Fablehaven: The Complete Series (235 page)

Cormac

The sky had threatened rain all morning, but not a drop had fallen yet. Slow, gray clouds currently obscured the sun. Seth checked his watch. Almost 1:30. He hoped the leprechaun would make an appearance soon. Once the sun went down, the centaurs would certainly be after them.

Seth knelt behind a bush between Newel and Doren, watching a sack that hung from a limb over a sandy patch beside a stream. Not far upstream, the water tumbled over a series of ledges, sending up a fine mist around the rocky base of the final drop. According to Patton, the banks near the base of the waterfall were frequented by a leprechaun named Cormac.

“Do you really think this will work?” Doren asked.

Seth flicked the letter in his hand. “Patton seems convinced.”

“Patton doesn’t have a hefty sum of gold coins at risk,” Newel grumbled. “I wish this design had been tested.”

“No you don’t,” Seth said. “Patton made it clear in his letter that the same trap never works twice on the same leprechaun. He has caught Cormac five times with five different traps, and he feels like this new trap will do it again.”

“If you keep talking, the leprechaun will never come,” Vanessa hissed, making Seth jump. Since hazardous creatures were now free to wander Fablehaven, she and Hugo had been scouting the area. Seth still didn’t see her, but apparently her prowling had brought her within earshot.

“Good point,” Seth whispered back.

He surveyed the trap in silence. An irregular trail of gold coins led from the stream to a wide patch of sand ringed by rocks. Along the trail, a few of the coins were half-buried, a couple completely buried. In select places they had scattered multiple coins within a small area. Patton had explained that leprechauns couldn’t resist unattended gold. Finding lost and hidden treasure was how the little men built their wealth.

In theory, the trail of gold would lead Cormac to a point where he would notice the hanging sack, which contained  seventy gold coins. A small flask of whiskey, provided by the satyrs, awaited atop the coins inside the sack.

Minutes trickled by. Without the stimulation of conversation, Seth began to nod drowsily. He had not slept soundly the night before, and had awakened early. He was slipping into a colorful dream involving pie and llamas and waterslides when Doren elbowed him in the ribs.

Seth jerked his head up. A little man in a red frock coat was pulling a half-buried coin out of the sand. He stood not much taller than Seth’s knees, wore an outdated hat, and had a bristly auburn beard. The leprechaun wiped the coin on his coat, sniffed it, and tucked it away into a pocket.

Cocking his head back, the little man studied the sack above him. “Foolish place to hide a treasure,” he said in an Irish brogue. He spoke loudly, as if to a slightly deaf companion, although he appeared to be alone. “Might be the poor sap hoped to keep it out of the reach of animals. Might be he had no time to stash his savings properly. The fellow might be so rich he can afford to be careless. Might simply be an idiot—the world boasts an endless supply. Then again, might be a trap.”

Glancing left and right, the leprechaun rubbed his knobby nose. Fortunately, Seth and the satyrs had chosen a thick bush a good distance from the bag.

Creeping forward, the leprechaun recovered another coin from under the sand. The little man flicked the coin, held it to his ear, then addressed it fondly. “Tell me about your brothers. Do you hail from a large family?” He squinted up at the sack. “I expect you do.”

The coin disappeared into a pocket. The leprechaun stood with his hands on his hips, considering the bulging sack and the tree from which it hung. In his letter, Patton had explained that leprechauns tended to be clever, but that gold and whiskey had been known to cloud their judgment. Seth watched intently.

“Might be a trap,” the little man repeated, peering furtively over his shoulder. “If so, what if old Cormac swipes the bait and leaves the rest? I see no evidence of sophistication. History has shown that few have the wits to get the better of me. That blighter Patton Burgess has been dead and buried for years. And what if it isn’t a trap? I would be the prince of fools to leave a rich haul like this to another.” He rubbed his hands together. “Very well, no use debating once my mind is made up.”

