, twice, on the side of his nose.

  ‘You cannot do the deed yourself,’ said the Queen. ‘You must find a suitable human to be your Destroyer.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Mossbelly MacFearsome, nodding.

  ‘And you know where the Witchwatcher dwells?’

  ‘I have the name of her castle.’

  ‘Weapons?’

  ‘Do not worry for me.’

  ‘But I do. He will come for you, to kill you. And I am powerless to help, unless you can destroy—’

  ‘It is the plan, to risk my death at his hands.’ The warrior’s voice grew deeper. He leaned forward and gently touched the large wart on the end of the Queen’s nose. ‘Rule well, my beloved. Farewell.’

  A tear trickled down the Queen’s face. ‘Farewell,’ she whispered, turning to leave.

  Mossbelly MacFearsome, Captain of the Royal Guard, took a deep breath and watched as the love of his life walked away on her backward-facing feet.

  CHAPTER

  One

  Roger Paxton’s stomach was churning. He was scared. Hugh Ball was waiting for him at the park, looking for revenge.

  It had all started when Roger had intervened as Hugh was twisting another boy’s arm. In front of the entire playground, Roger had shouted at Hugh and called him an unmitigated bully. He wasn’t really sure what unmitigated meant, but he had heard someone else saying it. And it had worked. Hugh had stopped his attack on the boy and turned his attention to Roger. Fortunately, before Hugh could inflict any damage, a teacher had intervened and saved Roger. But a message, to meet Hugh at the park at four o’clock, or else, had been delivered during the afternoon break.

  Roger looked at his watch. It was five past four on Friday. He could turn the next corner and meet Hugh, or he could turn round and go home. Meeting Hugh would end in considerable pain. But going home would only prolong what he would eventually have to face, on Monday morning, to save Hugh’s reputation as the undisputed school bully.

  Roger sighed and began walking towards the park. He had only taken a couple of steps when he bumped into something hard and unyielding. He staggered back and stood looking at... what? Roger blinked.

  There was nothing there.

  He held out both hands and felt the empty air. There was a loud grunt followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. Roger began to walk away quickly.

  Behind him someone sniff-snorted. Roger spun round.

  From out of nowhere, a dwarf appeared. A dwarf, who looked as though he had just stepped out of a fantasy film.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ gasped Roger.

  The dwarf looked puzzled. ‘Can you see me?’ he asked, raising his arms and looking down at himself as he turned his body from side to side.

  Roger nodded vigorously. He was looking at a dwarf wearing a flimsy, see-through cloak and hood. Under the cloak the dwarf was dressed in a brown leather tunic with matching trousers tucked into scuffed boots. The dwarf was almost as broad as he was tall. He had a wrinkly, leathery face, covered in faint blue marks, and a long grey beard. There was a sword, dagger and a knobbly cudgel on one side of his waist, and a bulky black satchel hanging on the other side. A two-headed axe was strapped to his lower chest and Roger caught a glimpse of a small black hammer nestling just under his beard as the dwarf moved his body.

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger, still nodding.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked the dwarf in a deep, rumbling voice. His accent was of someone from the Highlands of Scotland.

  Roger closed his eyes and rubbed them. He opened his eyes. The dwarf was standing directly in front of him.

  ‘Yes!’ shouted Roger.

  ‘Bellringers!’ roared the dwarf. He began tugging at the clasp holding the flimsy cloak around his neck.

  ‘Please,’ said Roger, backing away. ‘Don’t...’

  ‘Don’t what?’ asked the dwarf, still struggling with the clasp. ‘I’m not going to do anything to you, ugly human. Get out of here.’

  Roger turned to run.

  ‘Wait!’ The dwarf had stopped tugging and was now thumping the clasp with his stubby hands. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘I’m... Roger.’

  ‘Strong name,’ said the dwarf. ‘Now go, Roger. And if you ever tell of this I’ll come to your sleep room and eat you.’

  Roger turned again.

  ‘Wait!’

  Roger stopped.

  ‘Why were you dithering just now, and looking at your time dial?’

  ‘I was going to the park,’ said Roger, licking his lips. His mouth felt very dry. ‘I’ve got to fight someone. But I’ll go home instead. I promise.’

  The dwarf stopped banging on the clasp and tilted his head to one side, looking closely at Roger.

  ‘Fight, eh? Who you fight? You win fight? You are a good fighter, warrior?’

  ‘Hugh... um, Hugh Ball,’ said Roger. ‘No, I won’t
win the fight. He’s too big and I’m not a fighter. Actually, I should go home now.’

  ‘No!’ yelled the dwarf. ‘Do not go home. Go fight Hughumhughball. Go now.’

  Just as Roger turned to run, the dwarf banged the clasp – very hard – and vanished.

