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.