CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

JAIL TIME

A sly, sinister smile cracked on the King’s face. “Bring them to me.” He became bored with his regular sentencing session and wanted something fresh and new.

The hush of the room turned into that of whispers and surprise as the princess and her puppy walked away from the leprechauns and the young boy.

“Papa.” Abby bowed to the ground. “I was wondering how your day is going.”

King Boyce was startled and obviously displeased with his daughter’s question. “It’s just one thing after another, dear. There’s no need for you to worry your little royal head. We’ll discuss my day and your guests at a later time.” He snapped his fingers, and a lackey prostrated himself. “Take Her Royal Highness to her chambers.”

The King waited just long enough for Abby and the lackey to get to the door. “Now would somebody bring me those leprechauns and the boy?”

King Boyce drummed his fingers on his jewel-encrusted throne for the longest time while they brought the intruders to his feet. Malley smiled at the monarch, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything better to do. Alexander stared at Abby, who stubbornly refused to leave.

 “Unhand us. Your Majesty, I send you greetings from Bashore, the Grand Leprechaun. I have a letter of introduction, but my associate—” he pointed to Malley “—lost it.”

Boyce’s eyes narrowed as he sat quietly for minutes, letting the statements sink in before he addressed O’Toole. “How unfortunate for you. I would have guarded such a precious note with my life.” Examining the tips of his fingernails, he continued. “I’m in a giving mood tonight.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” O’Toole continued. “These are indeed in trying times. Please allow my friends and…”

“I’m in a giving mood.” He snapped his fingers. “I will only sentence you to serve twenty years of jail time. I’ll be benevolent and allow you to serve your time in the castle, and I see no reason to chain you to the walls.” He smiled his evil grin. “Next.”

“Daddy, please, they’re my friends.” Abby broke loose from her father’s soldiers.

“Nola, you’re supposed to be in your room. I don’t remember granting you have permission to have friends. Take the prisoners away.”

O’Toole and Malley vanished, leaving Alexander to take the rap.

Nola struggled with the guards, pleading for Alexander’s freedom. It was too late. The King had made up his mind.

“Please, Daddy,” Abby pleaded when she saw the familiar look on her father’s face.

“Nola, don’t make a scene. Try to remember you’re a princess, and a princess does not beg.”

“But—”

“Oh, please, don’t make it any worse than you already have. Take the remaining prisoner to the dungeon and lock my daughter up in her room.” The King walked away, shaking his head. “You might as well arrest everyone else in the chamber. And find those leprechauns.”

                                                                       

Alexander paced his small windowless, stinky cell like a caged feral cat. What was to become of him? He was a thirteen-year-old lad, and he already there was a felony on his permanent record. He was almost sure that this might doom any chance of him getting into college or any future employment. He wondered where they took O’Toole or Malley. He wondered what kind punishment Abby or Nola, whatever her name was, would get for helping. Then again, she deserved any reprimand she got.

A knock interrupted Alexander’s pacing.

 “Lunchtime.” A gruff voice came from the opposite side of the door. A dented silver tray slid through a slot. “Bon appetite, this is most likely your last meal.”

Alexander scrutinized the tray as little cockroaches ran, hiding. His lunch was a small bowl of some greenish mush with a turnip, a burnt muffin, and a half of a glass of water. If this were his last meal, he would go to his execution hungry. There was no way he would eat the turnip goop.

Alexander’s hunger got the best of him. He closed his eyes and forced a heaping spoonful of yuck into his mouth and then he forced himself to swallow. He wished he were dead. It tasted like cold rat soup. At least he imagined that’s what it tasted like, having never eaten a rat before. His stomach agreed with him.

Another knock at the door startled Alexander, and he spilled his water. “Push the tray to the door.” Alexander obeyed the order without hesitation. “Hey, you barely ate your lunch. You need to keep your strength up for tomorrow.” The beady eyes of the guard peered through the slit.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself. Get some rest. You will need a good night’s sleep.”

“Not tired.”

“Suit yourself. It doesn't matter to me. The dragon will eat ya even if you’re too tired to care.”

“Go away. Don’t you have other prisoners to annoy?”

