Borgon the Axeboy and the Whispering Temple Page 5
By this time the slaves had forgotten about the young savages. They were staring nervously at the swarm of bugs that was gathering in the middle of the temple.
‘Well?’ snapped Zaffar. ‘What are you two waiting for? Get rid of them!’
The two slaves raised their swords, but the swarm went flying off round the temple like a runaway train.
BZzZzzZZZzZzZ!
The bugs darted between Borgon and Mungoid then went to hover in a think cloud around Grizzy’s head. She dropped to the floor and curled herself up into a little ball.
‘Help! No! Get them away!’ she cried.
But Grizzy wasn’t what the bugs were looking for. Suddenly they all rose up and headed towards the slaves. The big men started slashing at the swarm with their swords, but that only made the bugs angrier. A few wasps landed on their shoulders, and then more and more came to join them, covering their necks and finally their heads. The slaves dropped their swords and tried to wipe the bugs away.
‘Don’t do that!’ Borgon warned them. ‘Stay very still! Once fire wasps have settled, they hate to be disturbed.’
Both men stood like statues, each of them covered in a thick black buzzing blanket of wasps.
‘How come the wasps ignored us, and went for those two?’ asked Mungoid.
‘I don’t know,’ said Borgon. ‘But look where the others are going!’
BZZzZzzzZZZZzZzZ!
The rest of the wasps had streamed across the temple towards Zaffar. The tall man shrieked in horror. He tried to hold Hunjah up as a shield, but it was useless.
‘None of them are landing on Hunjah,’ said Mungoid. ‘They’re all going for Zaffar!’
‘It’s as if they are being controlled by something,’ said Borgon.
‘Or some-one!’ said Mungoid.
Zaffar threw Hunjah aside and ran screaming round the temple, chased by the wasps.
BZZzZzzzZZZZzZzZ!
‘Is your god doing this, Hunjah?’ asked Mungoid.
‘We thought he just dripped rain from his nose to spoil picnics,’ said Borgon.
‘It looks like he can shoot fire wasps from his belly button too,’ said Hunjah proudly. ‘And that would REALLY spoil a picnic! Nobody can call him pathetic now.’
By this time Zaffar was banging his fists on the temple door. The wasps were landing on his back, his head, his arms, his legs and every other part of his body.
‘HELP! STOP THEM! LET ME OUT!’ he cried.
‘First you must beg the Great Conk for mercy,’ said Hunjah.
‘NEVER!’ shouted Zaffar.
TZING!
A sizzling flash of red light shot from his neck.
‘YOW!’ screamed Zaffar.
‘That sounded sore!’ said Mungoid.
‘And that was just the first sting,’ said Borgon. ‘What happens if the others start stinging him too?’
‘I can tell you that,’ said Grizzy. She had got up and was reading her book excitedly. ‘It says here that three fire wasp stings can make an elephant jump in the air. And five stings can blow the stripes off a zebra, and seven stings make you swell up and burst.’
‘Hey, Zaffar,’ said Borgon. ‘I’d start begging for mercy if I was you.’
‘NO!’ said Zaffar but then there was another even bigger flash. ‘YOW OW OOYAH! Please Great Conk, I beg of you! MERCY!’
But the door did not open.
‘Maybe you have to promise not to come back,’ said Hunjah.
‘I promise,’ whimpered Zaffar.
‘Oh, and you have to say sorry to Borgon and Mungoid for bossing them around,’ said Hunjah.
‘Sorry sorry sorry!’
‘And say that Grizzy is a very nice person and very clever too,’ said Hunjah.
‘Grizzy is a very nice person and very clever too,’ said Zaffar.
The door was still shut.
‘Oh dear, it’s not working,’ said Hunjah. ‘And I can’t think of anything else.’
‘I can,’ said Borgon. ‘Tell Hunjah he’s the bravest person you’ve ever met.’
‘Hunjah, you’re the bravest!’ said Zaffar.
‘Really?’ said Hunjah. ‘Oh, thanks!’
RUMBLE … ZONK!
The stone door suddenly shot open.
Zaffar stumbled out followed by his two slaves. Borgon, Hunjah, Mungoid and Grizzy followed them out into the daylight and watched as all three men ran away as fast and as far as they could.