  CHAPTER

  Two

  Roger ran, arms pumping, head down, round the corner and into the park entrance. A great cheer went up. Roger looked up and saw half the school standing in front of him. In the middle of the crowd was the hulking figure of Hugh Ball.

  ‘Come on, Paxton,’ yelled Hugh, thumping his fists together. ‘I’m going to smash you for what you said to me. I am not a... umnittagated!’

  Roger slowed to a halt. He stood, panting slightly, looking at the boy in front of him. Hugh was big. The two boys moved closer and began circling each other. The crowd fell silent.

  Roger raised his fists, hands trembling and legs shaking.

  Hugh stepped forward and swung a fist. Roger gasped and ducked. His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. Directly in front of him was a large quivering stomach. He let fly with a punch. Hugh didn’t even grunt as Roger’s fist hit him and bounced off. Still kneeling, Roger felt a gust of wind as something flew past his head and struck Hugh’s left foot. Glancing down, Roger could see a large dent in Hugh’s shoe.

  Roger stood up warily, the palms of his hands resting on his shaking thighs. He looked around. But there was no one else near them.

  Hugh was standing absolutely still. His face was completely drained of colour, except for a small graze on the tip of his nose. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide with shock.

  Roger raised his fists again.

  ‘My foot...’ said Hugh, pointing down at it.

  Roger watched in amazement as Hugh hopped three times on his good foot, then toppled backwards and lay still.

  The crowd went wild.

  ‘Did you see that? I knew Roger would win.’

  ‘That was karate, that was. Did you see the speed of that punch?’

  ‘Fan-tas-tic. Knew Roger would beat him!’

  Two of Hugh’s followers rushed over and knelt beside him.

  ‘Wh-what happened?’ asked Roger, still shaking.

  ‘You’ve killed him,’ said Findlay McNuttal, looking up. ‘That’s what you’ve done with your... whatever you did.’

  ‘But I didn’t do that,’ said Roger, pointing at the fallen figure.

  ‘You did!’ Martin Plumbly’s voice screeched as he stood up and backed away. ‘We all saw you. You hit poor Hugh so hard you’ve killed him.’

  Hugh moaned, then his eyes blinked open and he began to cry.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Roger. ‘And what happened to your nose?’

  ‘My foot,’ wailed Hugh, slowly sitting up. He reached out a hand and gingerly touched his hurt foot. ‘You’ve broken it!’ A tiny drop of blood from Hugh’s grazed nose dropped on to his shirt. He put his hand up to his face and screamed.

  ‘Oh be quiet!’ shouted Roger, bending down and staring into Hugh’s face.

  Hugh stopped screaming.

  Roger turned to walk away, then spun round again. ‘And another thing,’ he said, his voice almost a squeal. ‘If I ever see you bullying anyone... I’ll... I’ll... I’ll do something... Understand?’

  Hugh nodded as tears ran down his face.

  ‘Right, then,’ squeaked Roger. ‘That’s...’ He nodded his head and wagged a finger. ‘That’s... that, then... OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ sobbed Hugh.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Roger. ‘That’s good.’ And he turned and made his way through the cheering, backslapping crowd.

  As he pushed away from the last of the well-wishers, Roger began to feel sick. He started to run. He ran into a narrow lane between some houses, stopped at a wall and bent over just as his stomach emptied.

  ‘What a mess you make,’ said a voice, puffing beside him. ‘Why do you throw your food out?’

  ‘Who’s there?’ asked Roger, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking around. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Here,’ said the same voice, but now from in front.

  ‘Not again,’ said Roger. ‘Go away, I don’t want to see you.’

  ‘Why not? I made you win the fight with Hughumhughball.’

  The dwarf suddenly appeared in front of Roger. He was unclipping the flimsy cloak from its neck clasp.

  ‘What did you do to Hugh?’ asked Roger.

  ‘Hit him with this,’ said the dwarf, indicating his cudgel. ‘Well, tried to hit him, but missed because you were in the way.’

  Roger stopped wiping his mouth and watched as the dwarf rolled up the cloak and slipped it into the satchel on his hip.

  ‘If you’d struck his head you might have killed him,’ said Roger. ‘Your club nearly broke his nose. You skinned his nose! You broke his foot!’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said the dwarf. ‘Next time I won’t miss. I’ll break his head for you.’

  ‘No,’ said Roger. ‘You can’t go around killing people.’

  ‘You want to get a pummelling from Hughumhughball?’

  ‘No,’ said Roger. ‘But you can’t—’

  ‘Sheeesh!’ said the dwarf, raising a dirty, podgy finger to his lips. ‘Did you hear a noise?’

  ‘What noise?’ Roger looked around anxiously. ‘What?’

  The dwarf did not answer. He spun round and pulled out his sword and axe. There was a soft skittering sound. Something dropped over the wall beside the dwarf.

