Down went Polly into the cherry tree. Down she slid through the dark green leaves. Down, down into the very heart of the tree, where the secrets lay. And suddenly she was scared. What if it really was Runtus? What if she was about to meet an ancient woodland spirit, a spirit with horns on his head and the legs of a goat and a magic flute so powerful that one note from it could stop the world from turning, or blow up a koala? Shaking like a leaf, Polly pushed aside the shaking leaves. And there she saw him.
Yes, there he was, sitting astride a branch and swigging from a bottle of -
It was Mr Gum. His big red scruffler of a beard dripped with cherry juice. His hands were as filthy as pubs. And his bloodshot eyes were lit up with madness and power.
‘I knews it!’ said Polly. ‘I knews it was you all along! An’ I bet Gallopin’ Bill isn’t nothin’ but that stinker of a butcher, Billy William the Third!’
‘It’s true!’ cried Galloping Bill gleefully, poking his dirty face up through the leaves. ‘I made this costume meself, from a dead horse! Neeeeigggh!’ he boasted, before disappearing into the night once more.
‘Well, you annoyin’ little frog,’ said Mr Gum, turning to Polly with a snarl. ‘You was right about Billy an’ you was right about me. Satisfied?’
‘Not yet,’ said Polly bravely. ‘You see, I’m here to get proofers that there isn’t no Runtus after all.’
And with that she whipped out the camera and aimed it at Mr Gum’s crooked face. But before she could click the shutter, Billy popped his head back up through the leaves, opened his mouth as wide as he could and swallowed the camera whole.
‘HA HA HA! Good one, Billy, me old centaur-impersonator!’ laughed Mr Gum. ‘Oh, deary me,’ he sneered, turning back to Polly. ‘You got no proof an’ you never will! How are them townsfolk gonna believe you now, you pathetic flea?’
‘I got my word!’ said Polly. ‘That’s what!’
‘Your word?’ snorted Mr Gum, laughing so hard that a cherry stone shot out of his nostril. ‘Your WORD? It’s me them townsfolk listen to these days, so move over, little girl! There’s a new little girl in town – me!’
‘But why?’ pleaded Polly. ‘Why are you doin’ this terrible thing?’
‘Cos I fancies RULIN’ this stupid forest!’ laughed Mr Gum, his bloodshot eyes lighting up with a terrible greed so greedy it was very greedy indeedy. ‘An’ not only that but I’m gonna rule the whole stupid TOWN of Lamonic Bibber too! AN’ RULE ’EM I WILL!’ he roared, so loudly that the branches shook and the leaves trembled and a load of cider bottles plummeted out of the tree, smashing their glassy way through the night.
‘OW!’ said Billy from below.
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Gum. ‘I’m gonna rule this town. I’m already half way there. An’ tomorrow’s the big day.’
‘What’s so important ’bout tomorrow?’ said Polly.
Mr Gum danced on the branch in his hobnail boots, his face half in shadow, half in light like a swine who didn’t know better.
‘I ain’t tellin’ you!’ he laughed, cracking open another bottle of cider. ‘Now get out of me tree ’fore I kick you out with me fists! Now get out of me tree ’fore I –’
Well, Polly didn’t need telling twice. Hastily she climbed down from the tree and ran off into the night, the goblins’ cackling calls chasing her through the darkness.
‘Neeeeigh!’ cried Billy as he watched her go. ‘Neeeeigggh! Neeeeiggh! Neeeigggh! Neeeiggh! Neeeeiggh! Neeeeigghh! Neeei –’
‘Shut it, Billy,’ growled Mr Gum, who wanted nothing more than to snooze the rest of the night away in peace. ‘Yer not actually a real centaur, you idiot.’
‘But I like doin’ it!’ laughed Billy. ‘It’s funty! Neeeeigh! Neeeigh! Neeeigh! Neiggh! Neeiiiiigh! Neeeiggh! Neeiiigh! Neeiiigh! Neeeigh!’
‘BURP!’ went Livermonk.
‘Neeeiiigh!’ went Billy.
‘WOOF!’ joined in Jake from above. ‘WOOF WOOF WOOFITY WOOF WOOF WOOF!’
‘I’m surrounded by idiots,’ sighed Mr Gum, shaking his head in despair. ‘Sometimes I dunno why I even bother, I really don’t.’