between a pair of barrels. Waving to Max, Skeedle pointed east to indicate that they should meet him farther down the road.
Hurrying down from the ledge, Max led the others along the shadowed gully to where Skeedle was waiting at a turnout that offered a spectacular view of distant valleys where the faint lights of distant settlements could be seen. One by one, the stars were coming out, little jewels scattered across a sky of deepening indigo. The goblin could barely contain his excitement.
“Off to Piter’s Folly with Max and his friends!” he exclaimed, double-checking the harness before hastening over to doff his hat and stow their things. When the goblin unlocked the stout wagon’s doors, Max glimpsed a warmly lit, surprisingly spacious compartment, lined with crates, blankets, and pillows. He longed for a proper bite and a long nap.
“Should you introduce us to Kolbyt?” wondered Max, eyeing the squat silhouette that was waiting for them.
“Do you know how to drive a wagon?” inquired Skeedle, studiously avoiding eye contact.
“I guess I can manage, but—”
“Good,” chirped the goblin, quickly tossing their packs into the back. “Just introduce yourself when he wakes up.…”
Horrified, Max walked over to the other wagon. An enormously fat goblin with a pronounced underbite was fast asleep in the driver’s seat, his broad chest heaving like a bellows. Belching, the creature muttered something unintelligible and rolled over to scratch his patched and lumpy breeches.
“That is foul,” Max groaned, wafting the odor away. “Skeedle, you said you’d wake Kolbyt up—I don’t want to kidnap him!”
The goblin gave a cheerful shrug and removed the barrels that he’d used to keep his cousin propped in place. “You said you were in a hurry,” he reasoned, tottering under their weight as he stowed them. “He might not stir till tomorrow or the day after. Kolbyt’s a mighty deep sleeper and the cask was almost empty. Just follow me and don’t drive over the edge!”
And with that, Skeedle ushered David and Toby into the back of the larger wagon where the pair stretched luxuriantly amid the fleeces and blankets. The smee was already nosing at a fat tin of chocolates when Skeedle closed the doors and the snug, jewel-like interior vanished from view like a happy dream. Unspeakably bitter, Max swung up into the driver’s seat and unceremoniously shoved Kolbyt over, tossing a wolf pelt over the bloated goblin to dampen his smell and snoring. Shaking the reins, Max felt the wagon lurch into motion as the mules clopped dutifully after Skeedle’s wagon, which was already descending the steep decline.
Throughout the night, Max drove the wagon down the far side of the mountain in what was one of the more terrifying experiences of his eventful life. Every ledge appeared narrower than the wagon’s base; every crevasse seemed a bottomless abyss as the wagon lurched along, bouncing over fallen rocks and shattered icicles thicker than his arm. Whenever gales came screaming through the passes, Max shut his eyes while the heavy wagon seemed to roll and pitch like a storm-tossed glider. He counted eleven near-death moments throughout the night, but Kolbyt never stirred, much less awoke to offer any expert guidance. By dawn, Max had abandoned all pretenses at driving the team. Sitting bolt upright, he merely clutched the reins with frozen hands and croaked halfhearted pleas to the oblivious mules.
At last the terrain leveled out and Max descended yet another pass to find Skeedle’s wagon stopped at the cusp of some shallow foothills that fed down into another frostbitten valley. Max heard whistling and spied the goblin’s absurd hat peeking from behind the bush where he was relieving himself.
As Skeedle stood on tiptoe, his face emerged. “Perfect night for driving, eh?”
The goblin’s grin evaporated when he noted Max’s expression. Saying nothing, Max lumbered stiffly to the other side of the bush. The doors to Skeedle’s wagon burst open and Toby came hopping out, still wearing the marmot’s guise.
“Fair enough, fair enough,” he called pleasantly. “But next time we play by
“That’s perfect,” Max muttered, staring off into the hazy distance. “While I’m teetering over chasms, you two are playing cards all night.”
“Not
“Like what?”
“We ate chocolates,” sniffed the unrepentant smee, waddling over to wash his face in a nearby stream. “And we talked. David needed my advice.”
“On what?”
“Girls.” Toby shivered as the icy water touched his nose. “How to woo the fairer sex. How to ply a blushing maid with wit and sweet nothings until she fairly melts with desire.”
“And so he asked … you?”
“And I suppose he should have asked you?” laughed the smee. “Ha!”
“What’s wrong with asking me?” said Max. “I’ve had a girlfriend—”
“Julie Teller?” chortled Toby. “Are you honestly citing Julie Teller as the basis for your expertise on love? Isn’t she the very girl you were dating when you sailed away from Rowan without even saying a proper goodbye? The same young lady who was left to wonder whether you were alive or dead for over a year? I’d imagine she must be the same Julie who is now dating one Thomas Polk, a steady young man who bores her to tears and yet she still finds him infinitely preferable to you.…”
Turning fire red, Max opened his mouth for a furious retort. But nothing brilliant occurred to him and he shut it again. Everything the smee said was technically true. Leaning heavily on a wagon wheel, he knocked a clump of mud from his boot.
“It was complicated,” he muttered. “There were lots of other factors.”
“There always are,” Toby observed wryly, jumping back onto the wagon’s rear platform while Skeedle fed and watered the mules. His voice softened. “But don’t feel too bad. Why would you know anything about courtship?”
“Well, why wouldn’t I?” retorted Max, glaring at David whose face appeared inside the wagon.
“Because you’re young, handsome, and inexperienced,” remarked the smee. “Most girls take one look at you and swoon. You’ve never had to really work for someone’s affection or put effort into maintaining it. In many ways, your natural gifts have done you a disservice—they’ve stunted your sensitivity and charm! You’ve never had to develop insight into what will make a girl laugh and come to love you for reasons that
“And what on earth is the Lover’s Maxim?” asked Max, feeling very uninformed.
The smee cleared his throat.
“But what if you can’t be witty?” Max wondered.
“Learn the guitar.”
David snorted with laughter, but Max did not. He considered these words and the unexpectedly sage marmot sitting beside him, casually grooming his coat.
“I suppose you’ve had a slew of relationships,” Max ventured.
“Indeed,” purred Toby with dreamy nostalgia. “Some lasted years; others were no more than a delightful afternoon. But all were torrid, mind you. The blood of a smee runs hot!”
“Okaaay,” said Max weakly, regretting this last inquiry. He returned to his own wagon before the creature delved into details; the very idea of a lothario smee was quite enough after such a harrowing night. Skeedle had finished tending after the mules and was squinting up at the pale blue sky.
“Fair weather,” he remarked. “Or fair enough. How’d the wagon handle?”
“Super,” Max deadpanned, squeezing back in next to Kolbyt who was now draped across the seat and snoring to wake the dead. “How much longer do you think he’ll sleep?”
“Hopefully till we’re on the Ravenswood Spur,” said Skeedle. “By then, he’ll have to give in and go all the way to Piter’s Folly. If he starts belly growling and gnawing on his lip, it means he’s getting hungry. If that happens, just stuff some of this faun tripe into his mouth so he doesn’t wake up.”
