There was more than a hint of winter in the evening air, and the first light snowfall covered the garden. Sooty’s paw prints could be seen as he walked from the house to a little, leafy covered space he liked under the old willow. A cat’s day, spent correctly, involved moving from one favourite sleeping place to the next. At this time of year, Sooty preferred the space around the hearth and fire, or even Tegan’s bed, but he was currently intrigued by the garden.
It took an hour or so, and Sooty was considering food and warmth again—we should note that he was forever in fear of wilting away for want of food—when the rustling of the raspberry and blackcurrant canes by the rhubarb patch told him that the angry nocturnal visitor was here once more. It was a very small man… Hmm, maybe not a man, Sooty pondered; he was about 2.5 feet tall and definitely not a child. Dressed in a green coat and hat, with an untidy beard, he was an old, unpleasant, cunning woodland creature: a fraudster, and an angry one right now.
“Where is that damn gnome?” was his muttered refrain, alongside “It’s gone, it’s gone.” He would jump up and down, pull something from Tegan’s herb garden, then sit there looking angry and puzzled.
Sooty had watched this performance for the last two evenings. He had thought about telling his human, but he was concerned that it might upset her and make her absent-minded about the things that mattered more, namely him and his mealtimes. All the same, Sooty could tell trouble when he saw it, and this little guy was definitely trouble: a dodgy woodland financier whose trickery had gone on for decades. Sooty was getting bored and stretched. It would all come to a head, he thought; some things had to. But not before he curled up nearer the fire.
*
Mr. Incy Wincey observed the little family meeting in Tegan’s main room. His place near the door was assured, and his web gave him an excellent vantage point. He might say little (well, nothing at all, in actuality), but he was a keen observer. Since his totally unfair eviction from his previous home (at least in his own view), he had been a very content occupant of this part of the living room.
The scene before him was one of organised disorganisation. Tegan was sitting at the small round table with a pot of leprechaun gold; it was full of gold coins of the realm dating back hundreds of years. Sooty was stretched out near the fire, enjoying the flickering flames and warmth. Mr. Incy Wincey suspected he knew more than he was saying, but time would tell. At the window, Ferdinand the Troll leaned in. He appeared to be enjoying a snack of morning slug. He could have come into the house, but he was large, cumbersome and tended to break the furniture. Also, his large feet left muddy troll footprints on Tegan’s mats, so she preferred him to look in. The only non-participant in this meeting was Winnie the Goat. Goats stressed Ferdinand, and Winnie was remarkably dim anyway, so she was being allowed to eat the grass at the garden’s edge, where the primroses grew. And so, thought Mr. Incy Wincey, we begin.
“We have a conundrum.” Tegan played with the dust on the table and looked round. Her hair turned blue when she was stressed or angry, and her blonde hair was a deep blue right now.
“The thing is that this gold isn’t really ours. I’d say it technically belongs to Cyril, but I haven’t exactly rushed to tell him, have I?” She sighed and looked at Sooty.
“Technically, it WAS the leprechaun’s, but that shyster took money from Cyril fraudulently, using the gold as security. Part of me feels sorry for Cyril, but part of me remembers how he treated Mr. Incy Wincey. And as for my mother…”
Silence fell. Mr. Incy Wincey appreciated the recognition of his distress. Being plucked from his web, placed in a bottle and then held for ransom had been a deeply unhappy episode.
“That leprechaun,” said Ferdinand, “was a fraudster. How do we know he didn’t get loans from many people using that gold as security? Only Cyril is obsessed with finding it. And his security failed. If you employ a gnome as a guard, you pay the gnome. I bought him off with a fish and two pieces of copper.”
Silence fell. “Meow,” said Sooty, cleaning behind his ear.
“Hmm,” Tegan said, frowning. “Sooty thinks the leprechaun has been visiting the garden. That could be awkward.”
Ferdinand grunted. He didn’t like long conversations, and this one was already ten minutes long. He wanted to get back to the peace of the bridge.
