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250 pages, Paperback
First published January 5, 2017
The first picture showed a group of happy-looking Wimblies. Each was a different colour, but they were all shaped like dustbins with large round eyes and short arms and legs, and they radiated a sort of idiotic jollity. Fidge turned the page and continued reading in a bored, rapid mutter.
“Yellow are timid, Blue are strong, Grey are wise and rarely wrong. Green are daring, Pink give cuddles, Orange are silly and get in muddles. Purple Wimblies understand The past and future of our land.”
“Wead it pwoply, with expwession,” commanded Minnie.
Fact: when Fidge had thrown all Minnie’s toys down the stairs at Graham’s house, the thing that had happened next—the huge soundless static explosion—must have somehow churned them together, and who knew what might—
“WIMBLEY LAND HAS BEEN WUN IN A WEGWETTABLE WAY, BUT NOW THE TIME OF WECKONING HAS COME,WEQUIWING A BWEAK FWOM THE PAST AND A CWACK DOWN ON TWEATS AND WELAXATION. IT WILL TAKE AN EXTWEMELY STWONG STWUGGLE TO WIGHT THESE WONGS AND I—”
Graham let out a huge snort, and Fidge found she couldn’t hold back any longer and they were suddenly both yelping with helpless, uncontrollable laughter—Graham doubled up, Fidge with tears actually running down her cheeks.
“But why?” asked Graham. “What does he get out of it? OK, so he’s the boss and the whole country’s terrified of him, and everyone rushes about obeying his orders, but he’s stuck in the castle, he never gets out, he never does anything or talks to anyone or has any fun or…” He suddenly became aware that Dr. Carrot was looking at him in a significant way. “What?” he asked defensively. “You’re not trying to say that’s like me, are you?”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear your question./This muesli’s rather good./Bim bestion.”
“But it’s us who can’t thank you enough/We know that your journey’s been rough/For such a brave fight/Your talents were right/You’re clever and stubborn and tough.”
“It wasn’t just me,” said Fidge.
A Purple with green blotches clapped Graham on the back.
“One straw is so weak,” it bellowed. “But take and weave a handful—/Such strength together!”
“That didn’t rhyme,” said Fidge.
“Blank verse,” said Ella.