  Roger stared in horror as the thing approached. It was small with a smooth skull-shaped head and a wide grinning mouth. Its skin was a blotchy yellowish-grey, criss-crossed with tiny black pulsating veins. The creature had sunken eyes, a bent back and a forked tail. In its clawlike hands it held a crude wooden spear. The point of the spear was three rusty nails, bound with wire.

  ‘What’s... that?’ gasped Roger, backing away rapidly.

  ‘Gorefiend,’ said the dwarf, moving forward, weapons swinging. ‘Keep out of my way. I’ll chop this smellsock into the smallest of pieces.’

  ‘One moment,’ said the gorefiend in a polite voice, as it sniffed the air around Roger. ‘May I have the pleasure of introducing another of my friends?’

  There was the same skittering noise and another armed gorefiend dropped over the wall.

  ‘Oh,’ said the first gorefiend, ‘and more, if you please.’

  Two more creatures dropped to the ground and moved towards the dwarf, waving their spears.

  ‘Four, eh,’ grunted the dwarf. ‘Right, two for sword and two for axe. I’ll cut off your heads and break your backs.’

  Something caught the corner of Roger’s eye. It was a fifth gorefiend, creeping over the wall behind the dwarf. It dropped to the ground and raised its spear above its head.

  ‘Be-be-behind you!’ Roger yelled, pointing a trembling finger.

  The dwarf’s sword arm slashed backwards and the blade caught the gorefiend in the chest just as it lunged forward with its spear. The spear missed the dwarf’s back but plunged into his right leg.

  ‘Front!’ screeched Roger as the four remaining gorefiends attacked.

  The dwarf threw his head back and bellowed, ‘King Golmar’s Braces!’ as he limped forward with the spear still sticking out the back of his lower leg. He swung his axe, taking off the head of the first gorefiend.

  ‘Oh,’ said the head as it flew through the air. ‘Thank you very much, I’m sure.’

  A second gorefiend was dispatched with a sword lunge to the middle of its stomach. ‘Nice one, Captain,’ it said, as it fell. The third charged, its spear aimed at the dwarf’s chest, and was killed by a sidestroke from the swinging axe. The remaining gorefiend threw its spear at the dwarf, who batted it easily to one side and hurled his axe in return. The axe just missed its target and clanged off the wall. The gorefiend sniffed several times then, cackling madly, it scrambled
over the wall and vanished.

  ‘Festering fustilugs,’ snarled the dwarf, sheathing his sword and limping over to retrieve his axe. ‘I should not have missed that one. Come here, Roger. Help me with my leg.’

  Roger took a couple of steps. The remains of the four gorefiends began to smoke and spark; yellow gunge bubbled out as flames quickly consumed their bodies. In seconds all that remained was a faint yellow tinge on the ground and an unpleasant aroma. Roger began to feel queasy again.

  ‘Hurry,’ said the dwarf. ‘There may be more. Quickly. Pull this out.’

  ‘I c-can’t,’ said Roger, backing away and covering his eyes.

  ‘Do it!’ snapped the dwarf, shaking his fist. ‘Or I’ll let your brains out of your head.’

  Roger moved towards the dwarf and took hold of the small spear. He closed his eyes and looked away.

  ‘Now,’ the dwarf spoke softly, ‘when I say pull, pull as hard as you can. Understand me?’

  Roger nodded, his eyes still tightly shut.

  ‘Pull!’

  Roger yanked at the spear with all of his strength. There was a slight sucking noise as the spear came free. His arms flew up over his head and he stumbled back into the wall behind him. As he hit the rough stone, he felt the spear he was holding plunge into something soft.

  Someone screamed.

  Roger let go of the spear and turned round. The spear was sticking in the thigh of a snarling, red-eyed dwarf standing on top of the wall. The dwarf was wobbling violently and waving an axe. Roger reached out and grabbed the corner of the dwarf’s wildly flapping cloak. The dwarf steadied himself, and then swung his axe. Roger ducked as the axe whistled over his head and down, cutting through the cloak he was holding. Screaming again, the dwarf toppled backwards. There was a loud thump, a torrent of jumbled words from the dwarf, followed by several skittering sounds, and then silence.

  ‘I knew that blustering whiteliver would be skulking nearby,’ shouted the first dwarf. ‘The cowardly trundletail would not eyeball me in nose-to-nose combat.’ He made a low moan of pain. ‘However, my judgement is, as usual, as sound as a badger’s belch. I have been searching for a worthy warrior to carry out an act of noble insanity, to face almost certain death. And you are indeed such a warrior! You have no fear in challenging stronger enemies like Hughumhughball. And now you have wounded Leatherhead Barnstorm and attacked him with your bare hands.’ The dwarf gave another moan of pain, followed by a chuckle. ‘That gave my wink-a-peeps great pleasure.’ His voice grew deeper. ‘You are the one. I choose you for my Destroyer. So named, so be it.’