“You can’t give it away. None of them deserve it; you should have it. It was buried on your land and was sitting in your kitchen.”
“But Ferdinand, as my mother pointed out, this is family land rather than mine specifically. I don’t know what to do, but I’ll hide it for now, if we’re all in agreement.”
Ferdinand grunted. “Meow,” said Sooty. Mr. Incy Wincey ran up his web.
“Then we have an agreement,” Tegan said with a smile. “I’ll go to the village tomorrow and try to get some information on the leprechaun. And thank you, everyone.”
The meeting disbanded. Mr. Incy Wincey watched Ferdinand lumber away as Tegan headed to her tarot cards. She turned one over, then spread a little salt around her door and, after a trip to the herb garden, tied a small sprig of rue above the doorframe. He felt trouble was on the way. “Nothing good ever comes of pots of gold or diarists,” Tegan muttered. There was something in the air.
*
Winter had fallen like a cloud of mist over the hamlet of Much Sleeping. Tegan had left early that morning and paid Ferdinand as she crossed his new bridge at the bottom of her garden. She gave him some fresh parsley and promised him village news on her return. The walk had been difficult. A journey on foot that would normally have been a pleasant 45-minute meander had taken over an hour in the snow and biting wind. What made it more difficult was the persistent sense that she was being watched or followed. Movement in the trees and the feeling of being observed made for a disquieting journey. There was no designated path to her house; she followed her instincts until she emerged from the forest and met the cart track leading to Much Sleeping. The slightly larger village of Pity Me lay beyond it, but was farther away in winter.
Today she was selling cera alba (beeswax) candles and goat’s cheese to cover her true mission. She kept watch on the passing villagers, listening to conversations and looking out for strangers. The diarist had pasted a new entry on the board (Tegan disliked the term *diary* when applied to anyone who publicly wished to tell others about their daily life), but even the villagers were now tired of the petty rants about customers and the boring mundanity of the cart-and-pony woman’s daily life. The woman shouldn’t, of course, be so full of vitriol, but Tegan had been at the sharp end of that pen, and it had once cost her dearly. By early afternoon, her wares were nearly sold: she had sold some goat’s cheese to villagers and a little packet of beeswax to a furtive, unobtrusive gnome. Tegan picked herself up from her spot near the market cross, put her scarf over her hair and made her way to Miss Lovett, a buyer and seller of gold and a jeweller—‘shark’ in popular parlance.
Miss Lovett’s hovel was little more than a shed, with a grubby bed in the corner and some of yesterday’s food clinging to a pot. But you shouldn’t let that fool you: she was by far the richest woman in the district. Tegan entered and was met by an ashen-white face (created by old, caked-on make-up), lank, tangled hair and a generally emaciated woman who, although only a decade or so older than Tegan, looked ancient. Tegan recognised her immediately.
“’Aroint thee, witch!’ the ronyon cried. ‘Hence, and come no more… whore.’”
This had been anticipated. Tegan merely placed a gold coin on the table next to a stain of congealed blood and a louse.
The woman’s eyes darted to the coin, and she grabbed it with surprising speed, biting it and spitting to the floor.
“From what dark corner didst thou pluck this, strumpet? Behold, this coin predates the reign of Harald Fleet-of-Foot. It breathes the very dust of antiquity, bearing a price far above thy beggarly station.”
She held it in her fist, and Tegan smiled inwardly. There are times when a lie suffices better than the truth.
“It was in the beck near Pity Me, glinting in the water. Hard to resist. It’s yours if the price is good.”
“Have you more, drab?”
“No, I searched the beck but only found this. Some money for the winter would be useful.”
The harridan turned her back to the room and scuttled into the next-door area. She returned with a little handful of silver worth more than Tegan would make in six months selling her wares. Of course, she was seriously undervaluing the coin. Tegan took care not to betray any sense that she was being cheated, and gave no indication that she had more. She now had the information she needed, and, for a girl with little knowledge of monetary value, she now knew the fortune she had in her possession.
