by E. G. Foley
“What’s afoot, my dear?” she inquired, staring at their captives in the net.
“Our brave head of security has informed me these hideous giants have kidnapped one of our people.”
“Oh, no!” said the queen.
Jake strove to take control of the situation. “First, we aren’t giants—”
“Well, you’re certainly not tree goblins,” the king replied. “That is what my soldiers usually catch when they venture into our territory.”
“We are humans,” Dani said.
“And your men were spying on us,” Jake said.
“Well, you’re the one who’s trespassing. These are our woods. We have every right to eavesdrop on intruders if we wish, and besides, without humans, who would we make fun of?”
The pixies laughed at the king’s jest.
Jake and Dani exchanged a scowl. Coltsfoot stepped over to King Furze. Hiding his mouth behind his hand, he whispered something in His Majesty’s ear.
“Really?” King Furze murmured. “Indeed…hmm.” The tiny chieftain then passed along the secret message to his wife.
Queen Meadowfoil’s dainty face turned grim. She turned to Jake and Dani. “Humans, we have just been informed that the reason our soldiers were spying on you is because you were discussing a matter of some interest to our tribe. The so-called black fog. You have information on who or what this thing may be?”
“It’s just a theory—” Dani started, but Jake interrupted.
“Careful, Dani. This could be another trick. Emrys said that pixies are crafty. He also said they’re thieves. They can’t be trusted.”
“I beg your pardon!” King Furze looked outraged.
Coltsfoot aimed his spear at Jake in warning. “You’ll show Their Majesties respect!”
“Nice pony. Where did you get him, eh?” Jake retorted. “See, Dani? I’m sure they stole him.”
“We liberated him!” King Furze exclaimed. “Poor Tim. He used to be a pit pony down in the coalmine before we freed him. Trust me, he’s much happier with us.”
“Underground is no place for a pony,” Queen Meadowfoil agreed, then she hesitated, with a slightly nervous look. “Especially with the strange beasts lurking down there lately.”
“Now answer the King’s question!” Coltsfoot ordered Jake. “Tell Their Majesties what you told the orangey girl about the black fog and who it really is.”
“Orangey girl?” Dani muttered.
Jake narrowed his eyes at the tiny soldier. “Make me.”
“I could always cut you down. Long fall for your kind,” Coltsfoot warned.
“But first, free Whortleberry—or else!” said the king.
Dani gripped the rope netting with a frightened look at the distant ground. “Jake, I think we should do as he says. This is no time for your stubbornness. I’m going to let Whortleberry go.”
“Fine,” he muttered.
Smushed as she was by the trap, Dani gingerly opened the makeshift sack of his coat and freed their pixie captive. She let him climb onto her palm and then stretched out her hand so he could hop off onto the ledge-fungus.
“Starchwort, Featherfew, quickly, go and help him,” the queen said.
“Whorty!” The other two pixies steadied Whortleberry, slapping him on the back with smiles all around. “We thought we’d lost you!’
“I’m all right, I’m all right,” he assured everyone, though he still looked rather shaken.
After Featherfew had walked Whortleberry in toward the safety of the hornets’ nest to recover from his ordeal, King Furze eyed Jake closely. “Starchwort?” he said all of a sudden. “Bring out Wake-robin. I think these two need to hear his story.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Starchwort dashed into the hornets’ nest.
“Who’s Wake-robin?” Jake asked.
“One of our finest pranksters.” The king paused. “At least, he was, until he saw something dreadful several days ago. Something so terrifying that it turned his hair white, though he’s only twenty-seven. I think it’s a story you’ll want to hear, if you are interested in the black fog.”
Starchwort soon returned with another pixie leaning on him like a frail old man.
Sure enough, his hair was snow-white, though his face still looked young.
Coltsfoot brought over a chair for the weakened pixie, and the king gave him leave to sit in his presence with a wave of his hand.
“Wake-robin, tell these human younglings what you saw the other day in the mine,” King Furze ordered.
