Hercufleas (18 page)

The Tumberfolk cheered. For the first time, they saw Yuk was vulnerable.

‘Focus!' Hercufleas told them. ‘Ready the tinderflies!'

As Yuk staggered to his feet, the cinderwikk men rolled their barrel in place and put on their mirror-tinted goggles. The bakers from Butterbröt Lane whacked at the tin barrel with their rolling pins, driving the tinderflies inside into a furious frenzy. The metal turned black, then red, then white hot.

‘Step back!' cried the cinderwikk men.

Roaring with anger, the giant stomped back up the hill. ‘YUK WANTS TO GUZZLE!'

He thrust his head inside the church for a second time.

The barrel exploded in his face.

It was like the sun had decided to rise early: a blinding fireball of tinderflies hit Yuk right on his chin, bursting apart into a million yellow and violet stars.

The giant's scream cracked the bell in the belfry and sent stained glass cascading down from the church windows. He reared back, but not fast enough. Before the tinderflies scattered on the wind, they brushed against his scratty beard of vines, setting it alight. Tumberfolk cheered as Yuk clawed at the flames on his chin, then turned and ran for the river.

He never saw the tripwire.

The cossacks pulled the rope taut across the street. It sent Yuk sprawling. He flew through the air like a flaming comet, then hit the ground. He crawled to the riverbank, dunking his beard in the water with a sizzling sound. He whimpered with relief, letting the icy cold water soothe his charred chin. But when he tried to get up, he found he couldn't move.

The cossacks had thrown their iron nets over the giant. In seconds, they fixed them into the ground with stakes and hammers. Yuk strained against the cords – they tangled and snapped – the cossacks heaved and repegged – and the nets held firm.

Upon the hill, the Tumberfolk gawped at the giant in amazement. Now they realised their own power. Working together, they were mightier than any single hero could possibly be.

‘Attack!' Hercufleas yelled, drawing
m.

Everyone charged down the hill – a throng of bread-bakers and cake-makers and babushkas and roost-wives and chickens. Snared in the nets, Yuk was defenceless. The Tumberfolk swarmed over his back, thumping and whacking and jabbing. He thrashed about behind him, swatting with his one free hand, but his body was so full of caves and crags, the Tumberfolk just wriggled out of the way. The cinderwikk men started fires in his bellybutton. The huskies were chewing between his toes. Mayor Witz cackled as she flicked out the switchblade on her walking stick and jabbed it into his armpit.

‘Chickens away!' screamed the roost-wives, pulling the bows on their heads and letting their cages of hair collapse. Dozens of furious hens flew squawking towards Yuk, pecking, scratching, screaming out ‘BU-CAW!!'

And wherever you looked, there was Hercufleas, urging everyone on. He was a blur across the battle, on everyone's shoulder at once.

‘Keep going!'

‘Attack!'

‘For Tumber!'

Realising he was beaten, the giant tried to retreat. He wrenched free of the last few nets and staggered to his feet. With a mighty kick, Artifax gouged Yuk's heel and he stumbled sideways. His foot snagged under the bridge called Two Tears, and the giant tripped. Hercufleas's stomach lurched – he thrust
m
into Yuk's skin to stop himself toppling off, but the blade came free and suddenly he was falling, falling…

With a thunderclap sound, the giant fell headfirst into the river.

Suddenly the tide of battle turned. The Tumberfolk swept off Yuk and into the water and came up spluttering. Their weapons sank to the riverbed. The hens bobbed downstream, out of reach.

Yuk looked down at the people floating in the river. Now they were the helpless ones.

‘YUM,' he grinned. ‘SOUP.'

Below him, the Tumberfolk splashed and floundered, praying to Saint Duffy, patron saint of mercy. Their courage was gone. They weren't an army any more – they were croutons, floating in Yuk's dinner.

‘Help!' they cried. ‘Hercufleas, save us! Bite Yuk now!'

But Hercufleas was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps he had drowned in the river. Maybe he had run away. Whatever the truth, he was gone. No one could save the Tumberfolk now.

Y
uk's nostril was a tunnel, fading into the distance. Bogeys sprouted like enormous mushrooms from all sides, glowing a fungal green. Stuck to them were skeletons of bats and birds who had flown inside by accident and become stuck. Hanging upside down, Hercufleas stared at the bones in despair.

So close. They'd been so close. He had tasted victory on his tongue, like the sweetest drop of blood. For a moment, he really had been a hero. Then something went wrong, and he'd found himself sliding into the cavern of Yuk's nose. Why did he always end up in nostrils?

He tried moving again. Kicked and squirmed and twisted. No good. His back was stuck on a piece of snot, sticky as treacle and smelly as over-boiled cabbage. It was no more than he deserved. Echoing around Yuk's nose were cries from outside. The Tumberfolk pleading with him to save them. He covered his ears with his hands. He couldn't bear to hear their shouts.

If only he had taken the Black Death.

If only…

A shadow passed over the far-off entrance. Something wriggled up the nostril towards him.

An enormous finger!

Hercufleas gasped. The disgusting brute was picking his nose!

He looked around the dim green glow of the bogeys for
m.
There! The sword glinted, just beyond his reach, embedded in the giant's nostril.
M
must be what was irritating him. Hercufleas strained to reach it. A little further. The finger wriggled up towards him, like an enormous worm. He gripped
m
's hilt and pulled with the last of his strength.

