Chapter Twenty-four

Lettice Lovage stood at the doorway of the Great Hall, wrapped in a puffer coat and swinging her handbag.

“All this trudging through the snow,” she complained, as she took off her coat. “I don’t know why goblins have to live in dens. It’s beyond me. No modern conveniences—so yesterday.”

Toff the Terrible stared at her, openmouthed. She delved into her handbag for her magic wand.

“And not even a hook to hang my coat on.”

She flicked her wand, and instantly her coat was hanging on an invisible coat hanger. She flicked her wand again, and there she was, dressed in a glimmering golden gown, a crown on her head, her wings iridescent. Slowly at first, she grew taller and taller—so tall that her head touched the beams of the Great Hall.

Toff the Terrible gulped, for Lettice Lovage wasn’t your average common or garden fairy. No, she was a fairy godmother, and you don’t become a fairy godmother without possessing considerable powers. Golden coaches, glass slippers, and Prince Charmings are all very well, but they are the pretty part of the job. When faced with a goblin den, pretty is forgotten, along with the glass slipper.

Lettice waved her wand, and all the goblins were pinned to the back wall of the Great Hall, their knobbly knees shaking.

“Where is Emily Vole?” demanded Lettice.

“She went to find Elvis the Elf and the magic lamp,” said Buster.

Lettice waved her wand again, and Emily appeared, cradling the magic lamp, its arms and legs all floppy. The elf stood beside her, his finger bandaged and his precious umbrella clutched in his other hand.

Emily, speechless, stared up at the amazing apparition that was Lettice Lovage.

“What happened?” said Buster.

“I’m not sure,” said Emily. “I found the dungeon, looked through the bars, and there they were. The lamp said, ‘Oh, sweet mistress,’ and then just keeled over.”

“Oh, what a mess,” said Elvis. “Now I’ve murdered the lamp as well.”

“No, you haven’t,” said Buster. “It’s just fainted.”

The lamp began to come to.

“Tell me, sweet mistress, I am safe,” it said, lifting a hand to its lid. Glancing up, it saw Lettice Lovage towering over them and passed out again.

“What have you to say for yourself, Elvis Elf?” asked Lettice.

“I’m very sorry. I am terribly sorry,” he said. “I did wrong.”

“Yes,” agreed Lettice. “You, deary, are a stupid, half-baked, foolish numbskull of an elf.”

“Hold on, Auntie,” said Buster. “That’s a bit steep.”

“However you put it, there is still an elf at the bottom of this case,” said Lettice.

“Yes, but…” Buster didn’t finish what he was saying.

“How many wishes did you hand out?” Lettice asked the elf.

“I can’t remember—it’s all such a blur,” said Elvis. “Oh, what a mess.”

“Hee hee,” laughed Toff the Terrible, who enjoyed seeing other people being told off.

“Quiet, you snot-filled goblin!” Lettice seemed to grow even bigger.

“Toff the Terrible, you are charged with the murder of Sir Walter Cross, ruining Mr. Rollo’s business, and making one humongous mess of Pan Smith’s wedding arrangements.”

“May I interrupt you, Aunt Lettice?” said Buster.

“Yes, deary, go ahead.”

“Toff the Terrible, you also stole the magic lamp with the intention of installing a genie.”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t get its lid off.”

“I know what you were up to,” said Buster. “I know the spell. By putting Elvis’s supercharged umbrella inside the magic lamp, you hoped to conjure up a genie who would make you all-powerful.”

“None of it is my fault. Look, if anyone should be charged with these crimes, it’s—”

“Silence!” roared Lettice, and her voice rumbled so loudly around the Great Hall that a huge piece of plaster fell from the ceiling and landed at Toff the Terrible’s hairy feet.

Lettice turned to her nephew. “Be a love—put your sword on Toff’s shoulder.”

“No, no,” said Toff. “Please, pretty please … spare me. Anything but that!”

“Anything but what?” asked Buster.

“He went blue when he touched it, didn’t he, deary? Started to freeze,” said Lettice.

“Yes,” said Buster.

“The first stage, deary, of being turned to stone,” said his aunt.

“Stone?” repeated Buster.

“Fidget gave you the Sword of Justice,” said Lettice. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“No,” said Buster, looking at it, impressed. “Just something about green socks.”

“Yes, deary, and the Sword of Justice has found Toff the Terrible guilty as charged and will turn him into stone for a hundred years. Just rest it on the goblin’s shoulder, and we are done and dusted.”

“What about the Band of Baddies?” asked Buster.

“Stone for the lot of them, I say,” said Lettice. “I’ll sell them to a garden center.”

The goblins all began to wail.

“Spare us, please, please!”

“Quiet,” said Lettice. “Quiet! There is an or.”

“An or?” whimpered Toff the Terrible, nibbling the end of his beard. “What kind of or?”

Lettice sighed and returned to her normal size.

“Or,” she said, “you work in the community.”

“You what?” said Toff.

“It’s simple, deary. It means that I put a spell on these woods so that you can’t leave. Instead you will have to work.”

“Work!” moaned Toff the Terrible. “Me, work? Work at what?”

“You and the Band of Baddies will look after the woods, pick up rubbish, and clear away dog poo. And be kind to children, for they will be able to see you.”

“No, no,” wailed Toff the Terrible. “Isn’t there another or to be had?”

“No. The choice is yours. Garden gnomes or pooper scoopers.”

Toff the Terrible and the Band of Baddies huddled together in a corner to discuss their options.

“Well done, Auntie,” said Buster.

Lettice looked at him. “You didn’t do so badly yourself,” she said. “Come here and give me a kiss.”

And it was then, just as his aunt was about to plant a kiss on his cheek, that to everyone’s surprise, Buster vanished into thin air.

“A pooper scooper it is,” said a mournful Toff the Terrible.