Backstage, everyone was in position. Neville stood next to Dunk at the side of the stage and felt butterflies in his belly.
‘Just do everything I say, and it’ll all be fine and peachous,’ Dunk whispered.
This is it, thought Neville. He scrunched up his toes and pulled on the rope that Dunk had pointed out to him moments before. As if by magic, the front curtain rose to reveal an enormous painted cloth of rolling hills of junk. The old troll Bowel stood out in front, coughing and scratching his toadstools nervously.
The audience ooooh-ed and aaaah-ed as Bowel took a big step forward, waved and smiled a toothy grin. Then he began to sing.
‘MOOMAS AND DOODAS, LITTLE LUMPS
AND OLDY TROLLS AS WELL.
HAVE A SEAT, PRICK UP YOUR EARS.
WE’VE GOT A TALE TO TELL.’
Bowel swayed from side to side as he sang, and the audience clapped wildly.
‘IN A JUNKISH LAND, SO FAR AWAY,
LIVED A GRUNT CALLED WHINGERELLA,
AND HER GRUMPTIOUS HONKIN’ STEPSISTER
AND A DASHLY PRINCEY FELLA.’
Suddenly, the audience booed and hissed. Dunk turned a handle on the wall and something rose out of a trapdoor in the stage. It was an upside-down mop with a dress on it like a person.
‘BOOOOOOO … HISSSSSSSS … BOOOOOOO!’
Neville laughed to himself. Rubella wasn’t lying when she said no one liked Whingerella. No actor would even play her.
Bowel gestured to the mop-Whingerella.
‘OLE WHINGEY HAD A STEPSISTER,
TOO GRUMPTIOUS TO DO CHORES,
LIKE MOPPIN’, FOLDIN’, BREWIN’ TEA
AND LICKIN’ CLEAN THE FLOORS.’
Gruntilda walked out onstage and fanned herself daintily.
‘It’s so hard being this good-looksy.’ She sighed and batted her eyelashes.
‘ALL DAY WHINGEY GRIZZLY-GRIPED
AND SAT ON HER BEHIND.
WHILE HER RAVISHLY HELPY SISTER
WAS WONDERBUNKLY KIND.’
The audience ahhh-ed the grumptious stepsister until Gruntilda stepped forward and started to sing.
‘WHERE, OH WHERE IS MY WARTY PRINCE?’ Gruntilda screeched at the crowd. Everyone groaned and covered their ears. ‘WON’T HE COME TO ME?’
‘NOT LIKELY,’ a troll in the crowd shouted and the audience burst out laughing.
Backstage, Neville pulled the rope that changed the scenery from the rolling junk hills to Whingerella’s kitchen. He turned round and saw Rubella glowering at him in the dark.
‘I don’t want to do this,’ she hissed.
‘You can’t back out now, Rubella,’ Neville said. ‘Besides, do you want Gruntilda to think she’s beaten you?’
‘No,’ Rubella said miserably, and straightened her turnip hat.
‘ONE NIGHT THE GRUMPTIOUS STEPSISTER
WAS SWOONIN’ AND A REELIN’
WHEN – CRASH! – THE FURRY BOG-MOTHER
CAME FLYIN’ THROUGH THE CEILIN’.’
Bowel presented an arm to the top of the stage and waited. He gestured again, but nothing happened. An awkward silence filled the theatre.
‘CAME FLYIN’ THROUGH THE CEILIN’!’ Bowel shouted again.
A sparkly shoe covered in milk-bottle tops fell from somewhere above the stage and bounced off Bowel’s head with a dull thud.
‘CAME FLYIN’ THROUGH THE CEILIN’,’ Bowel bellowed at the top of his voice.
‘Oooh!’ a little voice shouted from high in the air. ‘IS IT ME, DEARLY?’
All at once, Gristle Pilchard came plummeting down through the air and swung so fast across the stage that she vanished into the side-curtains like a geriatric rocket. The audience roared with laughter at the sight of her feet waggling in the air wearing only one shoe.
And so it went on.
Eventually, it was Rubella’s turn.
‘Rubella,’ Neville whispered. ‘It’s time.’
Rubella waddled miserably into place behind the kitchen scenery cloth and did her best turnip pose.
‘Stand by,’ Dunk whispered from the other side of the stage.
Neville looked at his troll-sister in her turnip costume and suddenly felt very sorry for her.
‘Rubella,’ Neville said quietly.
Rubella turned her head and looked at him.
‘I’m proud of you.’
‘Nev,’ Rubella said back. She smiled the sweetest smile Neville had ever seen his sister manage. ‘I hate you.’
‘Now!’ Dunk shouted.
Neville pulled on a rope and the kitchen scenery cloth flew out, revealing a junk-filled garden complete with a very oversized turnip.
‘THERE SHE IS!’ Clod shouted, rocking back and forth in his seat. ‘MY BELLY, ALL BIG AND JUBBLY AND TURNIPY.’
‘I’m proud plonkless,’ Malaria said, wiping a tear away.
Backstage, Neville and Halitosis were getting the hinkapoots ready for their first entrance. He watched as Halitosis opened the basket lid and did one of her funny hand gestures, making all the hinkapoots stand very still.
‘All righty,’ she said to the little green creatures. ‘To the coach.’
The hinkapoots quickly clambered out of the basket and ran to the front of the clock-coach that stood a little way away in the dark. They grabbed hold of the ropes that dangled from the front of it and waited silently for Halitosis’s command.
Onstage, Gristle Pilchard was finally out of the curtain and flapping gracefully above Gruntilda.
‘BRING ME A TURNIP,’ Gristle cried, ‘AND EVERY COCK-A-ROACH.’
Rubella waddled over to the centre of the stage and did a little twirl.
‘TURNIP!’ she shouted.
‘AND WITH MY MAGIC SPELLS,’ yelled Gristle, ‘YOU’LL HAVE A HINKAPOOT-DRAWN COACH!’
Bowel pointed to the back of the theatre and bellowed, ‘GOOD GRACICLES! … LOOK OVER THERE!’
The audience turned round and looked in the direction of Bowel’s stumpy finger as Rubella darted offstage as fast as her turnip feet could carry her, and the hinkapoots quickly pulled on the coach made from bits of clock.
The audience turned back round and gasped.
‘IT’S MAGIC,’ cried Clod. ‘ABSOLUNKLY MAGICOUS!’