Fablehaven I (19 page)

It’s for your own good, Dale said. Part of the idea is

that telling you might make you scared. The other part

is that telling you might make you even more curious.

If you tell me, I promise I’ll stop being curious.

Dale shook his head. What makes you think you can

keep that promise?

I can’t possibly get more curious than I already am.

Not knowing anything is the hardest.

Well, fact of the matter is, I can’t give a very satisfying

answer to your question. Have I seen strange things,

frightening things, in my time here? You bet. Not just on

festival nights. Have I stolen a peek out the window on a

festival night? A time or two, sure. But I learned to quit

looking. People aren’t meant to have things like that in

their minds. Makes it hard to sleep. I don’t look anymore.

Neither does Lena, neither does your grandfather, neither

does your grandmother. And we’re adults.

What did you see?

How about we change the subject?

You’re killing me. I have to know!

Dale stopped and faced him. Seth, you only think you

want to know. It seems harmless to know, walking under a

clear blue sky on a fine morning with a friend. But what

about tonight, alone in your room, in the dark, when the

night outside is full of unnatural sounds? You might regret

me putting a face to what is wailing outside the window.

Seth swallowed. He looked up at Dale, eyes wide.

What kind of face?

Let’s leave it at this. To this day, when I’m out and

about after dark, I am sorry I looked. When you’re a few

years older, a day will come when your grandfather will give

you an opportunity to look out the window on a festival

night. If you start feeling inquisitive, postpone your curiosity

until that moment. If it were me, if I could go back, I’d

skip looking altogether.

Easy to say after you looked.

Not easy to say. I paid a heavy price to say it. Many

sleepless nights.

What can be so bad? I can imagine some scary things.

I thought the same thing. I failed to appreciate that

imagining and seeing are two very different things.

If you already looked, why not look again?

I don’t want to see anything else. I’d rather just guess

at the rest. Dale started walking again.

I still want to know, Seth said.

Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real

sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t pout;

you’re about to see something impressive. And it won’t

even give you nightmares.

What?

See where the road goes over that rise?

Yeah.

The surprise is on the far side.

You’re sure?

Positive.

It better not be another fairy, Seth said.

What’s the matter with fairies?

I’ve already seen about a billion of them and also they

turned me into a walrus.

It’s not a fairy.

It’s not like a waterfall or something? Seth asked

suspiciously.

No, you’ll like it.

Good, because you’re getting my hopes up. Is it dangerous?

It could be, but we should be safe.

Let’s hurry. Seth dashed up the rise. He glanced back

at Dale, who continued walking. Not a great sign. If the

surprise were dangerous, Dale would not want him running

ahead.

At the top of the rise Seth halted, staring down the

gentle slope on the far side. Not a hundred yards away, a

huge creature was wading through a hayfield wielding a

pair of gigantic scythes. The hulking figure slashed down

wide swaths of alfalfa at a relentless pace, both scythes hissing

and chiming without pause.

Dale joined Seth atop the rise. What is it? Seth

asked.

Our golem, Hugo. Come see.

Dale left the cart track and started across the field

toward the toiling goliath. What’s a golem? Seth asked,

trailing after him.

Watch. Dale raised his voice. Hugo, halt!

The scythes stopped cutting in mid-stroke.

Hugo, come!

The herculean mower turned and jogged toward them

with long, loping strides. Seth could feel the ground vibrate

as Hugo approached. Still clutching the scythes, the massive

golem came to a halt in front of Dale, looming over

him.

He’s made of dirt? Seth asked.

Soil, clay, and stone, Dale said. Granted the semblance

of life by a powerful enchanter. Hugo was donated

to the preserve a couple hundred years ago.

How tall is he?

Over nine feet when he stands up straight. Mostly he

slouches closer to eight.

Seth gawked at the behemoth. In form he looked more

apelike than human. Aside from his impressive height,

Hugo was broad, with thick limbs and disproportionately

large hands and feet. Tufts of grass and the occasional dandelion

sprouted from his earthen body. He had an oblong

head with a square jaw. Crude features resembled nose,

mouth, and ears. The eyes were a pair of vacant hollows

beneath a jutting brow.

Can he talk?

No. He tries to sing. Hugo, sing us a song!

The wide mouth began to open and close, and out

rumbled a series of gravelly roars, some long, some short,

none of them bearing much resemblance to music. Hugo

cocked his head back and forth, as if swaying to the

melody. Seth tried to stifle his laughter.

Hugo, stop singing.

The golem fell silent.

He isn’t very good, Seth said.