“I’m going. Have a wonderful last day of your life.” The guard shoved a card into the slit. “It’s just a suggestion card, something to help the jailer decide how to handle prisoners sentenced to die in the future. I was only asking because at our last training meeting they taught us to be more considerate of our prisoners’ feelings.”

                                                                                    

There is nothing worse than spending the night in jail worrying about your impending doom. Unless you’re a thirteen-year-old boy with an upset stomach, worrying about your impending doom.

Alexander couldn’t remember how long he’d remained awake. Without a window, he couldn’t tell if it was morning or night. All he knew was that he wished he were at home. His night only got worse when a dull blue light glowed in the middle of the cell. He closed his eyes, expecting to become dragon food at any second.

“I swear Mr. Sighs. You can’t seem to keep out of trouble. What do you want to do about it?”

“O’Toole! I’ve never been so happy to see anyone,” Alexander cried. “Where’s Malley?”

“It’s great seeing you as well. We might want to hold off our reunion for a bit.”

 “A little less talk. You’re there to protect Alexander from the explosion.” Abby’s voice came from the other side of the door. “You guys ready?

“Twelve, nine, eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE LIST

The corridor differed greatly from the last one. No cobwebs hung from the ceiling. There weren’t any gurgling sounds. Only darkness, as it exhausted Abby’s puppy and refused to flame. They felt their way along the smooth, cold wall. The walk down the hall was easy when compared to the last one. The walk might have been enjoyable if you could ignore the foul stench, and of course, you failed to consider the reason for the walk. They were heading to see an evil King in a foul mood.

Abby dropped his hand to pick up her tired puppy. Alex felt relieved, yet conflicted at the same time.

Stop that. She’s annoying and abandons you all the time, he argued with himself. But she’s kinda cute, for a girl.

“Is everything okay, Alex?” asked Abby at his side.

“Yah, just getting tired,” he lied. You have a crush on the girl, he insisted to himself. I do not! his more rational half denied. She is cute, in a gross girl kind of way, though. The inner Alexander tried to end the argument. Face facts. No wonder your imaginary friend left. You’re too stubborn.

Alexander bumped into a wall, and two leprechauns bumped into him. The corridor ended abruptly. They bounce off walls to either side of them like blind mice. The group reached a dead-end.

“Are you sure you took us down the right corridor?” O’Toole asked Abby in the dark.

“Yes, this is the right one,” Abby snapped back. “You just need to have patience and trust me.”

“It seems as if we are trapped here. And it’s too dark to see what I’m eating.”

O’Toole swatted Malley’s head in the darkness.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m hungry.”

“Poor Brutus is tired,” Abby slowed down. “You’re free to look for the exit. I doubt you will find it in the darkness.”

Alexander found a wall and inched himself to the floor. He sat with his knees to his chest and his head cradled in his hands. Someone sat next to him. He could only hope it was a leprechaun or Abby. A soft touch on his arm confirmed it was Abby.

“Everything will be okay.” Abby comforted him. “The puppy will be rested soon, and we can go see my father.”

Alexander shifted, lowering his legs to the ground and leaning his head against the wall. “Thanks, but I have an uneasy feeling in my gut.”

“Maybe you’re just hungry.” Abby squeezed his hand.

 “Yah, that’s it.” Alexander rolled his eyes. No, something will go wrong, and I cannot stop it.

“Pardon us,” O’Toole huffed. “I don’t want to put an end to your touching moment, but is the dog rested yet?”

“Puppy. Brutus is a puppy,” Abby snapped. “She isn’t ready yet.” The puppy vanished, again.

“Here Brutus, here girl,” they chimed in unison.

They crawled on the ground looking for the dog or the leash in the darkness. They didn’t find a puppy.

Abby sat in the blackness and sobbed. O’Toole and Malley tried to console her, but leprechauns know little about drying tears. Malley even handed her what he thought might be a ham sandwich, but in the darkness, it could’ve been almost anything.

Alexander was at a loss for what to do. Should he comfort Abby, or should he let her cry? He stood idly with his hands buried in his pockets.

A muffled yap and a quick burst of fire came from behind O’Toole. The group turned, just in time to see a small opening in a wall before the puppy’s flame died out.

Excited Abby yelled, “Brutus, bad puppy.” The puppy and the hole vanished with the flame.

