What do I do? What do I do? Wheedle paced in front of the entrance of the old burrow, peering down at the Great Cavern.
As soon as the sirens started singing, Wheedle recognised the horrible noise; it sounded like metal dragging across rock. He stared around and located it coming from the barrel on top of the Kavanaghs’ cage. There they were, just as Sam had described them, two bird-bodied women; one older, one younger, playing with something white in front of them. How had Maggie got them here? Were they being kept prisoner too? Sam had said something about them promising never to sing. They’d been too terrified Sam would never make another siren.
Wheedle scurried along the high tier for a closer look. Silver manacles held their wings and they looked miserable. In the tight barrel, squished against the older sirens’ chests, sat the tiny new siren. She was swan-pretty, but her face was sad and she rocked herself in her arms.
Poor little thing, Wheedle thought.
Sam’s army had stopped. Many who’d been holding their weapons high dropped their arms. He watched the fairies fall into a deep sleep. Shifters in their animal shapes curled on the ground. Russell and the others in his group just collapsed along with their dogs.
Then a new voice joined, and the monsters stopped too. Wheedle looked back at the barrel and squinted. The small sweet-faced siren was crooning across The Hole.
Wheedle felt the song, felt the jolliness of it, felt it call out for friendship; yet at the same time it expressed loneliness.
It was lovely. It wasn’t the same as the older sirens’ song, full of manipulation and malice. It was a call to the heart, the soul, and if you didn’t have either of those, a call to the very core of the listener. He liked it.
As much as it moved him, he could see it had an even more powerful effect on Maggie’s army. The larger beasts sat down giggling, pulling brownies and boggarts into hugs, and the imps let them. Goblins released the fairies they’d been gathering. Ogres and trolls stroked the dogs and shifters. Wheedle marvelled as he watched various monster breeds collect pieces of stone bodies and reassemble the gargoyles they’d just broken.
After the goblins built the sword tree, the pixies danced about it. Its silver shape reminded him of Christmas. Brownies and leprechauns began playing together; dice, gold coins and knuckle bones spilt to the ground. On his tier, a few burrows away, a cheerful pair of pixies competed with conkers, and a group gathered around sparkling marbles, trying to hit the largest one. They motioned him over and pouted when he declined. The air filled with awws.
Wheedle frowned. Where’d they get the toys all of a sudden? And when did they start wanting to play with gargoyles?
The Great Cavern was noisy with monsters and imps enjoying themselves. They all seemed to have forgotten they were ever in a battle.
All except Wheedle, Maggie, Sam and Bladder.
What makes us different? Wheedle wondered.
The largest ogre, the one that had chased and grabbed Sam, sank to the ground, reaching towards a fluffy, grinning bogie. Maggie threw two handfuls of dust at him, and the ogre looked up sleepily.
When Sam screamed, Wheedle shot down the wall before even checking to see why his boy was so alarmed.
He stopped to orient himself, glancing towards the dais.
Sam’s position had not changed. He lay at the feet of the banshee, but the lumpy great ogre, a grin still on his face, had risen and was staggering towards Bladder. The stone lion roared at the ogre and stretched his stone wings as wide as they would spread. He looked huge and fierce. For all Bladder’s grumpiness, Wheedle had had no idea his pack mate could be either of those things.
‘It’s all right, it’ll be all right,’ Wheedle said to himself, keeping his voice soft and low, but that’s what both the ugly and the lovely song were saying, and they lied.
The souls that had escaped when Sam broke the sword had done a thorough job of paring back the old monsters. Most of them were gone. Even the one bearing down on Bladder was a head shorter than Thunderguts, but Wheedle knew he was big enough to pulverise a gargoyle.
Sam’s voice echoed across the cavern. ‘Bladder. Run!’
The ogre’s docile grin faded and the creature frowned.
Bladder’s bellows reverberated. The deep animal sound shook the walls, making the dirt fall like rain on the mob. But instead of scaring the ogre, it woke it further, and a vile hunting expression filled its face as it reached for Bladder with deadly claws.
All three sirens sang louder. Sam saw Maggie glare in the direction of the barrel. She’d figured out what was creating the melody that bewitched her monsters, and she paced behind Sam, clenching and re-clenching her hands. They both watched Bombottom and Bladder circle each another.
‘Hurry up, ogre! And when you’re done with him, squish the little siren too,’ Maggie called.