Still swinging in the net, Jake and Dani waited while Wake-robin sat down and slowly collected his thoughts. He still looked dazed by whatever it was that he had experienced.
Jake knew the feeling.
“Where do I start?” Wake-robin asked.
“Begin at the beginning,” the queen said kindly.
He nodded and gathered his strength. “Very well, Your Majesty. It all started when Starchie and me—that’s Starchwort.” Wake-robin nodded at his friend. “We were bored, so we thought we would lasso a mole. Always fun to lasso a rabbit and then you can ride it, flippity-fast they are, great fun. But we never heard of anybody trying to ride a mole. So we decided that we should be the first. Well, we did.” He shook his head, lost in his thoughts. “But it didn’t go as planned.”
“Poor planning all around,” Starchwort admitted with a pensive nod.
“Moles live underground, y’see,” Wake-robin pointed out.
“Everybody knows that,” Jake said impatiently.
“The mole was stronger than we thought. We got the rope around its neck, didn’t we, Starchie? But then it ran. Dove into its hole, it did, and pulled us underground. It was dark down there.
“Starchie had the good sense to let go of the rope, but I hung on. That’s me. I never know when to quit.” He shuddered at the memory. “The mole ran so far underground into its dark, moley tunnels that it came down to the ceiling of the Harris Coalmine.
“When it turned a corner at top speed, I fell through a crack in the rock and we got stuck. There I was, dangling into one of the coalmine tunnels, hanging onto the lasso by my fingertips.” He gulped. “That’s when I saw them.”
“What? What did you see?” Dani asked.
“The eyes,” he whispered, fixing his haunted stare on a memory that only he could see. “Glowing eyes in the blackness. Two of them.”
“Two eyes?” Jake asked.
“No. Two creatures in the mine. Maybe more. Beasts.”
Dani blanched. “What were they?”
“Big. Horrible.”
“Yes, but what sort of beasts?” Jake persisted. “Wolves, bears?”
He wished for a moment with all his might that the pixie would say anything but gargoyles. He still hoped his theory about Garnock might be wrong.
Wake-robin shook his head, looking lost. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what did they look like?” Dani asked. “What color were they?”
“Hard to tell, it was so dark. Maybe gray. Black? They had horns. Tails.” He gulped at the memory and held up his hand, curving his fingers into hooks to show them. “Claws. They were…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Starchwort put his hand on the traumatized pixie’s shoulder. “We believe poor Wake-robin stumbled onto a nest of dragon hatchlings.”
“Baby dragons?” Dani whispered.
Starchwort shrugged. “Wales used to be infested with dragons, long ago. The glowing eyes. Horns and so forth. It adds up!”
“Did any of them breathe fire?” Jake asked.
“The young ones don’t, until they reach a certain age,” King Furze pointed out.
“Well, what about wings?” Jake asked.
Wake-robin shook his head, looking desperate. “Can’t be sure. I think they might have had them. Please, no more! I can’t bear it.”
Just then, a clamor in the distance drew everyone’s attention.
“Look! The pit ponies are escaping!” Dani cried, point
ing toward the entrance of the Harris Coalmine.
She was right. Jake turned and scanned the landscape, then squinted at the strange sight.
A large herd of ponies was fleeing out of the mine. They had broken free and were stampeding right down the main street of the town.
Jake stared with a chill of realization down his spine. “Something must have spooked them.”
Dani turned to him, wide-eyed. “Maybe there’s been another attack in the mine!”
He believed she was right. Indeed, maybe this time, the gray beasts had tried to eat one of the pit ponies.
Then Jake gripped the ropes of the snare. “Please, you have to let us go.”
“Oh? Why is that?” King Furze replied.
“So we can get down there and do something about this!”
“Er, we?” Dani looked askance at him.
He glared at the king. “Haven’t you realized who I am yet, Your Majesties? I am Lord Griffon of Plas-y-Fforest, the Lightriders’ son, and this is my friend, Dani O’Dell. Now put us down! Unless you want those dragon hatchlings growing to full size in your back garden?”