The hole-in-the-wall illuminated again as Brutus yapped again. This time, it prepared O’Toole. He placed his foot inside the hole to mark its location before the corridor darkened once again. The next burst of flame almost barbecued his leg, but they found Brutus chewing on O’Toole’s shoe in the dim light. For an instant, they saw their way to safety—the small hole wasn’t quite large enough for a regular sized person, but large enough for two leprechauns, a princess, and a boy.

Brutus chewed at O’Toole’s shoe. “Enough of this.” He reached down and grabbed the puppy in the darkness. “I have the exit marked.” He handed the puppy to the person behind him, assuming it was Abby.

                                                                 

They fell from the tiny confined space, only to find themselves in the throne room, uninvited.

“Hi, how are you all doing?” Alexander asked because he felt uncomfortable with the stares from those in the room and he couldn’t think of anything else to say. The people wore their shining, bright robes. The King’s crown glistened in the chandelier’s light.

“This is an insult.” O’Toole spun to face Abby as the curious crowd turned back to face the King. “I have a letter of introduction from a much-respected leprechaun.”

Abby pulled the irate O’Toole aside. “Lower your voice. Let me see the letter.”

O’Toole hesitated, but handed Abby the sealed letter. “It’s for the King’s eyes only.”

“Relax, I’m his daughter, so it’s all right for me to read it,” Abby broke the seal on the package. “Have you read this yet?” she asked.

“Certainly not, what parts of for the King’s eyes only escape your grasp?” O’Toole snapped at her.

“Read it,” Abby insisted.

“No,” O’Toole folded his arms.

“READ IT,” Abby insisted a little louder.

“I can be just as stubborn as you are, princess,” O’Toole would not budge.

“I will read it to you then.” Abby looked at the note.

“Please don’t read it, my—"

"Two pounds of wheat, one gallon of goat milk, three carafes of cheap wine… should I continue?” Abby asked.

The crowd parted as the King’s finest royal soldiers approached them.

O’Toole, was embarrassed, and handed the soldiers his letter of introduction. “The Council accidentally gave me their grocery list.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

BRUTUS

Our senses become keener when you feel fear. Alexander could almost smell the embers. A shadow suddenly appeared and danced upon the corridor’s walls. A whooshing sound echoed through the empty corridor and rushed at him, like his brother and sister fighting over the last scraps of meat. O’Toole fumbled with his shillelagh while Malley couldn’t find his weapon in his overstuffed pocket. He pulled out assorted sandwiches, baked turkeys, hamburgers, and fries, but nothing to help him defend them from the unseen.

“Do you plan on feeding the demon to death?” whispered O’Toole with his weapon held above his head, anticipating a fight.

The shadow on the wall grew larger and then changed into two different shadows.

“Back demons,” O’Toole commented.

Suddenly and without warning, the smallest shadow leaped from the darkness. O’Toole’s eyes widened. It was the first time he ever saw a fire-breathing puppy on a leash. The puppy jumped up and down, belching up ashes. He licked Alexander’s shoes with its large, thick purple tongue. Alexander panicked, not being fond of dogs, especially one that could barbecue him at any moment.

“Where are you, Brutus?” A distant, but familiar voice asked from the corridor. Abby popped out of the darkness. “Oh, hi, guys. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. I’m having a devil of a time castle-training… Oh, look you’ve found Brutus. Isn’t she cute?”

Alexander snorted at Abby, “You left us. Again! Get your fire-puff off me.”

Abby, who was now wearing a royal black robe and purple prom gown, frowned. Of course Alex knew it was a gown from his mother’s obsession with such things. “There was no other choice. Brutus is not a fire-breathing puff. She’s adorable.”

Alexander no longer trusted the annoying girl although he admitted the new floor-length purple dress was cool. He couldn’t help but notice the way the intricate golden lace embroidery set off the blue in her eyes.

 Abby smiled. “I guess you’ve figured out who I am.” 

“You’re the obnoxious girl that keeps ditching me.” He gave her a halfhearted crooked smile.

“Yup, that’s me. I’m a gross girl. I keep running off on you.” Abby slugged Alexander in the arm.

“And the King’s daughter.” Alexander handed her the end of the leash.