About as musical as a landslide.

Does it embarrass him?

He doesn’t think like we do. Doesn’t get happy or sad

or angry or bored. He’s like a robot. Hugo just obeys commands.

Can I tell him to do stuff?

If I order him to obey you, Dale said. Otherwise he

just listens to me, Lena, and your grandparents.

What else can he do?

He understands a lot. He performs all sorts of manual

labor. It would take quite a team to match all the work he

does around here. Hugo never sleeps. If you leave him with

a list of chores, he’ll labor through the night.

I want to tell him to do something.

Hugo, put down the scythes, said Dale.

The golem set the scythes on the ground.

Hugo, this is Seth. Hugo will obey Seth’s next command.

Now? asked Seth.

Say his name first, so he knows you’re addressing him.

Hugo, do a cartwheel.

Hugo held out his palms and shrugged.

He doesn’t know what you mean, Dale said. Can

you do a cartwheel?

Yeah.

Hugo, Seth is going to show you a cartwheel.

Seth put up his hands, lunged sideways, and did a cartwheel

with sloppy form. Hugo, Dale said, obey Seth’s

next command.

Hugo, do a cartwheel.

The golem raised his arms, lurched to one side, and

completed an awkward cartwheel. The ground trembled.

Pretty good for a first try, Seth said.

He duplicated yours. Hugo, when you do a cartwheel,

keep your body straighter and aligned on a single plane,

like a wheel turning. Hugo, do a cartwheel!

This time Hugo executed a nearly perfect cartwheel.

His hands left prints in the field. He learns fast, Seth

exclaimed.

Anything physical, leastways. Dale put his hands on

his hips. I’m sick of walking. What do you say we let Hugo

take us to our next stop?

Really?

If you’d rather walk we can always-

No way!

* * *

Kendra used a hacksaw to separate another pumpkin

from the vine. Further down the long trough of soil, Lena

was cutting a large red one. Nearly half the greenhouse was

devoted to pumpkins, big and small, white, yellow, orange,

red, and green.

They had arrived at the greenhouse by a faint trail

through the woods. Aside from the pumpkins and plants,

the glass structure contained a generator to power the

lights and the climate control.

We really have to cut three hundred? Kendra asked.

Just be glad you don’t have to load them, Lena said.

Who does?

It’s a surprise.

Are jack-o-lanterns really such a big deal?

Do they work? Quite well. Especially if we can convince

fairies to fill them.

With magic?

To dwell in them for the night, explained Lena.

Fairy lanterns have long been among the surest protections

from creatures with dubious intentions.

But I thought the house was already safe. Kendra

began sawing the stem of a tall orange pumpkin.

Redundancies in security are wise on festival nights.

Particularly on a Midsummer Eve after all the recent commotion.

How will we ever carve all of them before tonight?

Leave that to Dale. He could carve them all himself

with time to spare. Not always the most artful renderings,

but the man can mass produce. You carve only for fun; he

knows how to carve for need.

I’ve never liked pulling out the guts, said Kendra.

Really? Lena said. I love the slimy texture, getting

greasy up to my elbows. Like playing in the mud. We’ll

have delicious pies afterwards.

Is this white one too small?

Maybe save it for autumn.

Do you think the fairies will come?

Hard to say, Lena admitted. Some, for sure. Normally

we have no trouble filling as many lanterns as we

care to carve, but tonight might be an exception.

What if they don’t show up? Kendra asked.

We’ll be fine. Artificial lighting works, just not as well

as fairies. With the fairy lanterns, the commotion stays farther

from the house. In addition, Stan will be putting out

tribal masks, herbs, and other safeguards.

Is the night really so awful?

You’ll hear plenty of disturbing sounds.

Maybe we should have skipped the milk this morning.

Lena shook her head, not lifting her eyes from her

work. Some of the most insidious tricks employed tonight

will involve artifice and illusion. Without the milk you

could be even more susceptible. It would only broaden

their ability to mask their true appearance.

Kendra severed another pumpkin. Either way, I won’t

be looking.

I wish we could transplant some of your common

sense to your brother.

After all that’s happened, I’m sure he’ll behave

tonight.

The door to the greenhouse opened, and Dale poked

his head in. Kendra, come here, I want you to meet somebody.

Kendra walked to the door with Lena behind her. In

the doorway, Kendra paused and let out a small shriek. A

bulky creature with a simian build was marching toward

the greenhouse pulling a rickshaw-type contraption the size

of a wagon. What is it?

He’s Hugo, Seth crowed from inside the handcart.