The principal’s car got eaten first.

One minute it was sitting in the parking lot, the next it was under a jiggling green slime the size of a school bus. And it wasn’t alone.

Slimes covered Gravelmuck Elementary. Globs slurped across the playground. Goopy tentacles wrapped around metal climbing frames. Bubbling puddles lurched through the school’s front gates. Green gunk gooped everywhere. It looked like a slag giant with a nasty cold had sneezed on our school.

But I should stick to the facts. Facts are important in my line of work. The name is Fizz Marlow. I’m in fourth grade. I solve mysteries. Hey, it’s better than doing homework. Oh, and I’m a goblin. You don’t have a thing against goblins, do you? Good.

To a detective like me, facts are like cookies. Chocoslug cookies. Yum.

Fact number three might be nitpicking, but even a kobold in first grade knows cleaning slimes don’t have teeth. They are all about the acid. Sizzling acid that can strip the scales from your back and take the shine out of your wings. Slimes are efficient cleaners. The best in Rockfall Mountain. That’s the place we goblins call home. Slime acid is perfect for getting dried troll boogers off drinking fountains. It scrapes bugbear poop off polished stone floors pretty good too.

This morning, Principal Weaver’s front fenders were on the menu. Eaten or dissolved, the effect was the same—no more car. Old Eight-Legs would be walking home today.

Tank was my best friend, troll-tinkerer and detective partner. Now she could add lifesaver to that list. With another slime coming our way, that life didn’t look like a long one.

The slime had us cornered on the steps of Mr. Trellik’s antique shop. The old troll lived in his shop, which was across the street from our school. He was always yelling at kids to stay away, keep the noise down and basically stop being kids. Rumor had it that the stone statues for sale in his shop were really the remains of children who had got too close to his front door. Tank and I were real close. That didn’t seem to bother my best friend.

“That mailbox is made of solid brass,” Tank said. She pulled a pair of zoomers over her eyes. She adjusted the dials on the goggles to get a closer look. “No wonder the slime went straight for it.”

“And I thought it was because of my sparkling personality.”

The door behind us whipped open, totally ruining my witty comeback.

Tank and I both fell backward and landed face to toe with a pair of warty feet.

Mr. Trellik glared down at us.