King Furze considered this, then finally relented. “Very well—since this has all been a misunderstanding, I will let you and the orangey girl go. But take care to pay the forest folk the proper respect when you venture into our territory again, or next time, you might not be so lucky. Goodbye—and good riddance,” he added under his breath.
Then he nodded at his head of security. Coltsfoot lifted a tiny flint hatchet with a gleam in his eyes and chopped away a few fibers of the main rope holding up their net.
Loosened, the rope slipped through the pulley, running them down the length of the tree at top speed. They held on for dear life.
A moment later, Jake and Dani tumbled out onto the ground in a heap atop the soft leaves.
“Blimey!” she exclaimed, looking up at the height from which they had plummeted by a few strands. “We’re lucky we didn’t break our necks.”
Jake grabbed his jacket and jumped to his feet, giving her a quick hand up. “Come on, no time to lose!” With that, he was up and running back to the path, then racing down it toward the Harris family mansion.
Dani was right behind him. They pounded over the packed dirt trail, leaped the fallen logs, and carefully dodged over the rocks that littered the path here and there.
A few minutes later, they burst out of the woods just in time to see a lanky uniformed messenger from the telegraph office arriving. It was not difficult to guess the contents of the telegram he was bringing Mr. Harris—news concerning whatever had just happened at the mine.
Pink-cheeked with exertion, Jake and Dani exchanged a worried glance as they jogged toward the stately manor house. The messenger was already knocking on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, ma’am. Message for Mr. Harris. It’s an emergency,” he told the unsmiling housekeeper, who had apparently refused to be forced to dress up like a pirate crewmate.
The stern, black-clad woman instantly opened the door wider and showed the messenger into the house.
Jake and Dani followed, unnoticed.
But as they hurried to the door, a honeyed voice called his name with cloying sweetness. “Oh, Lord Griffon! Would you like to help me look for treasure?”
Jake scowled straight ahead, refusing even to look over at Petunia, who was waving at him from across the lawn and starting to hurry toward him.
“Act like you don’t see her,” he said to Dani through gritted teeth. Then they slipped into the house.
They saw the housekeeper showing the messenger down the hallway to the oak-paneled library, where Mr. Harris had sought refuge from the party with the other children’s fathers.
A mirror in the hallway offered a perfect angle, allowing Jake and Dani to see into Mr. Harris’s stately library, even as they kept a safe distance back, remaining unnoticed.
The wealthy gentlemen were lounging around on brown leather club chairs, smoking cigars and drinking port, when the housekeeper knocked thrice on the open door.
Mr. Harris glanced over, a portly, red-faced man with impressive muttonchop sideburns. “Yes?”
“Telegram for you, sir. Sorry to disturb, but the lad says it’s an emergency.”
“Very well.” Mr. Harris waved his chubby fingers, summoning in the messenger to bring it to him.
The lanky lad with a silly pillbox hat crossed the room and handed the message to the coal-factor.
“Egads!” Mr. Harris shot to his feet and turned pale, then looked away and let out a harsh curse under his breath.
“I say, what is it, Harris?” one of his gentleman friends inquired as their host crumpled the note in his hand.
“No use hiding it. There’s been another attack in the mine.” Mr. Harris glanced grimly at the gentlemen, who let out varied exclamations of shock.
“Did anyone see what it was this time?” one of them asked.
Mr. Harris shook his head. “Blast it, I thought it had surely moved on by now. But whatever’s down there, it just attacked one of the pit ponies, and now the whole herd has escaped.”
“Now, see here, Harris.” An aristocratic fellow in a red coat stood up, ready to take matters in hand. “I am the president of the local foxhunting club, I host shooting parties throughout the autumn at my country estate, and I daresay some of the chaps here are jolly good shots, as well. Why, Carrington is our most avid sportsman. He just returned from a lion hunt in Africa, didn’t you, old man?”
