The Land of the Silver Apples

Chapter Twenty-five FROG SPAWN OMELET

“The elves steal our children,” explained the king. “You have to understand that elvish life is centered on pleasure. They cannot bear to spend one minute without entertainment, and they have to keep coming up with new amusements because they’re so easily bored. Once, long ago, they decided it was fun to switch our babies with human ones. I believe you call them ‘changelings’.”

Jack remembered the Bard talking about such things. Changelings, the old man had said, are always terrified because they’ve been torn from their rightful place. They fall into terrible rages and scream until everyone is driven mad. Jack thought, Well, why wouldn’t they? A human baby suddenly waking up surrounded by hobgoblins would go wild with terror. It must be just as frightening the other way around. “Do the elves give you our children?” he asked.

The Bugaboo sighed deeply, and the hobgoblin women cooed in response. It sounded like a flock of pigeons whispering to one another. “They turn human children into pets. It’s considered stylish to have a toddler on a leash. He can be dressed up in funny costumes or trained to do tricks. Toddlers are more clever than dogs, but they’re not as durable. Eventually, they fall into despair—lack of love does that. When a child is no longer entertaining, he’s left in a forest for wolves to dispose of.”

“How terrible!” gasped Pega.

“My father once left me out for wolves to devour,” Thorgil remarked.

“I’m not surprised,” said the Bugaboo. “The greatest sorrow of our lives is the loss of our sproglings—that’s our word for ‘children’. There’s not a family here who hasn’t lost one or two little ones. We try to plug up the tunnels. We post guards and lay traps, but the elves always find a way in.”

Hobgoblins had an unnerving habit of blinking their eyes one at a time, not both together as humans did. When they were upset, as the Bugaboo was now, they not only blinked rapidly, but erratically. Jack got dizzy watching him.

Something was hovering at the back of Jack’s mind, something important he had to remember, but the warmth, the rich food, and perhaps the effects of the Forest Lord’s water had dulled his wits. He was also extremely tired. Pega was nodding off, and even Thorgil jerked her head up in an effort to stay alert.

Dessert was an enormous steamed pudding wrapped in cloth. Jack vaguely remembered eating some. What he’d taken for plums were purple mushrooms.

After dinner the hobgoblins cleared the tables. Jack watched them in a kind of daze. He knew it would be polite to help, but all he wanted was to sleep. Soon a pack of hobgoblin youths led him off, and Pega and Thorgil were taken in another direction.

The sleeping hutches were hollows scraped into the earthen floor of a small side cave. There was one cave for boy hobgoblins, he was told, and another for girls. The adults slept in their own houses, along with the sproglings. The hollows were lined with the softest imaginable wool, and the youths curled up inside them like bunnies.

Jack found he couldn’t stretch his legs without sticking his feet out over the edge, but this was a minor problem. He was so tired, he could have slept on a bed of stinging nettles. The sound of snores filled the cave like the grunts of bullfrogs in a summer pond. The wool smelled strongly of mushrooms and perhaps hobgoblins.

Jack sat up and rubbed his eyes. Giant frogs were leaping around him, belching the way frogs do when they are happy. Then he saw that they were hobgoblin youths. A cluster of will-o’-the-wisps hovered near the top of the cave.

“It’s morning! It’s morning!” cried a youth, landing near Jack’s hutch. “Time to sing and dance and make merry!”

Jack crawled out of the nest. His head ached, and he was in no mood to dance. The hobgoblin youth bounced up and down invitingly, making him queasy.

When he stood up, he was at once the center of attention. He was patted and prodded with sticky fingers until he wanted to punch the next creature that touched him. “Where’s my staff?” he said, searching the ground next to his hutch. It was second nature for him to carry it at all times. It was the most important thing he owned, and he knew he’d had it when he went to sleep. “Where’s my staff!” he repeated.

Instead of answering, the hobgoblins grabbed his arms and legs and soared away in a series of ecstatic leaps. “Sing and dance and make merry!” they shrieked. Jack struggled to get free, but their hands were surprisingly strong.

“Let me go!” Jack yelled.

“Mud men need to play,” one of his captors told him. “They’re far too gloomy, always talking about sin. They must enjoy life!”

“With singing and dancing and making merry!” warbled the others.

“Put me down!”

A horn sounded in the distance, not the thrilling hunting horn John the Fletcher sometimes winded, but a nasty blatting noise.

“Breakfast!” screamed the youths. They streamed out of the cave, dragging the boy along. The horn blatted again. The tables were covered with steaming dishes. Thorgil and Pega were already there, looking disheveled and grim. On the roof of the Bugaboo’s hall a hobgoblin puffed himself up like a bullfrog. He let the air out through his nostrils, which could be squeezed open and closed at will. It was this that produced the ugly sound Jack had heard.