“Thou shalt not find a fairer bargain in all the lands of the south. Take thy silver, trull, and get thee hence, ere I summon the Watch to purge my house of thy presence. Avaunt, thou witch, and may a foul blight mar thy days!”
Tegan left with a slight incline of the head. She wanted to be home before darkness fell, but as she left the hamlet, having bought two young hens and a travelling basket with some of the silver, she once again felt the eyes of someone, or something, upon her.
*
The little hamlet of Much Sleeping was quickly behind her and within minutes the forest once again enclosed her. Again, there was this sense of eyes…
“Sooty?”
“Meow, ow…”
The black cat stretched and walked sedately towards her, tail in the air in greeting, while retaining an air of indifference. In fact, Sooty had endured a long walk, gone without food and suffered the cold while waiting at the edge of the hamlet. He knew well enough that dogs lived in that village, and dogs worked for the police—you couldn’t trust them. Nothing would have induced him to leave the cottage and walk such a distance except genuine (if concealed) worry for his human, and the sight of an unwelcome intruder breaking into her home after Tegan had reached the forest edge.
“Sooty… wet little paws.”
“Meow.”
He jumped into her arms and settled on her shoulder. Her winter coat was warm and woolly; he would happily nap there while she took him home. Then food and fire…
“Sooty, what brought you here?”
Oh, he’d almost forgotten about that.
“Ow… ow… meow.”
Tegan scowled. “Is he, indeed? I think we’d better get a move on, then.”
*
By the time they reached Ferdinand’s little bridge, it was almost dark. A light shone from her cottage; someone had lit candles in the windows. She passed her beehives by the river and Ferdinand’s ridiculous scarecrow, packed with wolf hair, its pots rattling in the evening wind. His crop of pak choi and carrots had been carefully placed in baskets, and his little bay tree was growing nicely.
“Stop… Pay your toll. You are at a troll bridge.”
The huge shape of Ferdinand came up from under the bridge.
“Hello, Ferdinand. Actually, I bought you something in Much Sleeping.” She reached up and put Sooty down. He gave Ferdinand a look and scampered off towards the cottage. Tolls didn’t apply to cats; his human could pay for him.
With the snare drum and sticks tied to her back, she took them off and handed them over.
Ferdinand took them, and a tear appeared in his eye.
“This is too much… I only need a bit of gossip. This is too kind.”
“Well… you deserve it. But tell me, Ferdinand, why are the lights on in the cottage? Sooty told me who’s in there.”
Ferdinand nodded. “You can deal with him. I’ve been occupied watching another nocturnal visitor. I’ll tell you later. I did try to catch him, but he’s fast and furtive. Nice hens, by the way.”
“Oh yes, Ferdinand, please can you make a pen for them tomorrow? We need to keep them safe from foxes. The eggs will be lovely. I’ll put them in the outhouse tonight. And yes…” She sighed. “I can deal with Him.”
*
“Cyril.”
Mr. Incy Wincey had scuttled quickly out of his web and into the little dark recess in the wall behind him. Tegan had barely been gone five minutes when the door was prised open and Cyril walked in. He wore the same slightly battered apparel and hat, and those tattoos had become a living map on his body in his pursuit of the pot of gold. Sooty, who had been relaxing on the sofa, took one look at him and darted out of the door.
It was a long day for the spider. He had to hide while Cyril literally looked inside and under everything in Tegan’s cottage. There wasn’t even a pair of her socks that hadn’t been felt and shaken. Cyril had searched everywhere, from the chimney to under the rugs. Eventually, he made himself some food and settled on the sofa to wait.
*
It was only as the evening light began to fade that Tegan walked in. She stared at Cyril and glanced at the web, where Mr. Incy Wincey was emerging to observe once more. Sooty sat by his food dish, watching Cyril with one eye.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you? I don’t believe you were ever given a key.”