Sam raised his wounded body to crawl closer to the dais edge. He had to help Bladder.
Maggie snorted. ‘Samuel, darlin’? What do you think you’re doin’?’ She walked forward, pushed him down with one bare foot so he fell on his wounded finger. He cried out as the pain renewed. His head cleared, but Maggie must have realised the effect. She opened her tin and blew a pinch at him, then the agony drifted away. It floated a long way off. Not just the pain, everything. Even Bladder’s sad face seemed distant. Sam knew the fairy dust had befuddled him and he couldn’t even get angry about it.
Bladder’s roar faded and the happy racket in the Great Cavern softened. Sam peered at the fight as Bladder and the ogre glowered at each other.
‘Get on with it,’ Maggie said.
The sirens’ songs lessened at the sound of Maggie’s voice, but they did not stop singing.
Bladder glanced at Sam, his stern stone face saddening. He mouthed, ‘Are you OK?’
Sam didn’t know.
Maggie knelt by him. ‘Don’t worry, my darlin’, it’ll be over soon. We’ll put a stop to that little siren’s singing and you can be the king you’re meant to be.’
Spigot settled into the couch between Amira and Hazel. They didn’t mind hugging up to him, despite the fact that he was made of stone, and though Spigot suspected it was to get closer to his popcorn, he felt pleased watching a movie with them. A nice song played over the dialogue and they smiled at each other. Wilfred sprawled across the other couch and Great-Aunt Colleen remained in the kitchen (‘close to the tea,’ she said). Uncle Paddy and the babies were sleeping upstairs and the film took their minds off the battle that might or might not be going on under their feet.
And Nugget.
Nugget was going to be fine. Spigot had not failed to look after Nugget. Wheedle would be pleased.
A manic pecking beat at the front door.
Spigot and the shifter children ran to open it.
‘What’s going on?’ Great-Aunt Colleen yelled and hobbled in from the kitchen.
Hazel opened the door and Yonah flapped inside. ‘What?’ Amira yelled.
Yonah flapped to the floor crying.
Spigot didn’t need an explanation. Something awful had occurred in The Hole. He could tell, because Yonah’s glow was so faded she’d turned a filthy white.
As the dove settled on the rug and sang out her distress, Spigot realised he could make out the notes of other, competing songs from far away. One a horrible grating noise, and the other a melody of longing and loneliness so beautiful it made his heart ache.
Then Yonah, as if exhausted by her journey from below, collapsed on the carpet.
Spigot looked up at the open front door to see Nugget jump over the threshold and head towards the kerb on the street outside. The lovely song was coming from the drain, and Nugget was following it.
Spigot took off, shrieking as he ran, trying to get Nugget’s attention.
The stone bird heard the padding of soft, shoe-covered feet behind him.
‘Not you three,’ Great-Aunt Colleen called out, but the shifter children were keeping pace with him.
‘Nugget!’ they yelled together.
Yonah was there too, flailing with the last of her energy. She whispered a resigned chirp and fluttered on to Wilfred’s shoulder, clinging to his jumper. She jerked about, unable to steady herself against the rise and fall of his racing feet.
‘Nugget!’ the children screamed again.
The little gargoyle did not look back as she dived into the drain. Spigot jumped in after her, the children falling behind him through ghostly bars.
Great-Aunt Colleen’s protests snapped off as the magic closed over them.
The group landed in the dark. All four sniffed the air, picked up the scent of the newly flesh-and-bloody gargoyle and followed her into the darkness. Yonah bobbed on Wilfred’s jumper, glowing weakly.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ Sam repeated. He said it a third time, realising his words had taken on the tune of the little siren’s song. His eyes widened.
That’s what they all believed. Humans, monsters, ogres. That’s what the songs told them.
I’m dreaming, he thought, and I don’t know how to wake myself up.
Maggie caressed his hair. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything else. Michelle often did this to Beatrice and, sometimes, when she thought he was completely asleep, she would sneak into Sam’s room and stroke his head as if he were a baby too. Her baby. It felt so good, so why was his face wet?
It’s not Michelle.
Sam opened his eyes. Maggie’s hair trailed over him.
‘Sam, wake up,’ Bladder yelled out, just before Bombottom grabbed him by the neck and tried to drag him forward. The stone lion dug his claws into the dais.
Sam moaned.
‘Settle, my baby boy,’ Maggie said, and she sounded like Michelle. She could be his mother. She was, in a way, wasn’t she? Maybe she was enough. He saw a trail of fairy dust float from her fingers and settle on his face.
