Keys to the Demon Prison (Page 73)

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 He stood not much taller than Seth’s knees, wore an outdated hat, and had a bristly auburn beard.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."