The leprechaun scampered to the base of the tree and scaled the trunk. Newel and Doren crouched lower, and Seth mimicked them. The little man walked out along the limb to the spot where the bag was tied. There he paused, surveying the vicinity one last time. Satisfied, he shinnied down the cord to the mouth of the sack, loosened it, and squirmed inside.

The instant the leprechaun disappeared from view, Newel and Doren were up and running. Despite their haste, Seth didn’t hear a single leaf rustle. He did hear the leprechaun talking to himself inside the sack. “Well, well, fancy meeting you here. Don’t mind if I do.”

Seth found it hard to hold still, but the satyrs had warned that the leprechaun would hear him if he tried to stay with them. He watched as Newel and Doren stepped softly onto the sandy patch beneath the sack. Newel used a knife lashed to a pole to reach up and sever the cord. Doren caught the sack and held the mouth closed.

Now that they had the leprechaun, silence no longer mattered. Heedless of the leaves he rustled or the twigs he snapped, Seth dashed to join the satyrs. Now all they had to do was prevent the leprechaun from outsmarting them. Once he was caught, as long as they kept hold of him, Cormac’s magic was useless. Patton had provided an extensive list of warnings and advice.

Doren opened the mouth of the sack just enough for Seth to reach in. Seizing the little man by his feet, Seth pulled him out. The leprechaun clung to the flask of whiskey.

“Unhand me!” the leprechaun demanded, upside down, squirming doggedly.

“Hi, Cormac,” Seth said. “Patton sends his regards.” The letter had promised this would quickly get the leprechaun’s attention.

The little man stopped struggling. He looked stricken. “Patton, you say? He gave you my name? Who are you? What is this?”

Seth set the leprechaun on the sand, but kept hold of one arm. The little man used his free arm to hug the whiskey flask.

“The bag’s empty!” Doren said, feeling inside.

Cormac scowled up at him. “Of course it’s empty. It was empty when I found it.”

“It was full of gold coins,” Newel corrected.

The little man glowered. “I may be a clumsy dullard for getting caught, but I’m not so slow that I would miss the chance to pocket a coin or two.”

“Or seventy!” Doren said. “And thirty along the bank of the stream. How many pockets do you have?”

The leprechaun permitted himself a cunning smile. “More than a trio of gangly criminals might expect.”

“Criminals?” Seth challenged. “We weren’t the ones stealing.”

“Who was stealing?” Cormac protested in a hurt tone. “I find a coin in the woods, I pick it up. Any honest chap would do the same. There were no potential owners in sight. I was salvaging.”

“This could have been our camp,” Newel argued. “We could have been off hunting.”

“Aye, but you weren’t off hunting,” the leprechaun corrected with a wink. “You were skulking in the bushes, professional villains hoping to entrap an honest citizen of Fablehaven and extort his wealth. You’re con men. You’re extortionists. I demand to be released at once.”

“Sorry, Cormac,” Seth said. “We need you to take us to your lair and give us some items Patton left with you.”

The leprechaun huffed and shook his head. “I’m not in the habit of storing items for friends, let alone archenemies. Do I look like a warehouse foreman to you? Do I look like a cargo handler? It’s like I said, you’re extortionists, and I won’t stand for it.”

“Call us whatever names you like,” Seth said. “We caught you, and you’re going to do what we want.”

“You can start by returning our coins,” Newel pressed.

Cormac gave him a blank stare. “Coins, you say? My memory is faulty of late. I’m sorry, lads. I’m afraid you apprehended the wrong fellow. I am custodian of no items, I’ve seen no gold, and I have no lair. I’m a humble cobbler by trade. I could repair a shoe or two, I suppose, if you require recompense to spare my life.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Seth said. “Maybe we should just take your coat and call it even.”

Cormac glared, lips pressed shut, cheeks reddening. Seth could feel him trembling. “Very well,” he said cordially. “I can see you’re no novices. What would you have me fetch for you?”

“You won’t fetch anything,” Seth said. “You’ll take us to your lair, give us what we want, then escort us back out. I’m not taking my hands off of you until all of that happens.”