Now she’s bewitching me. The songs won’t work, but with enough fairy dust …
Sam dragged his gaze back to the two monsters facing each other. He hadn’t thought of Bladder as a monster for a long, long time. Bladder had gone up against ogres before, Sam remembered. It never lasted long.
And it never turned out well for the lion-faced gargoyle.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a small blur of soft brown. It sprinted through the middle of a pack of goblins rolling dice with leprechauns. When it stopped and looked around, Sam recognised it.
‘Nugget!’ Sam heard Wheedle yell. Sam peered up to see the stone bull racing down the cavern wall, heading in the same direction as the little gargoyle.
Wheedle’s voice distracted Bladder and he must have lessened his grip for a moment. The ogre swung the lion above his head.
‘Wheed, Wheed.’ Nugget stopped briefly to wave to Wheedle and then she headed on all fours towards the cage.
Spigot dashed in behind her, followed by the three shifter children.
‘No!’ Wheedle yelled.
Sam laughed and cried. Gargoyles were fragile. Humans doubly so. He didn’t know why that was funny, or why Bladder was sobbing.
‘Hush, hush.’ Maggie stroked his head. She sprinkled more dust on him.
It’s a lot of dust. But dust doesn’t affect me as strongly as it does other people, he thought. I can still wake up. If I want.
The siren baby continued singing. The monsters and human-types turned to face Bladder and Bombottom. Some even cheered as if it were entertainment.
The shifter children chased Spigot through a cluster of trolls, who were counting their taloned toes. Spigot shrieked at the kids to keep going and one of the trolls grabbed Spigot into a hug. The stone eagle writhed and squirmed, but the troll cuddled on.
The shifter children slowed and then ceased running. They had been in the cavern long enough for the song to affect them. They peered open-mouthed towards the cage.
As they stopped, Wheedle reached ground level. He’d descended the wall at such a break-wing speed, he hit the bottom with a crack. Two goblins fought over who would put his leg back on. For some reason this made Sam sadder.
‘Close your eyes, darlin’. It’s not your concern any more,’ Maggie said.
Sam eyes fluttered as he began to drift off.
‘Sam!’ Wheedle yelled.
He felt so sleepy it took effort, but Sam opened his eyes again. Wheedle was staring at him from behind a pack of pixies playing conkers and pointing at the fight in front of the dais. Bombottom waved Bladder above his head to the sound of applause, his claw clamped on Bladder’s neck. The gargoyle gagged.
Maggie stared at Bombottom, Bladder writhing and wriggling to get free of his grasp, but Bombottom had turned to face the little siren, her song overpowering the dusting he’d had.
‘End it, you stupid idiot,’ Maggie screamed at the ogre. ‘Why am I the only one who can keep a clear head here?’
She blew another handful at Bombottom and one at the ogres circling the shifter children.
Bombottom grinned with malice.
‘No,’ Sam whispered as the ogre lobbed Bladder up and out, throwing the gargoyle at the wall of the cavern. The gargoyle bounced off the solid surface with a thunderous crack. The sirens stopped singing, and for a second Sam saw fear on the faces of all, monster and human alike. Bladder screamed.
Wheedle screamed too.
Bladder fell, rolling legless in the air, and hit the ground. White dust smoked up from where Bombottom had thrown the gargoyle, and there was another distinct crack, followed by many snaps, thumps and a solid thud like a small building collapsing.
Then the songs began again.
And somebody sobbed. Sam wondered if it was him.
The one dissenting gargoyle was dead, and Maggie had forgotten Sam in the moment of her triumph.
It’s OK, we’ve put Bladder back together before, Sam thought. We’ll just do it again.
‘One problem sorted,’ Maggie said, and opened her tin.
She blew a handful of dust towards the trolls surrounding Amira, Wilfred and Hazel. It shot over the pack of pixies in front of them, as if knowing its intended destination, right into the trolls’ faces. Their befuddled expressions cleared.
‘Grab those humans,’ Maggie said.
Sam found himself admiring Maggie’s control of the dust. She’s sedating me and waking them, he thought.
The trolls studied the children and Spigot. One troll licked a fang.
‘Not good,’ Sam said. He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t good.
‘Not important,’ Maggie crooned.