“That too.” She winked. “Speaking of my father, he is in a particularly foul mood. Be on your best behavior. And whatever you do, don’t…” she hesitated and stroked behind Brutus’ ear, causing a plume of smoke from the puppy’s nose, “do anything stupid.”

“Maybe we should come back when the King’s in a better mood,” Malley whispered in O’Toole’s ears.

“We have immunity.” O’Toole patted the letter in his pocket.

“Father is never in a better mood.” Abby grabbed Alexander’s hand. “He’s already sentenced more than a dozen peasants for trivial misdemeanors, and there are dozens more waiting ahead of you.” Abby tugged on Alexander’s hand and Brutus’ leash at the same time. “He might be tired by the time he gets to you guys. If you’re lucky.”

“That’s a comforting thought.” O’Toole folded his weapon, and he set it in his satchel.

“See,” Malley swallowed a mouthful of an unknown food, “we have very little to worry about.”

Alexander just shook his head. I will never understand adults, especially adult leprechauns.

                                                                 

Abby cupped her hands around her huge puppy’s head. “We need a little light, Brutie. Come on, girl, you can do it. Aw, come on, sweetie pie.”

That kind of talk nauseated Alexander. I will never understand girls, especially untrustworthy princess ones.

However, the baby talk worked wonders with Brutus. She wagged her tail and bounced around with excitement, sending out wafts of smoke. Brutus’ leash tightened as she lurched toward one of the cobweb-filled corridors. Fire exploded from her mouth, lighting the dark passageway.

“Good girl.” Abby handed the puppy a doggie biscuit. “This way,” she urged her companions. Alexander was left with little other choices. Abby’s iron-tight grip pulled him down the corridor with her and her fire-breathing puppy.

The light from the puppy’s flame lit the corridor like bursting fireworks, but did very little to illuminate the corridors to the left or the right. Alexander kept looking behind him to see if his friends were following, but could see nothing. He continuously batted cobwebs from his face, cringing with each one. The occasional slime, oozing from the darkened hallways, terrified him the most.

“What’s the slime?” he asked Abby as she pulled him ever deeper into the corridor.

“It’s nothing,”

“Yeah, probably some face dissolving acid type of nothin’.”

Gurgling noises from the corridors freaked him out. “What keeps making that sound?”

“It’s nothing.” She followed the faint glow of her puppy’s fire.

“Yeah, probably some faceless slave, punished to clean the dark, spooky corridor type of nothing.” Alexander tripped on a large rock and fell into the goo. His hand instantly began to tingle and itch.

Abby gave Alex a handkerchief she produced from the sleeve of her dress. “Be careful. Wipe that gunk off. You can never tell which goo is lethal.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel so much better knowing that I might die from goo.” Alex handed the gooey handkerchief back to Abby.

“Just keep it, or drop it on the floor.” Abby jerked on Alex’s hand before she continued to follow Brutus further into the gloom. “We’re almost there.”

                                                                 

They came to a fork in the corridor after walking what seemed to be miles and miles. Putrid air came from one of the new hallways while a cool breeze of fresh air and bright light emitted from the other. “This way,” Abby pointed to the putrid, smelly corridor.

 “What’s wrong with that way?” Alexander pointed to the other.

“It’s nothing.” Abby tugged him in toward the stinky hall.

“Yeah, smelly dark hallways are always better than fresh air well-lit corridors type of nothing.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know. Not all horrible creatures thrive on darkness. Some thrive on fresh air and light.”

Alexander’s heart sank as Abby pulled him into the cold, dank, putrid hallway.

CHAPTER TWENTY

GUARDS

Guards wearing purple shorts and black satin ruffled shirts marched from the castle and surrounded them. The arrival of the guards interrupted Alexander’s sleep. He looked around and noticed that Abby was not present.

Malley and O’Toole sat near the fire-pit cooking bacon and talking to a person dressed the same as the guards, except for gold epaulets on his ruffled shirt.

O’Toole greeted him without looking up from the sizzling bacon. “Good morning, Alexander. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

Alex knuckled sleep from his eyes. “Why? Where’s Abby?”

“Abby is where Abby should be.” O’Toole raised an eyebrow. “They,” he continued, pointing at the oddly dressed guards, “they need little motive to show you they mean business.”

“Are they going to arrest me?” Alex asked. “Did they already throw Abby in jail?”

