Fablehaven: The Complete Series (60 page)

“What would an arm wrestle prove? It’s my call, and I say it was out.”

Seth had drawn even with the argument. He could not see the satyrs, but he could hear that they were not far off the path. He started shoving through the undergrowth.

“Your call? Last time I checked, it takes two to play. I’m ahead; maybe I’ll quit right now and declare myself champion.”

“Then I’ll declare myself champion too, because that would be an indisputable forfeit.”

“I’ll show you an indisputable forfeit!”

Seth pushed between some bushes and stepped onto a level, well-trimmed grass tennis court. The court had neatly chalked lines and a regulation-style net. Newel and Doren stood at the far side of the court, faces red, each clutching a tennis racket. They looked like they were about to come to blows. As Seth emerged onto the court, they turned to face him.

Both of the satyrs were shirtless, with hairy chests and freckled shoulders. From the waist down they had the furry legs and hooves of a goat. Newel had redder hair, more freckles, and slightly longer horns than Doren.

“Glad you found us,” Newel said, trying to smile. “Sorry you happened by when Doren was being a knucklehead.”

“Maybe Seth can solve this one,” Doren said.

Newel closed his eyes in exasperation. “He wasn’t here to see the point.”

“If you both think you’re right, do it over,” Seth said.

Newel opened his eyes. “I could live with that.”

“Me too,” Doren agreed. “Seth, your new nickname is Solomon.”

“You mind letting us finish this game?” Newel asked. “Just so we can keep momentum? No fun to start again cold.”

“Go ahead,” Seth said.

“You be line judge,” Doren said.

“Sure.”

The goatmen trotted into position. Newel was serving. “Forty-fifteen,” he called, tossing a ball into the air and hitting it briskly into play. Doren hit a hard crosscourt forehand, but Newel was in position and hit it back with a gentle slice that took a soft bounce with a lot of spin. It looked unreachable, but Doren dove and managed to get his racket under the ball before the second bounce, popping it over the net. Newel had read the situation well and was already charging forward. As Doren scrambled up, Newel slammed the ball into the far corner of the court, bouncing it deep into the bushes.

“Go fetch it, nitwit!” Doren said. “You didn’t have to wail it into the woods. You had an open lane.”

“He’s sore because I just went up five games to three,” Newel explained, twirling his racket.

“I’m sore because you’re trying to show off for Seth!” Doren said.

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have slammed it if I’d hit you a pathetic lob?”

“You were at the net! I would have just tapped it at a brutal angle. Better to win with finesse than to hunt for balls in the shrubbery.”

“You’re both really good,” Seth said.

The two goatmen looked pleased by the compliment. “You know, satyrs invented tennis,” Newel said, balancing his racket on the tip of his finger.

“They did not,” Doren said. “We learned about it on TV.”

“I like your rackets,” Seth said.

“Graphite, light and strong,” Newel said. “Warren got us our equipment. Back before he went all Boo Radley on us. The net, the rackets, a few cases of balls.”

“We built the court,” Doren said proudly.

“And we maintain it,” Newel said.

“The brownies maintain it,” Doren corrected.

“Under our supervision,” Newel amended.

“Speaking of tennis balls,” Doren said, “most of ours are flat, but with the supply dwindling, it always kills us to open a new can. If our battery arrangement works out, think you might be able to score us some new balls?”

“If this works out, I’ll get you whatever you want,” Seth promised.

“Then let’s get down to business,” Newel said, setting down his racket and rubbing his palms together. “You have the merchandise?”

Seth scrabbled through his emergency kit and pulled out eight batteries, lining them up on the ground.

“Would you look at that,” Doren marveled. “Have you ever seen such a gorgeous sight?”

“It’s a start,” Newel said. “But let’s face it, they’ll run out before long. I assume there are more where those came from?”

“Lots more,” Seth assured him. “This is just a test run. If I remember right, you said something about batteries being worth their weight in gold.”

Newel and Doren shared a glance. “We think we may have figured out something you’d like more,” Newel said.

“Follow us,” Doren said.

Seth walked with the satyrs over to a little white shed not far from the net. Newel opened the door and ducked inside. He came out holding a bottle. “What do you say?” Newel asked. “A bottle of fine wine for those eight batteries.”

“Potent stuff,” Doren confided. “It’ll put hair on your chest in no time. Good luck getting something like that from your grandparents.”

Seth looked back and forth at the two satyrs. “Are you serious? I’m twelve years old! Do you think I’m an alcoholic or something?”

“We figured something like this might be tough for you to get,” Newel said with a wink.

“Good wine,” Doren said. “Primo.”

“That might be true, but I’m just a kid. What am I going to do with a bottle of wine?”

Newel and Doren shared a nervous glance. “Well done, Seth,” Newel said awkwardly, ruffling his hair. “You . . . passed our test. Your parents would be very proud.”

Newel elbowed Doren. “Yeah, um, sometimes we test people,” Doren said. “And play jokes.”

Newel went back into the shed. He returned holding a blue frog with yellow markings. “Seriously, here is what we really had in mind, Seth.”

“A frog?” Seth asked.

“Not just any frog,” Doren said. “Show him.”

Newel tickled the frog’s belly. Its air sac swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe, and the frog let out a tremendous belching sound. Seth laughed in surprised delight. The satyrs laughed with him. Newel tickled the frog again and the thunderous belching sound repeated. Doren was wiping away mirthful tears.

“So what do you say?” Newel asked.

“Eight lousy batteries for one incredible frog,” Doren said. “I’d take it.”

Seth folded his arms. “The frog is pretty cool, but I’m not five years old. If it’s between gold and a burping frog, I’ll take the gold.”

