“Electric blanket,” said Nurd.

“Wrong again!”

He heard Wormwood sniggering, and wondered where he might have left those pointy boots.

Nurd looked around the room, trying to see it from Wormwood’s angle. Electricity? No, that couldn’t be it. Samuel’s exercise log? Possibly, although it was a bit of a stretch.

Ah, he had it! On the floor by Samuel’s bed was a small, stuffed elephant. It had once been Samuel’s favorite stuffed toy, but was now beloved of Boswell, who liked to sleep with it for company.

Nurd made a trumpeting sound, and prepared for his final triumph.

“It is,” he said grandly, “an elephant.”

“WRONG!” howled Wormwood. “Wrongedy wrong wrong, Mr. Wrongly Wrongington!”

“It has to be an elephant,” said Nurd. “I’ve looked. There’s nothing else around here beginning with the letter e.”

“Ring-ring,” said Wormwood. “Call for you. It has to be for you, because it’s a WRONG number.”

“I’m warning you,” said Nurd, who now remembered where he had left those boots.

“You don’t have a right hand,” continued Wormwood. “You just have a left hand and a WRONG hand.”

“I shall inflict grave pain upon you with a pointy boot,” Nurd warned. “I shall take a very long run-up to do it. It will be such a long run-up that you will have grown old by the time my boot finally reaches you, and I shall kick you so hard that, when you open your mouth, the tip of my boot will be visible at the back of your throat.”

“You lost, you lost . . .”

“Tell me what it was.”

“Don’t have to if I don’t want to.”

“TELL ME!!!!!”

Flames shot out of Nurd’s mouth and ears. His cloak billowed like the wings of a bat. His eyes turned red, and his eyebrows caught fire.

“It was an elf,” said Wormwood in a tiny voice.

“Excuse me?” said Nurd as he regained control of himself.

“An elf,” said Wormwood, a little louder. “I spied an elf.”

Nurd rubbed his finger along his forehead. He could just about feel where his eyebrows used to be.

“Elves don’t exist,” he said. “Dwarfs exist, not elves. You can’t have seen an elf.”

“I did,” said Wormwood. “And I still spy an elf. It’s outside the bedroom window.”

Despite himself, Nurd leaned over the edge of his bed to take a look. Wormwood was right. Standing on the windowsill, wearing a jaunty green hat and a suit of red felt, was an elf. It had unusually sharp teeth, and red dots gave a kind of life to its cheeks. It had very dark eyes. They should have done something about the eyes, thought Nurd. Nobody likes an elf with scary eyes.

“How did that get there?” said Nurd.

“Maybe it climbed up,” said Wormwood.

“It’s a Christmas elf,” said Nurd. “It’s made of wood. You might as well expect a clothes peg to climb up.”

Wormwood left his bunk bed and padded to the window. He peered at the elf. The elf peered back.