Important. The word echoed. Maybe it was an angel voice. Sam looked around. Daniel lay in the muck on the floor of The Hole, his usually glowing face aged and pale. Sam could see Yonah dangling off Wilfred’s jumper by one claw. Only her beak opening and closing weakly suggested she was still alive.
Important, the voice said again.
Sam knew he needed to wake himself, but it felt so much easier to sleep and let it all go. He could fix Bladder later. Everything would be OK later.
Nugget ran towards the cage. The Kavanaghs were inside, as enchanted as everyone outside.
Sam lifted his head.
‘Stop fighting me, Samuel.’ Maggie took out her tin and blew another gust of dust into his face. The air sparkled around him. She sure was using a lot of the stuff.
Wheedle gave Sam a despairing glance and took off after Nugget once more.
Nugget laughed.
Sam heard soft splashing by the cage and followed the sound to see droplets running down the side of the sirens’ barrel. The little siren pushed herself out of the water, leaned on her white-feathered arms and scanned the cavern. The small siren’s song changed as she saw Nugget heading in her direction. Even Sam understood it; she’d called to Nugget. She’d called for a friend.
Is Maggie a friend? the voice asked.
Nugget ran on her back legs, racing across the cavern floor towards the barrel and the little siren. She yipped and giggled. ‘Fren,’ she said.
‘No, not friend!’ Wheedle called, and Spigot shrieked out the same warning. The little gargoyle continued running.
‘Bombottom, I thought I told you to …’ Maggie pointed at the little siren.
Sam heard a thumping, clanging noise echo out across The Hole. It was Wheedle’s heart, giving a single beat. Even Maggie turned at the noise. She looked between Wheedle, Nugget and the little siren, while Bombottom glanced at her, waiting like a good boy for her to finish the command.
Almost killed me by not being careful. He’s careful now. It might upset her, Sam thought. Good.
Nugget waved at the little siren, and the siren waved back, her song stronger.
It seemed to speak to Sam too. You need real friends, Sam.
He lifted his head again. Maggie snarled and she blew more dust in his face.
Sam settled, listening. Every time he moved, Maggie had blown more dust at him. He was starting to sicken from it. He wanted sleep to come.
‘Nugget! No! She’s the enemy. We’re at war!’ Wheedle’s voice called out above all the other noises.
Friends? Enemies. Who’s who? Sam thought.
He lay still. If he moved, Maggie might dust him again.
That’s not what a friend would do.
You have to wake up, Sam.
I have to wake up.
Sam bent into a ball. He’d curled up the first time because …
I hurt my finger.
That’s right, he’d broken his finger. Badly.
Sam felt the wounded finger. Even a touch hurt. It cleared his head a little. He wanted to wince but, if he did, there would be more dust. He poked it again. It hurt. No, it agonised!
And if he didn’t do something, Wheedle and Spigot would be broken alongside Bladder.
I can fix them.
But you can’t put Hazel, Wilfred and Amira back together if they get eaten. Or the Kavanaghs. In fact, everyone who isn’t a gargoyle.
That did it! He grabbed his finger hard, and bit down on a cry. It cleaned his head. His body still felt groggy, but his head could think. He watched Maggie, whose attention flicked between Nugget, then the ogre, then Sam. And back again.
Then the little siren sang. Why can’t we all be nice to each other? Why can’t we just play?
‘Play!’ Nugget yelled.
‘No!’ Wheedle called after her.
Nugget hurtled past pixies sharing boiled sweets, past young ogres, who grinned as the tiny gargoyle clambered up the side of the cage, grabbed the lip of the barrel, and jumped into the water. Sam couldn’t see them, but he heard the childish cheers as the babies found each other.
Wheedle rushed through Sam’s army. He yelled, ‘Come on! It’s not going to be all right unless we do something.’
Sam had to wake himself.
The little siren’s song grew friendlier and happier as she and Nugget crawled to the edge of the barrel. Sam saw them dangle their small legs over the edge as the water washed over the top of the cage.
Sam had to get his friends out, had to release his family and put Bladder back together. He realised it’d be easier to go back to sleep. He even wished for more fairy dust so he wouldn’t feel so bad.
Wheedle hesitated for a second near the dais. Sam saw the gargoyle stare about. He looked at Spigot and the children cradled in the arms of the trolls. The song was winning out over the dust. They had done Maggie’s bidding, but they rocked the limp shifters like babies. The children allowed them. Only Spigot struggled against his captor’s embrace. Then Wheedle looked at Sam. Sam couldn’t do too much, or Maggie might realise his thoughts were clearer than she’d like.