The satyrs frowned, clearly disappointed. Newel nodded at Doren, who slipped into the shed and returned holding a bar of gold. He handed it to Seth.

Seth turned the bar over and over in his hands. It was about the size of a bar of hotel soap. An “N” was embossed on one side. Otherwise it was a plain, golden rectangle, a little heavier than it looked. Probably enough gold to be worth a lot of money.

“This is more like it,” Seth said happily, placing the gold inside his emergency kit. “What does the ‘N’ stand for?”

Newel scratched his head. “Nothing.”

“Right,” Doren said hastily. “Stands for ‘nothing.’”

“Nothing?” Seth said dubiously. “Why would somebody write an ‘N’ for ‘nothing’? Why not just leave it blank?”

“Newel,” Doren tried. “It stands for Newel.”

“Used to be my favorite belt buckle,” Newel added wistfully.

“You wore pants?” Seth asked.

“Long story,” Newel explained. “Let’s not dwell on the past. Fact is, there are more—um—belt buckles where that came from, all pure gold. You bring us more batteries, we’ll keep trading with you.”

“Works for me,” Seth said.

“This could be the beginning of a spectacular partnership,” Newel said.

Doren raised a cautionary hand, halting the conversation. “You hear that?”

The three of them paused, listening. “Something’s coming,” Newel said, eyebrows knitting together. No matter how the satyrs behaved, they usually had an air about them that everything they said was tongue-in-cheek. That air was gone.

They kept listening. Seth heard nothing. “Are you guys fooling with me?” he asked.

Newel shook his head, holding up a finger. “I can’t place it. You?”

Doren was sniffing the air. “Can’t be.”

“You better scram, Seth,” Newel said. “Get back to the yard.”

“With the gold, right?” Seth suspected they might be trying to trick him out of his reward.

“Of course, but you better hur—”

“Too late,” Doren warned.

A creature the size of a pony burst out of the bushes onto the tennis court. Seth recognized it immediately. “Olloch?”

“Olloch the Glutton?” Newel asked Seth.

“I thought it smelled like a demon,” Doren groaned.

“Yeah,” Seth said. “He bit me.”

Grotesquely toadlike, Olloch reared back and opened his mouth. It looked like the demon had swallowed a squid, so many flailing tongues emerged. Sitting upright, Olloch was nearly as tall as Seth. After a triumphant roar, the demon lowered his head and charged, advancing in a jerky, scrambling crawl.

Newel grabbed Seth’s hand and hauled him away from the demon. “Run!” Newel yelled.

“For television!” Doren cried, brandishing his tennis racket and holding his ground. Olloch pounced at the satyr, but Doren lunged aside, swatting away a pair of tongues with the racket. Several more tongues lashed out, wrenching the racket from Doren’s grasp. The tongues pulled the racket into a gaping mouth, and moments later expelled it with the strings missing and a crack in the frame.

Seth had reached the bushes at the edge of the court when Olloch, ignoring Doren, took a huge leap toward him and then charged with frightening speed. Seth knew he wouldn’t make it back to the path, let alone to the yard. His mind raced, trying to think if there was anything useful in his emergency kit.

Tongues writhing, the demon sprang. “For batteries!” Newel cried, intercepting the glutton in midair and wrapping both arms around its middle.

“To the shed!” Doren called, retrieving his unstrung racket and running toward the demon.

Seth turned and dashed toward the shed. Growling and slobbering, Olloch squirmed free from Newel and raced after Seth, staying low and gaining quickly. Over his shoulder, Seth glimpsed the demon drawing near, rapidly closing the space between them despite moving with such a choppy gait. The shed was still several steps away.

Jumping into the demon’s path, Doren raised his damaged racket. A multitude of tongues snaked around the satyr and slung him aside. His efforts barely slowed Olloch, but bought Seth just enough time to lunge into the shed and slam the door. The demon crunched against the door an instant later. Some of the whitewashed planks split, but they held. The demon crashed against the shed again, rattling the small structure.

“Hang on, Seth,” Doren yelled. “Help is coming.”

Seth searched for a weapon. The best he could find was a hoe. The door shattered open and Olloch entered, snarling, wet tongues thrashing. Behind the slavering demon, Seth saw Hugo bounding across the tennis court. Grasping tongues stretched toward Seth, and he swung the hoe viciously. A tongue adroitly coiled around the hoe, ripping it from Seth’s grasp. And then Hugo arrived.

The golem grasped the demon from behind with one hand and hurled it away from the shed. Olloch landed, rolled, and came charging back toward Seth, who now stood in the empty doorway alongside Hugo. The golem stepped forward, blocking access to Seth.

Dripping tongues whipped toward Hugo. The golem grabbed several tongues, yanked the demon into the air, and began spinning Olloch above his head. The tongues elongated as the golem whirled the glutton faster and faster, finally releasing him, sending Olloch sailing away over the treetops.

Doren whistled, clearly impressed.

“He’ll be back straightaway,” Newel said. He had grass stains on his chest and arms.

“You should hurry to the yard,” Doren agreed.

“We better get some free batteries out of this,” Newel said, brushing himself off.

“And a new racket,” Doren added.

“We’ll talk about it,” Seth said, clutching his emergency kit with the gold inside. Hugo unceremoniously lifted Seth and started running, leaving him no opportunity to say or hear another word. Seth could not believe how fast the golem raced through the trees, massive strides eating up ground. Ignoring trails, Hugo bulldozed his own path through undergrowth and tangled limbs.

Before long, they were back in the yard. Grandma stood there, fists on her hips, along with Coulter, Vanessa, and Kendra. Hugo gently set Seth on his feet in front of Grandma.

“Are you all right?” Grandma asked, grabbing his shoulders and checking him for injuries.

“Thanks to Hugo.”