“What makes you think they’re going to arrest you?”

“Just asking.”

O’Toole snorted, “Don’t be absurd. Nobody ever arrests leprechauns.”

 Alex sat next to Malley. He avoided staring into the scary blue eyes of the guard sitting across from him, which he found out was the captain.

The captain dabbed his lips and snapped his fingers. “Seize them.”

Malley and O’Toole went with the arresting guards without incident. Alexander, however, fought like a demon. He screamed and kicked. He clawed at the guards’ arms.

O’Toole lifted his wrists for a handcuff. “Looks as if I was wrong.”

Finally, the captain spoke, “Tell your friend he must act appropriately and allow my men to arrest him.”

“Alexander, don’t pester the guards.”

Alexander stopped in mid-kick and looked at O’Toole as if he’d lost his mind.

“Just cooperate.” He cut short any complaint from the captain with a curt flick of his wrist. “Humor them.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “Trespassing is a crime in this city. Trespassing leprechauns are only slightly better than trolls, rats, or witches.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this.” O’Toole reached into his vest pocket. “At least I was hoping to present this to someone a little higher on the success ladder.” He handed the captain the sealed letter. “As you can see, the letter is for the king’s eyes only.” He snatched the letter from the leader before he could read it, and shoved it into his pocket.

The captain’s eyes narrowed and his lips quivered as if he wanted to scream. He twisted the end of his bushy black mustache, but his eyes could not lie. Something upset him. He snapped his fingers and shouted. “Release the prisoners. They are our guests.” The captain pivoted on his heels and saluted O’Toole, looking as if he’d just swallowed a lemon. O’Toole returned the salute with a bow from the waist.

“Return to your posts,” the captain ordered. The guards dispersed, leaving them free to go about their business.

Malley, O’Toole, and Alexander looked at each other with blank expressions before breaking out into smiles. Malley and O’Toole danced a leprechaun jig, but Alex shook his head and declined the invitation for him to join in.

O’Toole looked up at the hot sun. “We must hurry. The day is half gone, and I feel our visit with the King will take lots of time. That is, if he doesn’t kill us on the spot.”

Alexander gazed at the closed drawbridge, the only way into the castle. “How are we going to get into the castle?”

Malley waddled over to the edge of the moat and peered in. He swallowed hard at the many sets of eyes staring back at him. “We’ll just have to wait.” A crossbreed of an alligator and a piranha jumped at him, missing his head by inches. Malley ran from the moat and hid behind Alexander.

“We must have patience.” O’Toole placed his hand in his vest pocket. “They will announce us soon enough.”

                                                                 

After what seemed like hours, a horn from the castle’s turret blared. The drawbridge creaked open, lowering itself slowly. No one came from the castle to greet or escort them. O’Toole couldn’t help notice how threatening a non-greeting could feel. “One doesn’t leave official dignitaries on their own,” he huffed. “Very un-King-like.”

They walked cautiously across the drawbridge and through the gate. Alexander made the mistake of looking over the side and almost swooned at the sight of razor-sharp teeth with eyes glaring back him. Malley grabbed at his collar, pantomiming death, and stopped Alex from falling into the moat.

The only instruction from O’Toole was, “Careful.”

The door creaked shut just as they stepped into the castle. Long corridors ran off in every direction. However, which one led to the King’s throne room? There wasn’t an escort to show them the way.

O’Toole snorted. “I have every right to be upset. The King could have sent a low-level dignitary at the very least.”

“Looks like we are on our own,” Malley chirped, trying to sound cheerful. “Look on the bright side. Most of the corridors are well lit.” He chuckled and elbowed his friend in the mid-section.

O’Toole shoved Malley and scowled. “Not now.” He studied the corridors. “We should skip the hallways with cobwebs hanging from the ceilings. I believe we shouldn’t waste our time with the darkened corridors.”

Alexander stood behind Malley and craned his head, looking down the dark passages, happy O’Toole avoided the cobweb-filled ones. He hated spiders.

“Why should we forget the dark hallways?” Malley quizzed, hiding behind O’Toole.

O’Toole sighed, “It’s just a hunch.”

“I like your hunches.”

A whooshing sound came from the darkened corridor to the left, followed by a burst of fire.