When he woke up that morning, Wobby didn’t know he was a level 1 goblin. He knew he was a goblin, sure, but he’d never heard of the System or levels. That would change.

  Duggo kicked Wobby’s ankle. “Oi, wake up you lazy goblin.”

  Wobby groaned and pulled his scrap of blanket over his face.

  The bigger goblin kicked him again. “Get up, the taskmaster called.”

  Wobby rubbed his sore ankle. He sat up and blinked in the torchlight. It was hard to tell the time of day when you lived in a cave, but it felt too early.

  “What does he want?”

  Duggo pulled his foot back for another kick. Wobby scrambled to his feet and got out of the way.

  “Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

  “Make sure you are,” Duggo said. He menaced Wobby with a raised fist before moving on to the next sleeping goblin in the Chicken Foot Clan.

  Wobby’s stomach growled. Last night’s dinner felt years in the past. He figured he had time to grab something to eat before they all had to be at the taskmaster’s cavern.

  With a quick look around, he ducked out of the sleeping cave and into the warren of tunnels. The tunnel floors were worn slick in the middle from generations of Underhill Goblins running down them. Wobby’s bare foot had a proper coating of grime to give him traction.

  The torchlight flickered up ahead, just before the tunnel forked. A cautious goblin would pause and wait to see what was coming. But who ever heard of a cautious goblin? Wobby charged forward.

  Just as he was about to take the left fork of the tunnel, a group of Red Hat Clan goblins burst out of the right fork. Wobby bounced off the lead goblin and they both fell on their butts.

  The rest of the Red Hats burst out laughing.

  The lead goblin, Haro, stood up and glared at his clanmates. They jeered at him.

  “Watch where you’re going, runt,” Haro growled.

  Wobby got off his butt and brushed off his tunic.

  “You watch where you’re going,” he said.

  Wobby aimed a slap at Haro, but missed his face. Instead he hit the red hat and knocked it off his head and on the ground.

  The other goblins yelled out in outrage at the insult.

  “Uh oh.”

  Wobby ducked the fist coming at him and tried to run down the left tunnel. But someone tried to kick him as he passed, and Wobby tripped.

  He rolled twice and jumped up again. After the insult to their clan, they would be after him. He ran as fast as he could toward the kitchen, Red Hats hot on his heels.

  He grabbed the wall and swung himself around the corner into the kitchen. Bam! He slammed into a goblin carrying a bowl.

  The bowl flew up in the air and showered the room in chopped onion.

  The Red Hats skidded into the kitchen and got faces full of onion. A few got onion in their eyes and shrieked.

  Gruda the cook turned her massive bulk toward the noise and chaos, a yell already building in her throat.

  Wobby dived under a table and started scooting toward the darkest corner of the overheated room.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY KITCHEN?!” Gruda bellowed.

  The Red Hats skidded to a stop, looking wildly around them, suddenly realizing their mistake.

  “Sorry, Gruda!” “Sorry, Miss Gruda!” “Sorry, Gru– yowch!”

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  Bangs and clangs echoed off the walls of the kitchen cave. Gruda swung her soup ladle in one hand and a sauce pan in the other, beating on the intruders.

  The Red Hats tumbled over each other to escape the beating. They ran away out of the kitchen as fast as they could.

  Wobby crouched in his dark corner under the table, trying to stay hidden. He watched as Gruda chased the last of the Red Hats out of the kitchen and then he realized his mistake. If she caught him in the kitchen, he would take the entire beating she was ready to dish out!

  His heart thumped. What could he do? And then he saw it, his salvation: a broom. He just had to wait for his moment.

  As soon as Gruda’s feet pointed away from his hiding spot, he darted out from under the table and grabbed the broom.

  When Gruda turned around again, Wobby was sweeping onion bits into a pile on the floor.

  Most of the other goblins in the kitchen were still cowering from Gruda’s wrath. But they were Blue Bell Clan. Wobby always thought were scaredy-cats. Not that they shouldn’t be scared of Gruda. Everyone was scared of the cook. She had giant arms from carrying around cast iron cauldrons and kneading dough to make bread that could feed a hundred goblin bellies. Wobby snuck a look at Gruda’s bulging arms and swept faster.

  Gruda nodded approval at the sweeping. She barked orders at the Blue Bells to get back to work. They scurried back to their tasks, a few of them giving Wobby funny looks.

  Most of the Blue Bells went back to work and ignored Wobby. But one stopped, spun around, and pointed an accusing finger at him.

  “You’re a Chicken Foot! What are you doing in here?”

  “A Chicken Foot?” “Why’s a Chicken Foot here?” “He’s the one that knocked me down.”

  An outcry began once that secret was out. The Blue Bells shouted “impostor!” and Gruda’s heavy tread crossed the kitchen floor once more.

  Wobby dropped the broom and looked for a way out, but the Blue Bells had him surrounded.

  “What are you doing in my kitchen?” Gruda’s low tone of voice was almost as frightening as her yell had been.

  Wobby’s eyes darted around the room. He spotted an empty pie pan under the table. He thrust his finger out, pointing at the pan.

  “I was returning that pan. I found it and knew it wasn’t supposed to be in the sleeping caves. I think someone stole a pie.”

  Gruda stooped over and picked up the pan. She eyed Wobby with suspicion.

  “It looks clean to me. Where are the crumbs?”

  “I guess they ate every crumb. Your cooking is so delicious that of course they did.”

  Gruda frowned and handed the pan off to a Blue Bell. “What clan dared to steal a pie from Gruda?”

  “It was the Red Hats,” Wobby lied.

  A rumble of outrage rolled through the kitchen. “Red Hats!” “How dare they?”

  “That’s right,” Wobby said, “and then they followed me here.”

  “Hmm,” Gruda muttered, “Red Hat pie thieves, eh?”

  Wobby nodded vigorously.

  “They’ll be sorry they messed with Gruda’s kitchen,” the chef growled. “Now go away. Work to do here.”

  The sound of a gong echoed into the kitchen, bouncing off the stone walls. It was time to assemble before the taskmaster. Wobby grabbed a hunk of bread off the nearest table and ran out of the kitchen. Time to find out his assignment for the day.