Wheedle turned to the cage where Nugget was in claw’s reach of two wet witches.
Sam imagined Wheedle’s distress. What if Maggie told the sirens to hurt the baby gargoyle too?
Can Nugget swim? Sam wondered.
He watched the bull-faced gargoyle crash through a nest of pixies hugging and playing with each other’s hair.
OK, Sam thought, as soon as Nugget is safe in Wheedle’s hoofs, I will move.
The little siren’s song continued spreading happiness, cheering the monsters around her, infecting them with good spirits. Even Gouttière, Plomberie, Égout and the other gargoyles began smiling.
Maggie knelt again next to Sam, her tin open and ready to dispatch another dose of dust at a monster under the spell of siren song. Sam peered at the tin. It was mostly empty. She’d wasted it keeping him settled.
She was even swaying to the song herself.
She doesn’t have enough fairy dust on her to charm everyone. Not even enough for herself. Maybe we can get out of this alive with all the prisoners. We just have to keep the sirens singing.
Maggie stood up again, seeming to forget Sam, who lay as limply as possible. She was as interested in the gargoyles as he was. She studied Spigot wriggling in a giggling ogre’s arms. She turned and watched Wheedle pulling at the blanket over the cage. Her chin jerked up and she swore. Sam guessed she’d noticed Nugget too, splashing in the barrel.
When at last she stooped to pat Sam once more, he shut his eyes again.
‘Now, can you tell me, darlin’ Samuel, why your gargoyles aren’t charmed by the little one’s song? If she must sing, then it should be everyone who’s bewitched, don’t you think?’ Sam watched her through his blurred vision as her interest returned to Bombottom, who stared slack-jawed at the little siren. Maggie went to take a pinch out of her tin, directed her finger at the ogre and then thought better of it.
Sam lay quietly, pretending sleep. Maggie dropped the dust on Sam instead; the sparkles falling from the air muffled the pain in his hand. Part of him wanted to go with it. His finger was throbbing, but he had a strong need to answer her question. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I was wondering too.’
‘I’ve had to use a lot of dust to charm you, and a lot to break the charm over Bombottom. She’s of a different magic to the other sirens, and a creature of your making. Maybe she’s more useful than I first thought. I could control all of the monsters with her little voice. I’ve noticed some trying to slink away. Even now there’s those that hide from me. How are we supposed to conquer the upstairs when there’s so much disobedience about?’
Maggie touched Sam’s head. ‘Now sleep, my dearest. You’re safe. It’ll all be sorted by the time you wake.’
He wanted to do as she said, and sleep crept in. He could close his eyes and not witness what would come next, no matter how bad.
No, you have to wake up.
He grabbed his finger again. He bit his lip at the pain and tasted blood. The pain revived him. He let his eyelids remain almost closed and turned, pretending to get comfortable, giving a gentle moan as he tilted his head so he could continue to watch Wheedle.
Wheedle stood at the foot of the cage. ‘Come down, Nugget. Come down, my girl.’
The guards, a pair of barely adolescent ogres, grinned at the gargoyle and pointed upwards. They’d long forgotten what they were there to do. Wheedle looked back at the dais to see Maggie bending over the prone body of Sam, whispering in his ear. He would have to deal with all that later; she wouldn’t kill Sam.
Wheedle grabbed at his bull chest. ‘What?’
His heart thumped of its own accord again, beating rhythmically.
No time for that. He had to save Nugget first.
He put his head over the lip of the barrel.
Someone don’t know much about sirens, Wheedle thought.
Sam had told Wheedle they were like sea birds, which didn’t need to be wet, but someone had chained the older sirens in the water.
One of them paused her song long enough to hiss at Wheedle and the sound echoed throughout the cavern, making the humans in Sam’s army jump. Wheedle had no time for her; his gaze was caught by the soggy lump of fur and feathers splashing in the water in front of the adult sirens. The tiny siren had wrapped her arms around Nugget, and a furry Nugget was hugging her back.
Fur? Where did the fur come from?
The adult sirens did not seem to have a problem with Nugget. The younger one’s eyes smiled when Nugget made the little siren laugh, and the older one waved a finger in the air as if conducting their songs together. Despite one song being beautiful and the other being ugly, Wheedle noticed something similar about the rhythms.