Cormac tugged at his beard with his free hand. “Patton Burgess,” he spat like profanity. “Will the scoundrel ever quit haunting me? Even from beyond the grave he reaches out to take what’s mine.”

“No,” Seth said. “We just want the items Patton left with you.”

“And our gold back,” Newel reminded everyone.

The leprechaun hung his head, his body limp. Then he jerked hard against Seth, who maintained a firm hold of his arm. Cormac bit Seth’s hand, but Seth held tight and flicked the leprechaun sharply on his ear. The little man howled as if he had lost a limb.

“Enough,” Seth said angrily, shifting his grip to hold the leprechaun’s legs. “Take his coat off.”

“With pleasure,” Newel said, going to work on the tiny gold buttons.

Doren snatched away the whiskey flask.

“No!” Cormac bellowed. “Please! I submit! You’ll have the bell, the call, and the music box.”

Newel kept working at the buttons, nimble fingers moving swiftly.

“And I’ll return your gold!” the leprechaun promised glumly. “No more trouble.”

“That’s enough, Newel,” Seth said. The satyr stopped unbuttoning the coat. Seth held up Cormac so they could stare eye to eye. “Any other trick, any other attempt to escape, the coat comes off, no questions asked. Then we’ll shave your whiskers. And then I might go ahead and use you as a fishing lure. Don’t test me. I’ve had a really bad week.”

For the first time, the leprechaun seemed to stop acting. “You’ll have no more trouble out of me, lad. You can’t blame an old shyster for working a few angles? Tell me your name.”

“Seth Sorenson.”

“Well, Seth, for the first time since Patton Burgess, I seem to have met my match. I have not formally introduced myself. The name is Cormac.”

“We’re not doing this for fun,” Seth said. “We really need those items. We don’t mean to harass you.”

“Which way to your lair?” Doren asked.

“Behind the waterfall,” Cormac said.

“That one?” Newel asked, pointing upstream. “We’ve checked that waterfall for caves!”

The leprechaun gave him an exhausted stare.

“Right,” Newel backpedaled. “Magic.”

Seth carried the leprechaun upstream to where a curtain of water spilled over a twelve-foot ledge. Cormac tugged Seth’s sleeve. “This is the tricky part, youngster. I need my magic to open the way, but your keeping hold of me inhibits my powers. Would you consent to let me go momentarily? I’ll give you my word as a leprechaun not to slip away.”

“Patton warned me that your promises mean nothing,” Seth said. “And I warned you not to try any more tricks. I’ll hold you by your beard. Patton said that will free you to open your lair without enabling you to use magic against me.” Seth set the little man down on a rock, pinching his chin whiskers between thumb and forefinger.

The leprechaun snapped his fingers and the waterfall stopped flowing. A tunnel, square with rounded corners, appeared in the rock face behind.

Seth picked up the leprechaun and pulled out a flashlight. Treading carefully over loose rocks, he ducked into the tunnel. The low ceiling forced him to walk in a crouch. Newel and Doren followed.

The earthy corridor reeked of pipe smoke. Large, uncut emeralds lay scattered on the floor and embedded in the walls.

“Look at those stones,” Newel said. “I know a jeweler who could make them sparkle.”

“Who, Benley?” Doren asked.

“No, Sarrok, the troll. No one at Fablehaven has a keener eye or a steadier hand.” Newel crouched to study a dull emerald the size of a new bar of soap.

“The instructions warned us to touch nothing in here,” Seth reminded them. “We must only take what Cormac gives us.”

“Waste of resources,” Newel grumbled.

The tunnel broadened into a rounded room with several wooden doors. Casks and barrels were stacked against one wall. A low table sat beside a still pool of water in the center of the room.

“The items,” Seth prompted.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a crock of gold?” Cormac asked. “Much more traditional.”

“We want the items Patton left with you,” Seth said. “The whistle, the bell, and the music box. And Newel and Doren want their gold back.”