Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf by Kaye Umansky

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    of cloud and trying to blend in with the treetops. Eyes on stalks, they stifled screams and
    goggled disbelievingly at the scene below. As if to rub salt into the wound, a sudden puff of
    wind tugged one of Ali Pali's posters from a tree trunk and hurled it skywards. It got all
    tangled up with Stumpy's bristles. Stumpy didn't need to read it in order to twig what was
    going on.
    The Dump had been invaded!
    The ultimate crime.
    Oooer.
    Yes indeed, Pongwiffy's pride and joy was crawling with unsavoury riffraff who, can
    you believe it, appeared to be helping themselves. Oh, the bold blatancy of it! Lights, music,
    theft on a grand scale! Oh, the deceit of it! The sheer cheek of it! Whatever would Pongwiffy
    say?
    The Brooms were terribly shocked. Not one of them had a clue what to do.
    Uncertainly they milled about, agitatedly scanning the ground below for any sign of Woody.
    It was hopeless. The garden shed appeared to have been taken over by a fortunetelling
    gnome and Woody was nowhere to be seen. Their poor, suffering friend had most probably
    been carted off by some crazed rubbish-happy lout as part of his/her/its haul. Oh no. Grapes
    and Get Well cards suddenly seemed inappropriate.
    Far below, one of the Hell's Fiends glanced up. Suddenly, hanging about seemed
    inappropriate as well.
    "FLY FOR IT!"
    As one, the Brooms turned, pointed towards Crag Hill and took off at a hundred
    miles per hour, screaming their bristles off. And that's why Pongwiffy, Hugo and Woody,
    flying along at a sedate five mph, suddenly heard a faint whistling sound. Then, to their

    great dismay, they were faced with the unsettling sight of twelve stampeding Broomsticks
    heading straight towards them at incredible speed with no obvious intention of stopping.
    "It's the Brooms! They've escaped from the Goblins! They're bolting! Emergency
    dive!" shrieked Pongwiffy, clutching onto her hat. And Woody did. Only just in time.
    With a blast of wind, the Broomsticks passed overhead, missing them by a whisker.

    "Phew! Vell done. Broom. Zat vas a near vun!" remarked Hugo a short while later. At the
    time, the three of them were clinging precariously to the sharp top of a pine tree.
    Woody said nothing. It was still recovering from the shock. After all it had been
    through, being forced so rudely out of the sky by its own mates was the very last straw.
    For once, Pongwiffy had nothing to say either. Mainly because she had a small
    branch in her mouth, but also because she was so very depressed. Everything seemed to be
    going wrong. Oh, why oh why did all this have to happen when she should be putting her
    mind to fund-raising for the Hallowe'en party? It just wasn't fair.
    "Come on. Mistress, cheer up," coaxed Hugo, "Look on ze bright side. We find ze
    Brooms, jah? So! Ze main problem is solved. Und ve still in vun piece. Und l ’ave plan."
    "You do?" said Pongwiffy, perking up. "What is it?”
    "Ve go ’ome," said Hugo. "Ve climb down zis tree, valk to ze ’ovel und ave a nice
    cuppa bogwater. Ve cannot be far from ’ome. I pretty sure it over zere, look. Near zat glow
    in sky."
    He waved his paw in a vague southerly direction. Both Pongwiffy and Woody
    brightened up.
    "Agreed," said Pongwiffy. "Tonight's been one long disaster from beginning to end. A
    nice hot cuppa will do us all the world of good. You go down first, Hugo. Then if I fall, at least
    one of my feet will have something soft to land on."
    "Okay. I go now — but vait! Vat zat?"
    "What's what? By the way, I've been thinking. What glow in the sky?"
    "Sssssh!" hissed Hugo. "Look!"
    Silently, he pointed below. Pongwiffy looked down — and nearly fell off her branch
    in shock. Passing below the very tree in which they perched, shuffled two Mummies.
    Moonlight glinted off their bandages. Everyone knew them, because they were the only
    Mummies for a thousand miles. As thieves, they were at a very distinct disadvantage.
    "Ees Xotindis and Xstufitu," breathed Hugo. "And, Mistress, look!