Carrington nodded, then pointed at the man by the window. “Thurlowe over there has shot bears in the Alps.”
“You see? You must let us help you eradicate this creature,” the foxhunt president informed Mr. Harris. “So here’s what we shall do. First, you must evacuate your workers, and then, we shall form a hunting party amongst ourselves. We will hunt this beast and destroy it.”
“Capital sport, old boy!” Thurlowe exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “My new rifle just arrived, imported from one of the top gunsmiths of Switzerland. I can hardly wait to try it out in the field against worthy game.”
“Jolly good!” Carrington replied. “Whoever fells the beast gets to keep the brush!”
“What does that mean?” Dani whispered.
“I think they cut the tail off and keep it as a hunting trophy.”
Dani wrinkled up her nose. “That’s disgusting.”
But the great British hunters were growing more enthusiastic by the minute for their quest.
“Better still, why not have the beast stuffed and mounted once we’ve felled it for you, Harris? You could hang the head up there.” The foxhunt president pointed to an empty spot on the oak-paneled wall.
“I don’t think I’d, er, quite like to see it every day.”
“Not a sporting fellow, eh?” one teased with a condescending smile.
“But if you think you’re able to track the creature down…” Mr. Harris said hopefully.
“Of course we can, old man!”
Mr. Harris already seemed half persuaded by these worldly fellows. After all, they outranked him by a mile.
The word “Lord” in front of their names seemed to guarantee that they must know what they were talking about on any subject.
Mr. Harris had lots of money, but they had all the class. Filthy rich as he was, a coal-factor was merely a great merchant. With no title of any kind, he might as well have been (horrors!) middle class.
No wonder Petunia was already hard at work trying to land a young lord like Jake for her future husband. Her papa’s money wasn’t much good without “class”; but then again, class was hopeless without money. Lots of the aristocrats’ lives revolved around hiding the fact that they were nearly bankrupt.
“There, Harris,” Lord Carrington decreed. “You see? Leave it to the aristocracy to look after the safety of the lower orders.” The foxhunter-in-chief raised his glass to his fellow noblemen with a smug smile. “Tally-ho, gentlemen.”
They clinked
their glasses and drank.
“Ha! Now, let’s go hunting!”
“They’re going to get themselves killed,” Jake muttered.
“Where are you going?” Dani called after him as loudly as she dared when Jake got up from his crouched position by the wall and headed for the library.
“I need to talk to Mr. Harris privately,” he answered over his shoulder, keeping his voice low. “He can’t let those idiots go down there. They have no idea what they’re getting into. They’ll get torn apart. Get the others together, will you? We need to leave soon.”
We’ve got gargoyles to catch, he thought grimly. Or dragons, which could be even worse.
“Good luck!” she said.
Jake nodded in thanks, though he had no idea how to make the coal-factor listen to him, a mere kid, offering suggestions. Mr. Harris was never going to listen to him.
Guess I’m just going to have to prove it to him, then.
Jake braced himself before stepping into the open doorway. “Ahem, Mr. Harris, might I have a moment of your time, sir?”
The foxhunting gents started laughing. “I say, lad, aren’t you a bit young to be coming to beg for his daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Jake turned scarlet as they laughed. “It’s not that.”
“This really isn’t a good time, Lord Griffon,” Mr. Harris started, but Jake was prepared to insist, especially once the great hunters had marched out of the library to go prepare for their adventure.
Jake turned to him imploringly when they were alone. “Mr. Harris, if you let those men go down there, they’re going to get eaten alive. They have no idea what’s waiting for them down there.”
The coal-factor looked at him in surprise. “And you do?”
“I have a notion,” Jake said shrewdly. “For one thing, there’s more than one of those beasts down there.”
He leaned forward. “You’ve seen it?”
“No, but I’ve just talked to an eyewitness.”
“Really? What sort of creature is it, then? No one seems able to give me a straight answer!”