‘The Great Conk will never get his temple restored now,’ said Hunjah sadly.
‘Never mind,’ said Borgon. ‘Maybe he was the one who sent that little earthquake in the first place.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Mungoid.
‘To stop people bothering him,’ said Borgon. ‘Maybe he’s just old and tired and wants to be left alone.’
‘Do you think so?’ asked Hunjah. ‘But how could we be sure?’
THUDDD!
The temple door dropped shut behind them.
Thank You, Bootlace!
That night Borgon could NOT get to sleep. He could hear Fulgut and Fulma happily snoring away in the back of the cave, but he was lying awake on his mammoth-skin rug in the entrance and staring up at the stars.
‘Well, Great Conk, are you there or not?’ he asked. ‘Because if you are, I’m very cross with you!’
It was the first night Borgon the Axeboy had ever gone to bed without his axe by his side. It was still locked in the temple, lying on the floor somewhere. Mungoid and Grizzy had tried to open the door again, but the sun lock had stopped working. Hunjah had offered to climb down from the big nose and see if he could find the axe, but it was a long drop and Bootlace was probably still in there doing his job.
‘GRRRR!,’ said Borgon. He felt so silly. What was the point of being Borgon the Axeboy without his axe? He’d just be Borgon the Boy, which was a pathetic name for a barbarian. The worst thing was that he’d lost his axe trying to protect the temple, when Borgon wasn’t even sure if the Great Conk was real or not.
Of course Hunjah believed in the Great Conk. Mungoid said he believed too, but maybe he was just being nice to make Hunjah feel better.
Grizzy was the only one who refused to believe in the Great Conk. She had a simple way to explain everything that had happened.
What did she say when the rain first came down?
‘It’s just a funny-shaped cloud.’
What did she say when the wasps only attacked Zaffar and his men?
‘They must smell of something that wasps like.’
What did she say when the temple door suddenly opened, then shut again?’
‘That sun lock is so old it’s gone faulty, and now it’s completely broken.’
The more Borgon thought about it, the more he thought Grizzy was right.
‘GRRRR!’ said Borgon again.
He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, but they pinged open again. Strange little noises were coming from the other side of Golgarth Basin.
SCRITCH! HISS– A–PUFF!
SCRITCH! HISS– A–PUFF!
He peered out and saw something wriggling towards him in the darkness.
‘It’s Bootlace!’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’
The blue snake’s head looked most peculiar. It wasn’t until it got closer that Borgon realised he was looking at the rattlesnake’s tail. The snake was moving backwards, and pulling something along with his mouth.
SCRITCH!
The snake did another move, then took a deep breath …
HISS–A–PUFF!
‘My axe!’ said Borgon delightedly. ‘You brought my axe back!’
He dashed over and picked up his trusty weapon. The snake lay there puffing away, getting its breath back.
‘Have you really dragged it all the way from the temple?’ asked Borgon. ‘And how did you get it out? Did the door open? And how did you know where I live?’
The snake raised its head, but didn’t bare its fangs. Borgon reached down and gave it a stro
ke. The snake gave a friendly little wave of its tail, then crept away into the darkness.
Borgon lay back down on his rug and this time his eyes dropped shut straight away.
‘Thank you, Bootlace!’ he said with a big happy yawn. He gave his axe a hug. ‘I can’t wait to see how Grizzy is going to explain this!’
And then, far across the desert, there was a soft rumble as the temple door closed for the very last time.
To Joshua Burland
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KJARTAN POSKITT is the well-loved author of many hilarious books for children including Agatha Parrot and the Murderous Maths series, translated into over 30 languages. With a background in children’s television, he is a tireless and brilliant performer.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
PHILIP REEVE is an award-winning illustrator and author whose books have won the Carnegie, Guardian and Smarties Prizes.
ALSO IN THIS SERIES
Borgon the Axeboy and the Dangerous Breakfast
Borgon the Axeboy and the Prince’s Shadow
Copyright
First published in 2015
by Faber & Faber Limited
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This ebook edition first published in 2015
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Text © Kjartan Poskitt, 2015
Illustrations © Philip Reeve, 2015
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978–0571–30738–8