“Hello, Tegan… It is your mother’s home.”
“Debatable—not universally accepted. And it’s a bit late to start trying to be my stepfather. What can I do for you, as if I didn’t know? And if you’ve been rummaging through my underwear”—she nodded towards the open drawer—“then I suggest you leave.”
Silence fell over the cottage.
“You’ve been to see Miss Lovett? Was there something worth selling?”
“And how would you know that?”
“I’ve been watching you. Do you honestly think I’d just let it go?”
“Watching me? That’s really messed up. I think this has gone far enough, Cyril. Whatever my mother thinks of you, that’s not on. If you keep creeping around and following me, I’ll have to get Ferdinand to throw you out.”
“It wasn’t me. I hired a tracking gnome, he’s very discreet.”
“Unhire him now.”
Tegan’s hair was bright blue, and crackles of static leapt from her fingers. There were signs of potential trouble, and even Cyril noticed.
“Tegan, sit down and listen to me. Give me a few minutes and I’ll leave. And I’ll sack the gnome too, although he has been very informative. I think you have the money, and I know you know it’s mine.”
She sat down but chose a spot on the mat some distance from him.
“Talk then.”
“Okay. Let me take you back to when you were sixteen. Can you picture it?”
“Yes, I remember my mother abandoning me for you and leaving, never to be seen for five years until last month. And don’t give me that rubbish about blowing the house up as a reason for visiting me… What a lie. All you and Mother do is lie to me. I do NOT need you in my life.”
“Well… look… your mother and I are not really the nurturing kind.”
“Agreed.”
“But when we left, I had a lovely Shire horse called Delia. She was a breeding mare. I was chatting to a local farmer from Pity Me when this leprechaun bought me a drink and admired her. He told me he’d had a hard life and bought me another drink. Then he told me a sad tale about his mother, who had taken to drink, and he bought me another drink or two. I felt so sorry for the little chap. He needed funds to help him get a little place of his own. He said he could pay me back in a month from the funds in his little pot of gold, which he couldn’t access straight away, but he would meet me here in Pity Me in a month. And he bought me another drink. So I let him have Delia. He never came back. The next day, I swore to myself and your mother that I would track that gold down, and I believe I have.”
Silence fell over the room once more.
Tegan frowned.
“I need to feed Sooty.”
Sooty agreed.
“I know you have it.”
Tegan remained silent and sorted out Sooty’s food. She needed to think. Then suddenly there was a mini-explosion of sound from her sofa—
Cyril was pointing towards her window.
“There is the duplicitous little bastard…”
And he was gone, racing out of the door. Tegan rushed after him, only to see Cyril racing after a small (about 2.5 feet tall) man in green with a reddish beard. Cyril almost grabbed his coat, but the little man turned and kicked him hard. Cyril, determined, got up again—only to fall over a winter turnip growing in the vegetable patch. The little man raced for the woods, with Cyril following and cursing. They both disappeared into the darkness of the trees.
*
“That was the other nocturnal intruder you were talking about?”
Tegan closed her door again and went down to her hives to tell her bees all about it. She had something for them to look after as well. Then she looked out at Ferdinand, who was sitting under his bridge playing his drum.
“Yes.”
“He’ll be back. That’s the leprechaun?”
“He will be back. But I’ve been thinking.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. You know how my goat traps have been a huge success?”
Tegan smiled. “They have certainly kept the goats away, Ferdinand, yes.”
“Yes. Well, I have devised a leprechaun trap, and all I need is a leather boot, a small hammer, some silver nails and some glue.”
“Is that all?”
“That should do it, yes.”
“I see.”
*
After Cyril and the leprechaun disappeared into the woods, the night passed, thankfully, without further incident. However, the household was woken at dawn by the sound of Ferdinand constructing a pen for the hens. With a sigh, Tegan got up and, having washed in the river, returned to feed Sooty and gather her thoughts. The fact that Cyril had entered her home and gone through her things was extremely disturbing. She needed to return to Much Sleeping to get a book she had noticed in the carting library. She also needed the items for Ferdinand’s leprechaun trap, but she didn’t want to leave home in the present circumstances.