The baby siren was adorable too. Almost as sweet as Nugget, Wheedle thought. Had her singing addled his brain? Made him see her as charming? She had a little girl’s face, curly-haired, coffee-coloured skin. And she had real arms and legs, unlike the older sirens, whose bird legs and winged appendages reminded Wheedle of neglected budgerigars. Their torsos were also birdish and half-plucked, whereas the child had the downy smooth white chest and stomach of a swan. She looked like a lovely little girl in a feather dress.
It had to be the song making him see her that way.
‘Nugget, come now,’ Wheedle said.
Nugget pouted, but swam towards Wheedle.
Wheedle had no time to be surprised by Nugget’s wet fuzziness. The little siren had ceased her singing. The other sirens folded their wing-like arms and glared at Wheedle.
Then they sang again.
‘Sleep, my darlin’ Samuel,’ Maggie was saying. ‘You don’t need to see this. I will wash them all from your memory. Don’t worry, my babby boy.’
Sam watched Wheedle talking. His hand ached all the way to his shoulder, as if the broken finger could not contain its pain and needed to spread. He could think though. He watched Wheedle carry Nugget down the side of the cage. The baby siren’s song had stopped. That wasn’t good.
Nugget couldn’t be hurt by sirens, but there were enough monsters on ground level to kill her.
After Nugget, the next most vulnerable were the shifter kids. They weren’t marked with anything to make them unappetising, and Spigot had climbed up the goblin holding Wilfred and was pecking at its claws, trying to detach Yonah from the shifter boy’s jumper.
Sam yanked on his own finger again. A horrendous pain shot up his arm, making him sick up on to the dais. He bit his tongue to stop from groaning.
When the baby siren’s song stopped, everything went very quiet. The larger beasts blinked their eyes as if coming out of a pleasant dream, and the little ones gawped, finding dice or counters in their hands and blushing.
The air was gritty and filled with dirt.
Wheedle raced towards Sam with Nugget in his arms.
Sam didn’t like the idea of Nugget anywhere near Maggie.
‘He pulverised ’im,’ something said. ‘He won’t have survived. Look at all that dust.’
Sam scanned the cavern to see who was speaking.
And who they were talking about?
More than one voice joined in. Sam peered up. Maggie gasped as he rolled away. She reached for her tin.
Despite the pain, Sam bowled himself to the edge of the dais and fell in the dirt. He twisted himself so he landed on his unbroken side, but the resultant jolt still jarred pain through him.
‘Sam?’ Maggie called. Her voice sounded clear. She didn’t need to fight the song any more.
Sam rocked to his feet, cradling his arm, but he was up and away, fleeing from the last of the pixie dust Maggie blew after him. He ran past a leprechaun who got the dust right in the face before falling over backwards.
Sam raced by imps and monsters hiding their toys and backing away from each other. He had to find where the bits of Bladder lay. He’d put the lion back together before, more than once. Only, the puffs of powder that had flown up as Bladder fell made him think that maybe some bits were too small to … He stopped, his feet refusing to take him further, refusing to let him see anything.
His heart beat loud, then Wheedle was beside him with a frowning Nugget in his forelegs. Sam had a second to consider that she was wet. Like a dog. The stone bull’s nostrils flared as he hoofed the ground. ‘He’ll be in nice-sized pieces. He’ll be in pieces. We can put him back together.’
‘Look at this,’ a pixie said, padding towards them. He held a solid piece of Bladder’s wing.
‘See. Pieces,’ Wheedle reassured Sam.
Dust filled Sam’s eyes, They watered so much, he had to cry to clear them.
‘Sam?’ Maggie called behind him. She scurried towards him from the dais. ‘You cannot save him now. You cannot save any of them without my help.’
Sam closed his eyes. What if she’s right?
The pixie holding the wing scrunched up his little fists and the stone piece crumbled into millions and millions of particles. A brownie held up two chunks of mane, and they dissolved too.
Wheedle cried and stamped a foot on the ground, his heart pounding in his solid chest. Sam crumpled next to him.
Bombottom, no longer dulled by the singing, was already striding steadily towards the sirens’ barrel.
‘Why don’t you eat them?’ Sam heard Maggie saying.
Sam turned back to see her talking to the largest remaining ogres. She pointed in turn at the goblins holding Wilfred, Hazel and Amira, and then directed her eyes towards the barrel. ‘Bombottom, once you’ve scooped up that little siren, bring me the prince back. Unharmed.’