Goblins Vs Dwarves by Philip Reeve Read Free Book Online Page A

heights, a far superior part of town. A long walk from here, mind. Come to my home and let me bind that wound before you set forth.”
    Henwyn had not noticed until then that he was wounded. His head must have hit the alley wall while he was struggling in the sheet, and blood was trickling down his face. He felt quite faint when he touched the place and his fingers came away wet and red. He followed meekly as the stranger led the way up one of the nearby alleys.
    Skarper trotted after them. It was almost dark now, but candles had been lit in some of the windows that they passed, and by their light he picked out the name of the book he held, embossed in golden letters on its spine. Why Magic Doth Not Exist , by Doctor Quesney Prong.
    â€œAre you sure you don’t want your book back?” he asked. Growing up among the bumwipe heaps had taught him to prize books; he couldn’t imagine someone throwing one away.
    The man just gave a hollow laugh. “Keep it, goblin. It is yours. I have plenty more. See!”
    They had come to the alley’s end. Beyond it lay a patch of waste ground, covered in weeds and litter, where a sort of small, lumpy shack had been built. At first Skarper thought that it was made from squared stones, but as he and Henwyn went closer he saw that it was actually built from hundreds and hundreds of books. More books, left over from the building, lay in a heap outside the doorway. The man picked one up and flung it on to the glowing embers of a small fire, where it burst into flame. In the sudden wash of light, golden letters gleamed in the book hut’s walls. All the books were identical copies of Why Magic Doth Not Exist .
    â€œI have five thousand of them,” said their host, adding a few more books to his fire and setting a pot of water to heat over the flames. “I am the unhappy Dr Quesney Prong, you see, and I had them printed at my own expense. I expected them to sell, for there had been great interest in my lectures from learned people, not just here in Coriander but in Porthquidden, Nantivey, why, even in Barragan! ‘Dr Quesney Prong is the voice of reason!’ That’s what they said of me. ‘He is rescuing us from a belief in all the superstitious nonsense of the past: he offers proof positive that there are no such things as goblins, trolls and fairies.’
    â€œAnd then what happens? Why, on the very day that I take delivery of my five thousand bound copies, the Lych Lord’s star rises again, and the world begins to fill with goblins, trolls and fairies once more. Mermaids singing on the beach all night! Ghosts and ghouls creeping out of the burial grounds! A fairy even flew into the very hall where I was lecturing and punched me on the nose, the little beast! And of course, no one wanted to buy my well-argued explanation of Why Magick Doth Not Exist when they only had to look about them to see that it plainly doth . So I was ruined, and now these worthless books are all that I have left.”
    It was a sad tale, and he told it with great bitterness as he carefully sponged the graze on Henwyn’s brow with water from the pot. When he was finished he used the rest of the water to make three cups of tea, which his guests drank politely, even though Henwyn wasn’t thirsty and goblins don’t like tea. They both understood how generous it was of Quesney Prong to share some of his dwindling stock of best Muskish tea leaves with strangers. It was tricky to make conversation, though, because every time they mentioned Clovenstone, or goblins, or trolls, or dwarves, Dr Prong would scoff and shake his head and say, “Children’s tales!”
    At last, draining his cup, Henwyn said, “So, can you tell us the way to the house of Carnglaze?”
    Dr Prong looked wearily at him. “Of course I can. It is my house. At least, it was. I sold it to Carnglaze when he returned from Clovenstone, bringing all those treasures. He gave me a