“What do I do, Mr. Incy Wincey?”
The spider shrugged at her.
There had to be a way…and then it came to her. She grabbed some of the silver coins left from the previous day and headed along the small trail to Little Bod and the gnome recruitment station.
*
Little Bod was not a hamlet. It comprised two forest dwellings and a small gnome station, a short walk downriver on the way to Pity Me. Although the gnome station had as many as twelve gnomes awaiting employment each morning, this little building had only three, along with a noticeboard for local news. One sign in particular caught her attention.
LEPRECHORN
Wanted in four counties and Wales.
Charges include:
• Fraud
• Theft
• Disturbing the peace
• Unauthorised magical activity
• Whatever happened in Wales
DO NOT APPROACH.
He is considered extremely dangerous.
Probably.
It was hard to be certain, but he looked like the same visitor she had seen the previous night. All the more reason to get this done. She looked at the gnomes, and one was an obvious choice for her immediate needs. Like all gnomes, he was around one foot tall. More unusually, he was young, dressed in very short shorts, running shoes and a vest. He had a shorter-than-average beard, which he had obviously combed, and a hint of eyeliner. He was sitting filing his nails, with a little sign hanging from a peg that read: “Shiftie Clockman – Gnomic runner available for daily hire.”
Putting on her best smile, she approached him. Gnomes were generally friendly, but it was remarkably easy to get on the wrong side of one.
“Shiftie Clockman, gnomic runner?”
“The girl can read…” he replied. “Stump it up, girl. I haven’t got all day.”
Tegan looked round at the clearing and saw absolutely no customers, but she would need to remain very polite.
“I need a fast runner to go to Much Sleeping. When you get there, I need a book called ‘Interview with a leprechaun’ from the carting library. I also need a pair of low-quality leather boots for a young male, a small hammer and some silver nails. I have the money here, and if you can be back at the station by early afternoon, I’ll double your daily rate—from one silver coin and a fish to two silver coins and a pot of goat’s cheese.”
“It’s doable,” he said, beginning to limber up, although stretching is a relative term when you’re only one foot tall.
She handed him four silver coins.
“That’s enough for the goods and some lunch for yourself. I look after my employees.”
The gnome took the money, bounced on the spot a few times and was off!
Tegan planned to return in about four hours. She needed to milk Winnie, talk to the bees, collect some herbs, be ready for a customer who was coming for a palm reading, and sort out the hens in Ferdinand’s pen. It was such a busy day!
*
After a mercifully Cyril-and-leprechaun-free morning at the cottage, Tegan was feeling a bit better. A light lunch of homemade bread, eggs and sliced apple made her feel considerably better, and even a gentle snowfall wasn’t enough to dampen her spirits. She put a few copper coins she had earned from palmistry (it had been one of those rather sad ‘Does she love me? Can she love me?’ sessions with an insecure young man named Bert from Pity Me) in her pocket and set off for Little Bod station, aware that she needed to get back to the cottage before the day began to draw in. She was relieved to see Shiftie Clockman already there with the items she needed. He was eating what looked like carrot, radish and leek soup in an earthenware jar—a speciality of Mrs. Perpetua’s Soup-in-a-Jar shop on Much Sleeping’s main street.
After giving Shiftie some extra coins to reward his alacrity, she noticed another gnome who had been in the same position, waiting for work, since her earlier visit that morning. He was, very unusually, almost clean-shaven: a little, green-hatted chap. He looked as though he had been doing the same job at Little Bod for thirty years and was profoundly unimpressed by everyone. However, his little sign said his name was Garrick Stillwood and that he was available for ‘light duties around the home and watching’.
“Mmm,” thought Tegan.
“Excuse me.”
The gnome looked at her.
