brush.
“Head to the right,” said the squirrel.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Hobgoblin.
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” said the squirrel.
“OK, um, squirrel lady,” said Hobgoblin.
“Don’t ever call anyone ‘squirrel lady,’” said the squirrel. “Just call me Huntress if you have to call me anything.”
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“OK, Huntress,” said Hobgoblin. Something sneezed in the trees and Hobgoblin jumped in surprise.
“Keep going!” said the Huntress. “Don’t worry about the things in the forest. I’m the only creature that brings you danger.”
“Yes, Your Huntress,” stammered Hobgoblin. “I mean, My Huntress. No! I mean, just Huntress.” The flies smacked their foreheads in disbelief—if Hobgoblin was going to make it through this without getting scrubbed, he really needed to stop testing the squirrel’s patience.
“Do you know where Fresh Falls is?” asked the Huntress.
Hobgoblin couldn’t speak. The end point of the dreaded Rinsey River, Fresh Falls was a pure, clean, and glittery waterfall that emptied into the Pool of Purity. Everyone learned at a young age where it was—so they knew exactly where to avoid.
According to the folklore, once the glistening waters of the Rinsey River passed through Fresh Falls, they became infused with magical cleansing powers. The story went that if you dipped so much as a single toe into the Pool of Purity, you’d never,
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ever stink again.
“Y-yes,” stammered Hobgoblin.
“Good,” said the Huntress, nudging him with her scrub brush. “Go there.”
The next hour passed with Hobgoblin in a fog of terror. Horrific visions of swirling soap bubbles, purifying water, and scratchy brushes invaded his mind. His legs felt wobbly as he tromped through the chatty, twittery, very stinky forest.
Before he could see it, Hobgoblin could hear the delicate tinkle of Fresh Falls flowing into the Pool of Purity.
He and the flies gasped as they entered a slight clearing and beheld a perfectly clear waterfall. A sheet of water streamed cleanly down a sheer, smooth cliff face of polished bright blue rock. Silver twinkles of moonlight shimmered where the cascading water met the pool. It was all completely flawless—and to Hobgoblin and his flies, completely chilling.
The Huntress directed them around the slippery rocks that surrounded the Pool of Purity, right up to the gleaming waterfall.
“Go in,” she said.
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Trembling, Hobgoblin managed a wincing glance at the masked squirrel. The flies dashed to Hobgoblin’s head and squeezed it tightly. She couldn’t be serious.
“Not into the falls,” said the Huntress. “Behind them.”
Hobgoblin turned to the waterfall and took a cautious step on the smooth and shiny rocks. He closed his eyes tight and felt his flies quivering on his head.
The Huntress reached past him with the scrub brush and pressed an unassuming bulge in the wall of stone. At the sound of rock grinding against rock, Hobgoblin opened his eyes. He watched as a large chunk of the wall swiveled out to reveal an opening.
The Huntress pointed into the secret entrance. Hobgoblin carefully walked in and found himself in a pitch-black cavern. The sound of drips echoed across the walls and pinged in his ears.
Hobgoblin and the flies flinched at the sound of a match striking to life. Temporarily blinded, their eyes adjusted to find the Huntress staring at them, holding her torch high.
“I was sent here by Fiddlefart to give you the scrubbing of a lifetime,” she said.
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Hobgoblin shut his eyes tight. He slowly reached up to pet his flies one last time. Buzzing sorrowfully, the flies hugged his fingers.
The Huntress lowered the torch. “But I’m not going to do it,” she said.
Hobgoblin gasped and stared directly into the squirrel’s dark brown eyes. To his surprise, he saw something close to kindness.
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CHAPTER 4
THE STINKY SITUATION
obgoblin blinked his eyes, caught his breath, and then farted loudly for several seconds. He immediately felt much better. The flies resumed buzzing nervous loops around his head.
“You’re not going to scrub me?” he asked.
“No, I’m not,” she said.
“But you work for Fiddlefart?”
“Yes,” she said, eyes steady. “I apologize for the scare, but I had to act like I was really going to scrub you in case Fiddlefart’s spies were watching.
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Since no Rancidian would follow us behind Fresh Falls, it’s only now that we’re safe to talk.”
“But you’re not going to scrub me?” Hobgoblin asked again, a little confused.
“I promise I’m not going to scrub you,” said the Huntress. Grimacing, she looked down at the royal badge pinned to her cloak. “Fiddlefart’s cruelty and selfishness disgust me, but I’ve held my nose and played the role of loyal servant. I have worked hard to earn his trust.”
The Huntress sat down on a wet, algae-covered rock. Hobgoblin sat down beside her.
“When I was a child, I had an experience that inspired me to devote the rest of my life to helping stinky creatures in danger,” she said. “As soon as I heard that Fiddlefart had taken over Rancidia, I knew I had to help. For many years now, I have collected information, watched Fiddlefart for weaknesses, and waited for the right time to overthrow him and restore the Rancidian democracy. I believe that time is nearing, Hobgoblin.”
Hobgoblin’s eyes sparkled with admiration for the mysterious squirrel. From what the warthog had told him about Fiddlefart, it would take a lot
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of guts to stand up to someone so mean and cruel.
“What happened when you were a child?” asked Hobgoblin.
A shadow passed behind the Huntress’s masked eyes.
“That
