At the news of Queen Bipsy’s death, an immediate assembly of all Brownies was called. It was held in Burrow Cave, the only place large enough for all Brownies to meet together. Despite the hundreds of fireflies that flew above them, it was always a little dark in there. That was fine by most Brownies, since it meant they didn’t have to look too closely at the Brownie in charge of the meeting, Fudd Fartwick.

Fudd had been Queen Bipsy’s advisor for the past four hundred years. At twenty-eight inches, he was taller than most Brownies. His nose was longer than most Brownies’ noses and slightly crooked, too, which was okay since it kept most people from noticing his eyes. Fudd had mean eyes. He didn’t look at others; he glared at them. If he smiled, it was probably because one of his evil plans had worked. In those happy moments, his eyes shrunk to tiny slits on his stout face. He was the kind of creature whom you wouldn’t want to look at very long for fear your eyeballs would burn.

Don’t laugh. It’s happened before and it’s not pretty.

Fudd had one simple, humble wish for his life, which was to become the most powerful creature in the universe. There was only one position for him of greater power with the Brownies, and that was as king. Now that Queen Bipsy had died, he was ready to take the crown for himself.

Fudd had big plans for the Brownies. No more homes in underground tunnels and caverns. No more life as second-rate creatures behind the Elves and Fairies. No more making their living by doing secret chores for the humans. No, it was time for the humans to begin serving them.

It would take the help of the Goblins, though he’d have to keep that a secret. Brownies and Goblins weren’t the best of friends, mostly because Goblins had spent the past three years trying to kill the Brownies. But Fudd planned to trick the Goblins. As soon as he convinced the Goblins to join him, he could end the war and become the hero of the Brownies—but even more, he’d become the Goblins’ king as well.

Fudd smiled. His pointy teeth peeked through his gray lips. Careful now, he thought. Accept the crown first, and then you can make your plans.

Mr. Willimaker stood to speak to the group. He coughed several times, because whenever he was nervous, it felt like something was stuck in his throat, like a pumpkin. He hadn’t washed his hand with the name of the king on it, although it had become so sweaty that all of the letters had washed together and now said the new king’s name was something like “Lnit Prmsln.” He didn’t know anyone named Lnit Prmsln, so he’d have to go with his first choice.

Dear Reader, if your name happens to be Lnit Prmsln, then in the first place I’m very sorry for you. In the second place, you are not the human Mr. Willimaker intended to become king, so please do not dig a hole hundreds of feet into the earth trying to correct this problem. You’ll get very dirty and still won’t reach the Underworld. Besides, as you continue reading this story, you’ll probably decide that you really don’t want to be the king anyway.

Mr. Willimaker cleared his throat again and began to speak, but one of the Brownies yelled out, “Is the scary little mouse coming again, Willimaker? Will the mouse destroy us all this time?”

Mr. Willimaker tried to say that this was not a time for jokes, but everyone was laughing too hard to hear him. His hands sweat even more and blurred the ink so that no one could read it. He was on his own now.

Patches Willimaker walked up to stand beside her father. “Hey!” she yelled. “My dad has something important to say!”

Slowly the noise settled down, and as the eyes of every Brownie in the cave focused on him, Mr. Willimaker was more nervous than ever. With a tremor in his voice, he stated, “Queen Bipsy did many great things for Burrowsville. Except for our troubles with the Goblins, I believe we’ve always been happy here. Her final wish before she died was to know that our next ruler will bring us the same happiness. Maybe more, if he can end the Goblin war.”

A cheer rose in the crowd. Even Fudd cheered, although making the Brownies happy was not in Fudd’s secret plans.

Mr. Willimaker continued, “Before she died, Queen Bipsy gave me the name of our next ruler, a king.”

Fudd sat taller in his chair. This was his big moment.

“However, those of you who only speak Flibberish may have a problem with this name, because the name is not a Flibberish word.”

Fudd shrank in his chair. His name was a Flibberish word, though he didn’t like to remind people of that, since it meant “ugly stink face.”

Mr. Willimaker continued, “Our next king is a human named Elliot Penster.” He paused, waiting for the uproar. At any moment, the Brownies would realize that Queen Bipsy must have made a mistake. Their only action would be to reject Elliot as king and hold an election for their next ruler. Any second now.

There it was! The murmuring began, just as he expected. They were asking each other what the queen might have meant. Maybe she was playing a joke on them and was laughing at them from her grave.

Mr. Willimaker raised a hand, calling for silence. “Now, we all know the queen couldn’t really have wanted a human for our king. Therefore, I propose—”

“But the queen knew how Elliot Penster saved me three years ago,” said Patches to the entire crowd. “That must be why she chose him. He’ll make a great king. I know it!”

Mr. Willimaker stared at his daughter, wondering why he’d ever taught her to speak. She wasn’t helping.

“If he’s brave enough to save Patches from the Goblins, then maybe he can save all of us,” a Brownie in the crowd called out.

“Did I say he’s human?” Mr. Willimaker protested. But nobody seemed to hear him.

“I know he can help us,” Patches said. “Just yesterday he fought another human that looks like a Troll. A bully named Tubs.”

The crowd gasped in shock, although in fact, Brownies think a lot of humans look like Trolls. Patches didn’t mention that Elliot almost lost that fight.

Fudd shot from his chair toward Patches. “You mean to tell me that the next king of the Brownies is a human child?” He turned to Mr. Willimaker. “Are you sure that’s the name the queen said? Are you sure what she said didn’t sound more like Fudd Fartwick?”

Mr. Willimaker coughed nervously. “Er, no, I think I would’ve heard that clearly.” Now that his brain was speaking to him again, he realized what a terrible idea this had been. He wanted to tell the Brownies that he’d chosen the name himself, but it was too late now. Fudd Fartwick would give him hard labor for lying to all the Brownies and would then take over as king. He couldn’t let that happen, even if the lie made his ears turn moldy and sprout grass, which sometimes happens to Brownies who tell lies. He said even more loudly to the crowd, “Elliot Penster is our next king. We must go and tell him the news.”

“Hail King Elliot!” the Brownies cheered. “Long live King Elliot!”

Mr. Willimaker became so excited by their cheers that he began to believe he’d done the right thing after all. What he failed to notice was the one Brownie in the entire cavern who was not cheering.

Fudd Fartwick sat back on his chair and folded his arms. The cheer was wrong. King Elliot would not live long. He might not even live until the end of the week.

He needed the Goblins for this. They’d be happy to help. As much as they liked killing any Brownie, they’d like to kill the human king of the Brownies most of all.