“I hope I have the pleasure of meeting Garrick Stillwood. I couldn’t help noticing that you offer watching services. I wondered how discreet a watcher you are, and whether you’re available in the evenings. I notice the station closes at sunset.”
The gnome scratched himself and nodded sagely.
“I am Garrick Stillwood, and whether meeting me is a pleasure for you depends largely on whether you pay me. As for work, I can work evenings. My wife likes me out of the house, and I’m happy to be out because of the seven little ones at home.”
Tegan had never really thought of gnomes having children or wives, and she resisted the temptation to make a joke about little ones.
“I have a job for which I think you’d be ideal. It involves sitting and watching a boot. If—and only if—a certain leprechaun comes and gets stuck to the boot, your contract requires you to come to my cottage door and tell me, then tell the troll who lives under the bridge at the end of my garden. You would then sit and watch the leprechaun until I let him go. Then you’d be free to go, too. I pay in advance.”
She showed him the copper coins she had earned earlier, adding one silver coin to the payment.
“I know your cottage. You have a large rhubarb plant, I think, from memory?”
“I do, yes.”
“Then I’ll sit and watch under there. When do you want me?”
“At sunset. It’s only a short walk from here.”
The gnome took his coins, spat on the floor and nodded. Garrick Stillwood was hired.
*
Back home, and after a frantic hour of skimming *Interview with a leprechaun*, Tegan was laying down the law to an unimpressed Sooty.
“Sooty, I mean it… I’ve seen that young lady cat around recently, and I’ve also seen you slipping out. But I absolutely mean it: I need you on board tonight, with all paws ready for action on the home front…”
“Meow.”
She sighed. “I know, but this is really tricky. I had no idea… According to this interview with Brendan the Broad, a leprechaun of independent means from County Derry, leprechauns can turn invisible if you catch them and then stop watching them. They also try to buy their freedom by granting wishes, but their wishes are always twisted and come back to bite you. Whatever that means.”
“Meow.”
“But I’m not, am I? I can’t do magic. My mother, of course, is the real deal, unfortunately. But I can’t do any. I just read fortunes and do herbal stuff.”
Sooty looked at her and yawned.
“Oh, I don’t know, Sooty. Maybe I took after my father. But you stay put this evening, okay? No fadoodling. Any fadoodling, and you’re on half rations for a week.”
“Meow.”
“Exactly. Now follow me to the garden, please.”
Outside the cottage, Ferdinand had finished his leprechaun trap. In a small space near the door, he had placed a single, slightly worn-looking boot in the centre of the clearing. Next to it were a small hammer and a few nails, along with a little seat firmly attached to the ground. The seat was covered in a layer of extremely sticky glue, made from ingredients in a jar Tegan kept in her cottage: unflavoured gelatine, cold water, boiling water and white vinegar. Tegan nodded at it. With the arrival of darkness, the light from her door would cast enough of a glow on the scene to make it very noticeable.
She walked over to the rhubarb patch. Everything needed to be perfect.
Garrick Stillwood was in position, hard to see beneath a large rhubarb leaf as he watched the boot and chair. He had a small drinking bottle of some nefarious liquid, but he was wide awake and alert. He nodded in acknowledgment as Tegan and Sooty approached.
“Selling tickets, are we?”
“Oh no, Sooty is just keeping me company.”
“I didn’t mean the cat. I meant the tattooed man in the tree, to the northeast of here.”
She didn’t see him at first, but sure enough there was Cyril sitting watching. He had made himself a viewing station for her garden in the branches of one of the larger trees.
“Honestly!”
She didn’t see him at first, but sure enough, Cyril was sitting there watching. He had made himself a viewing station in the branches of one of the larger trees. “Honestly.” Words failed her. “It’ll take him all of five minutes to get down from there, so that gives you time to get to me and the troll, as per our agreement.”
He nodded. “Yes, but it’s a shame my cousin isn’t here. You could hire him as a ‘trip ’em then sit on ’em’ gnome.”
