Читать книгу Hobgoblin and the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia - Kyle Sullivan - Страница 21

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Fiddlefart jumped in surprise. He scrambled to hide the can of shark fart spray in a pile of garbage. The Huntress silently scoffed—it was an open secret throughout the kingdom that Fiddlefart artificially enhanced his nasty odor.

The ogre cleared his throat, walked over to the window, and pretended to look thoughtfully down at Tooterville.

Without turning around, he said: “There’s a hobgoblin bean farmer in the Mucklands in need of a scrubbing, and you’re just the woman for the job. You’re my most trusted minion, but I don’t really trust anyone. You’ll have to prove to me you’ve scrubbed the hobgoblin…”

The ogre whirled around theatrically. He was holding a glass jar.

“…by bringing back his flies in this!”

The Huntress took the jar in both of her paws.

Fiddlefart continued. “As everyone knows from fables and nursery rhymes, a hobgoblin’s flies would never leave their hobgoblin on purpose. They live for the creature’s farty stench. However!”—Fiddlefart gestured to the scrub brush on her belt—“If you scrubbed him so badly that he lost his farty stench,