by Brandon Mull
Incredible strength, Coulter commented. He should
be cooling down by now.
Sure enough, after a few moments, the giant trudged
over and retrieved his club. Then he came and stood towering
over the dome. Much of the mud had fallen from his
face. After the food and the exertion, his complexion was
ruddier. More, he demanded, pointing at his mouth.
We agreed on a single buffalo, Coulter called to him.
Burlox grimaced, revealing weeds and bark and fur in his
teeth. He stamped a massive foot. More! It came across as
a roar rather than a word.
You said you knew a place Warren had been exploring
before he turned white, Coulter said. We had a deal.
More after, Burlox grunted threateningly.
If we give you anything else, it will be out of kindness,
not obligation. A deal is a deal. Was the buffalo not delicious?
Four hills, the giant spat, before pivoting and stalking
away.
The four hills, Coulter repeated softly, watching the
enormous figure vanish into the mist. He clapped Seth on
the back. We just got what we came here for, my boy. A
bona fide lead.
Kendra reached into the sack and then sprinkled raisins
into the glass cylinder. The orange mass at the bottom oozed
toward the raisins like living pudding, covering them and
slowly darkening to a deep red. You have gross pets,
Kendra said.
Vanessa lifted her gaze from the journal she was studying.
Wizard slime looks unappetizing, but no other substance
can equal its ability to draw out the poison from
infected tissue. All of my darlings have their uses.
Unusual animals occupied most of Vanessa's room.
Cages, buckets, aquariums, and terrariums contained a
stunning variety of inhabitants. Whether they looked like
reptiles, mammals, arachnids, amphibians, insects, sponges,
fungi, or something in between, all were magical. There was
a colorful lizard with three eyes that was nearly impossible
to pick up because it could see slightly into the future and
avoid your every move. A hairless mouse that transformed
into a fish if you dropped it in water. And a bat who shed her
wings biweekly-if the discarded wings were quickly pressed
against another creature, they would take hold and grow.
Vanessa had used them to create a flying rabbit.
Aside from the dozens of life forms in their respective
containers, stacks of books dominated the room. The majority
were bulky reference books and leather-bound journals of
previous Fablehaven caretakers. Bookmarks protruded from
the journals, marking pages of interest Vanessa had discovered
during her research.
I'm not sure I could sleep surrounded by so many freaky
animals, Kendra said.
Vanessa closed the journal she was reading, marking the
page with a silk ribbon. I've rendered the truly dangerous
whirligigs harmless, like the drumants. None of the creatures
I brought into Fablehaven could cause anyone serious
harm.
I got nipped last night, Kendra said, holding out her
arm to show the bite marks in the crook of her elbow. Slept
right through it.
I'm sorry, Vanessa said. I have fifteen in the cage
now.
Which means four are running loose, Kendra said
gruffly, imitating Coulter.
Vanessa smiled. He means well.
He's not winning any points by taking off with Seth
and leaving me behind. If he gave me the choice, I would
probably volunteer to skip some excursions. I mean, I could
probably go my whole life without seeing a buffalo eaten
alive and be just fine. But being told to stay behind feels different.
Vanessa stood up and crossed to a chest of drawers. I
suspect I would feel the same way. She opened a drawer and
started rummaging. It seems only fair that I should share a
secret with you. She removed a candle and what looked
like a long, translucent crayon.
What are those? Kendra asked.
In rain forests around the world, you can find tiny
sprites called umites that make honey and wax like bees. In
fact, they dwell in almost hivelike communities. This marker
and candle are both composed of umite wax. Vanessa wrote
on the front of the drawer with the clear waxen marker. See
anything?
No.
Watch. Vanessa struck a match and lit the candle.
Once a flame burned on the wick, the entire candle glowed
yellow, as did the marker, as did a vivid message on the front
of the drawer:
Hi Kendra!
Cool, Kendra said.
Try to wipe it off, Vanessa said.
Kendra tried to wipe away the words to no avail. As
soon as Vanessa blew out the candle, the message vanished.
Vanessa handed the crayon and the candle to Kendra. For
me? Kendra asked.
I have spares. Now we can send each other secret messages,
and none of the boys will know. I always carry one of
those markers on me. They write surprisingly well on nearly
any surface, the messages are difficult to erase, and only
those with a properly enchanted umite candle can read
them. I've used umite wax to mark myself a trail, to send a
sensitive communique to a friend, and to remind myself of
important secrets.
Thanks, what a great gift!
Vanessa winked. We're pen pals.
Seth watched Coulter mount the steps to the back porch
and enter the house. He knew his window of opportunity
might be brief, so he hurried past the barn to a tree beside a
path into the woods. It was the same path that led to the
greenhouse where he and Kendra had harvested pumpkins
the previous year. That morning, before anyone was awake,
Seth had left a note at the base of that tree under a rock.
The year before, after Kendra had saved Fablehaven and
while she slept for two days straight, Seth had held a private
meeting with the satyrs, Newel and Doren. Most of the
inhabitants of Fablehaven were not permitted in the yard
uninvited, so the satyrs had stood at the edge of the yard and
beckoned Seth over. They had agreed that when Seth
returned to Fablehaven, he would bring size C batteries and
leave a note under the rock. Newel and Doren would
recover the note and leave instructions for a meeting, where
they would exchange gold for the treasured batteries that
would bring new life to their portable television.
Seth squatted at the base of the tree. Even though
he had left the note in the morning and it was now late
afternoon, it was almost too much to hope that the satyrs
would have already responded. Who knew how often they
would check? Knowing them, maybe never. Seth picked up
the rock. On the back of his note the satyrs had scrawled a
message:
If you get this today, follow this path, take your
second left, first right, keep on until you hear us.
You'll hear us. If you get this tomorrow, it will say
something else!
/> Excited, Seth stuffed the note in his pocket and set off
down the path. He had eight size C batteries in the bottom
of his emergency kit. After he sold those, and the satyrs were
hooked, he figured he could sell the rest for even more. If
everything panned out, he would be retired before reaching
high school!
Walking briskly, Seth took about six minutes to reach
the second left, and about four more to reach the next right.
At least, he hoped it was the next right. It was a scant trail,
less inviting than the fake one Coulter had shown him in
the swamp. But the satyrs had said first right, so they must
have meant this little trail. He wasn't too far from the yard,
so Seth felt confident it would be safe.
The farther he went, the thicker the woods and undergrowth
around the little trail became. He was beginning to
consider doubling back and waiting for a second message
from the satyrs when he heard shouting up ahead. It was definitely
the goatmen. He jogged forward. The closer he got,
the more clearly he could hear them.
Are you out of your skull? one voice griped. That was
right on the line!
I'm telling you, I saw daylight between the line and the
ball, and it's my call, a strident voice answered.
Is that fun for you? To win by cheating? Why even
play?
You aren't going to guilt me out of my point, Newel!
We better arm wrestle for it.
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 apathetic 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
night 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 corning,
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