“Oh yes, very useful. Can you do that too?”
He looked aghast.
“Absolutely not, madam. Totally against the union rules.”
“I see.”
She could barely see now, as night was falling fast.
“Come, Sooty. Let’s hope we can finish this off tonight. He’d better come, after all this.”
*
The leprechaun, a modern descendant of the Tuatha Dé Danann, was moving surreptitiously through the garden now that darkness had fallen. He should have gone away. He knew he was wanted in this county and, of course, in three others plus Wales. All for misunderstandings. But he had no wish to find himself interviewed by the Watch. This was his sixth search of the area, and that was probably five too many. He didn’t like taking chances, and that awful man Cyril, the water diviner, had tried to chase him the other day. Honestly, some people… It had been five years; surely it was time to get on with his life!
He was here for a pot of gold—not his ONLY pot of gold, but the only one in the vicinity. It was also the collection of the oldest gold coins in his possession. Getting to Scotland without it would be highly problematic. He had another pot in Wales and another near the substantial town of Much Hattery, but that was close to the domain of the Red Queen’s palace, and he regretted leaving it there. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. The problem was that he suspected the infernal gnome he had left to guard the pot had made off with it. It was the only time he had trusted anyone to guard his gold; it was usually so well hidden that no one would ever find it. But no matter how hard he looked, it just wasn’t there. Nor was the gnome.
It was a tough decision, but a five-day trip to Much Hattery seemed to be on the cards. Then he saw it. In a strange way, it could have been signed TRAP, but he just couldn’t resist it. The pull on his inner self was impossible to ignore. It was a boot, but a poorly constructed one. He could see the shoddy workmanship from afar, and the closer he got, the less happy he was with the stitching and the finished product. The hammer and nails were there, along with a little seat just the right size for him, firmly set in the ground. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt. His inner cobbler demanded to be given free rein; this boot would be a work of art in moments.
*
The wait wasn’t as long as she had thought. Within an hour of darkness, there was an urgent knock on her door. She went outside to find the leprechaun perfecting the boot while firmly stuck to the seat. It was almost comical: his frustration at being stuck was tempered by his desire to perfect the craftsmanship of the boot.
In the background stood Ferdinand, looking grim; Sooty, who looked slightly bored; and Garrick Stillwood, who sat cross-legged on the ground and fixed the leprechaun with a hard stare.
A moment later, a cursing Cyril arrived, panting and pointing a finger.
“YOU! YOU snake in the grass, you creature of duplicity, you…”
Ferdinand held him back by the arm and wagged a finger at him.
The leprechaun finally turned his attention from the boot to the assembled group and noticed Ferdinand’s grip on Cyril. His voice was slight, almost reedy, and sharp.
“I am the shadow under stone, the friction on the way,
A heavy tax upon the road that flesh and bone must pay.
I mend no boots, yet deal in soles that cross my wooden sky,
And watch the water pass below, while grease and grit run high.
You seek the leprechaun’s gold hoard, but missed his cunning stroll,
For he has left his treasure in the pocket of a…”
Cyril turned angrily towards Ferdinand.
“The gold is in your pocket? You dumb bridge-dweller. Give me my gold, or I’m telling Belladonna, and your goose is cooked.”
Poor Ferdinand did not know what to say.
“Meow.”
“You’re right, Sooty.” Tegan took control before things descended into chaos. “The little man is trying to make us argue, so we’ll look away and he can disappear. Cyril, be quiet. Ferdinand does not have the gold. Now, you had better start being polite, Mr. Leprechaun. Let’s start with your name; the recent ‘Wanted’ posters never supplied one.”
“I ain’t telling you, missie,” the little fellow replied, twisting and pulling to free himself from the glue. “But as I seem to be inconvenienced here, shall we say I may cut a deal to be allowed to leave.”
“My gold, my gold, MY GOLD!” shouted the increasingly frustrated Cyril.