“Do you know what those sneaks did last night?” raged Thorgil. “They stole my knife! Ohhh, there was something in that food. My ears ring like a dozen warriors clashing their swords.”

Jack felt strange too. The cave swayed gently when he tried to focus on it. “They took my staff.”

“That proves their evil intentions. I told you it was ill fortune to be trapped in this cave. They’re fattening us up.”

“They didn’t take my candle,” said Pega, holding up the string bag she carried with her.

“Why would they want that?” said Thorgil. “You aren’t going to cut anyone’s head off with it.”

“I don’t think the hobgoblins plan to hurt us,” Pega insisted. “After all, they let Brutus go.”

“That’s their story. For all we know, they’ve picked his bones clean.” The shield maiden glared belligerently at the hordes of hobgoblins gathered to celebrate breakfast. They hooted and drummed on the tables as they waited for the food to arrive. Presently, the Bugaboo and the Nemesis appeared.

“What a splendid morning, my little dewdrop,” the Bugaboo exclaimed as he sat down next to Pega.

“If you say so.” She edged closer to Thorgil.

“I do say so. In fact, I’ll say it again. What a splendid, absolutely perfect morning!”

“When he goes on like that, you know it’s going to rain rats and frogs before sundown,” said the Nemesis.

Mumsie and the Nemesis’ wife came out with trays and were greeted with cheers. “We’re in for a treat,” the Bugaboo announced. “Mumsie has made us her special frog spawn omelet.”

“Hurrah!” shrieked the assembled hobgoblins, stamping their feet. Thorgil clapped her hands over her ears.

“Frog spawn omelet?” Pega murmured.

“Made from the very freshest eggs,” the king said, placing a quivering green slab on her trencher.

“They’ll really make you hop,” the Nemesis said, carving another slab for Jack. “Do you get it, ha-ha? Frogs? They’ll make you hop?”

“I get it,” said Jack. He had trouble focusing his eyes.

“Well, you aren’t laughing. You mud men have no sense of humor.”

“I don’t feel like laughing,” said Jack, beginning to lose his patience. The incessant noise was getting on his nerves, and he felt sick. “I told you we had an important quest to fulfill. The Lady of the Lake has run off with the water in Bebba’s Town. Our task—one of our tasks—is to bring her back.”

“That’s the same whiny story Brutus told. Ask me if I care,” the Nemesis jeered.

“You don’t understand! My father’s being held hostage. He’ll be killed if I don’t return the water. Oh, why won’t you listen!” The conversation around the table stopped. Everyone turned to look at Jack, and Pega snatched away her hand, which the Bugaboo was attempting to hold. Jack rose and bowed to him. “We’re grateful for your hospitality, sir, but we can’t stay.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve only just arrived,” said the hobgoblin king. “We have dozens of things planned to entertain you: fungus fairs, motley sheep shearing, hopping contests, and glee club performances. We can’t possibly think of letting you go.”

“And we can’t possibly think of staying. There’s one more thing: Where’s my staff and Thorgil’s knife? We had them last night, and you took them!” Jack had dropped all pretense of being polite.

The hobgoblins puffed themselves up and hissed like angry cats. “You’re accusing us of stealing? Us? Your benefactors?” screamed the Nemesis, bouncing up and down on his bench.

“Not exactly,” said Jack, dismayed by the anger he’d provoked. “Perhaps you were just borrowing them.”

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again: Time does not pass here,” growled the Bugaboo. “This realm is the Land of the Silver Apples. We fortunate beings who live within its borders do not age unless we venture into Middle Earth. When you leave—if you leave—you can enter the stream of life at the exact point you left it. You can carry on with your quest then. Now apologize to Mumsie. You’ve made her quite ill with your insults.”

Jack was confounded. He understood now that they were prisoners. He could see himself and the girls spending months here, even years. Would they grow old? Could they grow old?

“I’m waiting,” said the Bugaboo, tapping his foot.

Jack swallowed the angry words he longed to hurl at him. They were trapped in this cave without weapons or allies, and their only hope of escape lay in keeping the hobgoblins friendly. Somehow, given time—and they had plenty of that, Jack thought bitterly—they could discover the exit Brutus used.

“Of course I apologize, Mumsie,” said Jack, clenching his fists in frustration. “I never meant to hurt your feelings. Your frog spawn omelet is delicious.”

“Now, that’s really going too far,” muttered Thorgil, but Mumsie grinned, and the good humor around the tables was restored.