The sword came out with a squelch. In two slices, Hercufleas was free. He dropped to the ground, the finger right behind him, and fled further up Yuk's nose. The nostril narrowed until it sloped sharply down. Foul air rushed overhead and there was a sound like enormous bellows wheezing. Where was he now?

‘Aieeeeeeeeee!' A terrible scream echoed up from somewhere below. Perched above Yuk's tonsils, Hercufleas saw a dim shape tumble down the giant's throat and vanish with a faraway
plop.

‘Mayor Klare!' he called out.

‘Dooooooooooooomed!' There was another high-pitched scream as Mrs Lorrenz followed him. She was so fat she got stuck halfway down. Yuk gulped, and she slid away into his stomach.

Hercufleas could not go down, only up. Drawing
m
, he pointed his sword above his head and prepared to jump. He crouched, eyes shut, legs shaking with tension, until at last he could hold it no more. Like a javelin, he pierced deep into Yuk's head. He couldn't breathe – something wet around him squelched and clenched and burst apart – then suddenly he gasped air and opened his eyes.

Where was he?

Greta was the only person left clinging to Yuk. Soaked, sodden, she watched from his shoulder as the giant wrenched a tree from the bank and used it like a broom to sweep all the Tumberfolk into the middle of the river. Then he snapped a tall chimney off the bakery on Butterbröt Lane and used it like a straw. He sucked up water and squirted it at the poor Tumberfolk. He blew bubbles under their feet and stirred them round and round.

‘HA HA HA.'

Yuk was playing with his food before he ate it!

Then he began to guzzle.

First Mayor Klare, then Mrs Lorrenz… Greta watched in despair. She didn't know what had happened, only that Hercufleas was gone. Perhaps he had drowned. Or even abandoned them. She choked back a sob. She had believed in him. They all had.

Greta looked up. Yuk's head rose like the peak of a mountain. Suddenly she remembered the fleamily. She scowled. Tumber was doomed, but she could still save someone.

She tossed the Howlitzer down into the water. No need for it now. All she needed was her axe. She checked the edge. Keen. Slinging it over her shoulder, she began to climb.

H
ercufleas thought Yuk's brain would be tiny – the size of a walnut maybe – but it was enormous. It looked like a spider's web – the most intricate, shimmering web that he had ever seen. White light pulsed along its threads, like a cityscape of interlocking streets and racing lantern-lit carriages.

Yuk's thoughts, he realised suddenly.
And the threads carry them around his head.

It was dazzling and baffling at the same time. How could a creature that only cared about guzzling have a brain so complicated?

As he stood in awe, a little grey creature crawled quickly from a nexus of threads and looked nervously about. It was something between an octopus and a chimpanzee. It had eight legs, which it used to swing and jump from thread to thread, as if they were branches in a forest, and only one eye.

Hercufleas ducked out of sight, gripping his sword tightly. As he watched, the creature spat out a new thread, like spaghetti from its mouth. Then it connected the thread to several others.

Hercufleas couldn't believe it. The octopanzee-thing – was it making the web of Yuk's brain even more complicated? Did that mean the giant was learning new things?

And if he could learn, could he change? Could he be taught that what he was doing to Tumber was wrong?

It was a staggering thought. Peering inside the giant's head, it was obvious that Yuk wasn't just a mindless monster that thought about nothing but his next meal. There was more going on here.

‘
I beg your pardon, but are you a germ? A microbe or virus? A parasitic worm?
'

Hercufleas peered up to see the little octopanzee-thing dangling from a thread, talking to him. He'd been spotted! Now what?

‘
Perhaps you're a plague? Or a fever of the head? Whatever you are – find another place to spread!
'

Hercufleas stared dumbly at the strange creature. How could such a tiny part of Yuk's body be talking? How could it sound smarter than Yuk did? And why was it rhyming?

The creature squeaked in terror, and seven hands pointed behind Hercufleas. ‘
Whatever you are, you REALLY need to run – that rattleroot behind you is about to bite your bum!
'

Hercufleas whirled round. The rattleroot looked just like the shaft of Greta's axe, but was only the thickness of a cotton thread. It must be newly grown. A small head the size and colour and shape of a pumpkin seed had formed at the tip. While Hercufleas had been distracted by the strange sights of Yuk's brain, it had slithered up behind him. Now it bared its fangs.

What was a rattlesnoak root doing here, inside Yuk's head?

Hercufleas trembled. His hand twitched to the sword by his side. The rattleroot raised its head to strike.

Above Hercufleas, the octopanzee-thing tossed a gleaming thread down at his feet.

‘
Climb, up to me! Up here, to safety!
'

Hercufleas focused on the rattleroot. He might be in danger, but he wasn't about to trust the creature above him. It was part of Yuk, after all.

The octopanzee-thing closed its one eye and sighed. ‘
So you wish to die? Well, what a shame. I thought I'd found someone to save Yuk's brain.
'

‘What?' Hercufleas looked up.

And the rattleroot struck.

G
reta climbed up Yuk's earlobe, ignoring the disgusting toffee-coloured wax that smeared on her hands. Finally she stood on the giant's mossy head. The world pitched and swayed beneath her as Yuk turned his head this way and that, guzzling the Tumberfolk one by one. Throat raw, heart pounding, she made her way towards the tree sprouting from his skull.

The rattlesnoak's leaves were blood red, and its spindly branches swayed black against the starry sky. At the tips of them, seed pods shook like maracas. Around the trunk, rattleroots coiled and hissed. Greta took a cautious step forward, and saw tiny silhouettes leaping up and down on the leaves above. She waved at them. The fleamily waved back.