“Oh, and he forgets that beautiful Shire horse so quickly. How fickle a thing is a man: he gives away something so precious to him for gold and never thinks of it again.”
Cyril paused in his rant. Ferdinand’s firm grip still prevented him from strangling the leprechaun.
“My Delia! I let you have my Delia, you conniving little liar, and you promised me your pot of gold.”
“Ah now,” the little man sneered, “we have a clear difference of memory at that point. I promised you recompense from my pot of gold that was residing in this area. I did not say the whole pot! And I have to say it has gone spectacularly missing. I blame a certain gnome I left to guard it.”
Garrick Stillwood glowered. Ferdinand and Tegan exchanged a brief glance.
“Please…” Cyril appeared to be losing his fight.
“Now,” said the leprechaun, “I do happen to have a few gold coins on my person for eventualities such as the one we find ourselves in here. I also know exactly where I tethered Delia; she’s just by the gnome station at Little Bod. So I believe that if I tell you exactly where she is and pass over this little bag of coins, we’ll be square. But you’ll then need to go your way, and I can vanish.”
“I wish it.”
“Then it is yours, my perspicacious friend.”
Cyril looked down. In his palm lay a small ownership document for Delia and a tiny map showing where she was tethered. He also had a pouch containing several gold coins.
“It’s not over,” he said with more bravery than he felt. Perhaps the words were directed at Tegan. But he went on his way.
“You can’t stay in this area; you’re a leprechaun wanted by the Watch.”
“Then let me go…” He turned to Ferdinand. “You, big fella. Free me from this chair and you get a request, on the condition that you walk back to your bridge.”
Ferdinand looked toward Tegan and she gave the slightest of nods.
Ferdinand bent down and lifted the fraudster high, ripping the little man’s trousers in the process. The patch of cloth stuck to the glue remained on the chair. He then sat the leprechaun down again. Garrick Stillwood had never taken his eyes off him, not even for a second.
“I’d want a large fish, cooked and ready for me, with a slice of lemon and marinated in oils,” the troll said, with what almost passed for excitement.
“Ah, what it is to deal with the high demands of trolls!” the leprechaun laughed. Ferdinand walked towards the bridge and was enveloped in darkness within moments.
Now only Tegan, Sooty and Garrick Stillwood remained.
“My pot of gold, witch. I’m not as stupid as those others. I can curse as well as grant wishes.”
“We still have you, leprechaun, and we have time. Garrick can watch you like this for days.”
And he probably could!
“We have a problem, then,” he snarled. “You won’t turn me in to the Watch. There are no dogs on your land, and you’re not well liked locally. Give me my gold, and I’m gone.”
“I’ll have my wish.”
“Wisher beware! You have been reading that damned book by Brendan the Broad.”
“Yes. A leprechaun of independent means.”
“Independent means created by writing a book about his people that was sensationalised for readers such as yourself. Wishes, my arse! I’m not a wishing well.”
“Nevertheless, if I am to look away and order Garrick and Sooty to do the same, you must leave my land and never set foot on it again.”
A half-smile flitted across his face.
“Well, that’s a deal I’m obliged to make. But you’re often not on your land, missie, and I’d watch my back if I were you.”
“Sooty, you can go inside. Garrick, you are released from this employment.”
She turned away. When she looked back, the leprechaun had disappeared.
*
“Meow.”
Tegan had fed Sooty and placed him on a cushion by the fire. She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep.
“Meow.”
“Oh… the bees have it, Sooty. It’s in one of the hives.”
She sighed. “I’ll go and thank Ferdinand and get you some of that fish!”
“Meow.”
“I know you deserve it.”
“
High up in his web, Mr. Incy Wincey was glad the evening was over. He had packed his little suitcase in case of disaster. Sooty was falling asleep, Tegan had gone for some fish, and a small listening gnome wearing a badge of the Red Queen made his way from behind the sofa to the door…
By Mark C. Chambers
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