“I saw it,” said Jack.
“Yes, and I saw roast partridges dancing on beds of leeks in my dreams,” said the Nemesis.
“Farseeing doesn’t lie,” the boy protested.
“It’s a bard thing,” said the Bugaboo, aiming a friendly punch at the Nemesis. “Personally, I believe him. Dragon Tongue wouldn’t teach him faulty magic.”
“Then perhaps we’d better go through the Forest of Lorn,” said Thorgil.
“Father Severus would never survive.” The hobgoblins had made a litter to carry the monk, but it would be useless on the steep and narrow trails through the mountains.
“As I remember, the Hollow Road branched in many directions,” Jack said. “Are there other exits?”
“Yes,” said the Bugaboo. “Most of them go through places you wouldn’t like—the Worm Nursery and the Hall of Wraiths, for example. One passage comes up in a deep chasm called Hen Hole. We’d never get up the sides. The only safe exit lies under Din Guardi.”
“Under Din Guardi?” echoed Jack, who had a somber memory of dungeons and clashing waves.
“There’s a network of caves. The fortress is extremely old.”
“Great toadstools and little slime molds! Do you want to get us killed?” exclaimed the Nemesis. “That’s where the Man in the Moon committed the crime that exiled him to the sky. The old gods still think it belongs to them. The Forest Lord lays siege to it day and night.”
Jack shivered, remembering the Hedge that surrounded the grim, gray walls.
“It’s not that bad,” the king said. “It was quite a jolly place when Lancelot ran it. Someone else took it over recently. I can’t remember who.”
“Mud men pirates,” growled the Nemesis.
“There! We haven’t a thing to worry about. There isn’t a hobgoblin alive who can’t outwit a mud man— begging your pardon, Jack.”
Pirates had indeed taken over, Jack thought, but they were led by Yffi, the half-kelpie. Jack struggled with his conscience for a moment. If he revealed what he knew, the Nemesis would certainly refuse to go. They’d have to travel over the mountains, and Father Severus would fall over a cliff. Others might die as well. Thorgil was clumsy with only one good hand, and Pega wasn’t strong. Surely, it was better to protect their lives than reveal an unpleasant (and perhaps unimportant) truth. Yffi might not eat hobgoblins anyhow because he was only half kelpie. Besides, they could ask the Bard for help.
His moral struggle finished, Jack said, “All right. Din Guardi it is.”
Chapter Forty-two
YARTHKINS
There were several caves hidden behind vines and trees. All but one were found to be blocked by rockfalls. The last one opened under the sea and was covered by water except at low tide. They had to wait for hours until it was revealed.
It was an uninviting hole, choked with the litter of many storms. A small whale had wedged itself between rocks, and its bones were still draped with decaying blubber.
“We must hurry,” the Bugaboo said. “We have to go down before we go up, and if the tide comes in…”
“So that’s what decay smells like,” she said in wonder. “Nothing like it has ever existed in Elfland.”
“If you don’t move, I’m going to throw up,” said Pega.
“But why?” said the elf lady in honest puzzlement. “It is a strong scent, to be sure. So is the odor of honeysuckle, but I find them both equally enjoyable.” And she probably did, Jack thought. How would she know the difference between nasty and nice when nothing in her experience had taught her? Pega shoved her roughly to make her go on.
Jack came last, carrying both Thorgil’s knife and his staff. In his experience trouble usually showed up from behind. He looked carefully from side to side and listened for stealthy noises.
The floor sank into pools of brackish, fetid water. Soon they were wading through the muck to their waists. The hobgoblins hoisted Father Severus’ litter over their heads, and he clung on grimly. Shadows danced along the walls from Thorgil’s torch.
Waves echoed from behind, and now and then a fresh surge of water poured down. Jack’s legs itched with salt. His feet were frozen and the air reeked. He tried to appreciate the odor of rotten whale and failed.
A whoosh and sudden rush of water made him stumble. “Run!” cried the Bugaboo. “The tide has turned!”
They hurried as well as they could, sloshing and splashing with curses from Thorgil and even Pega. “What does ‘filthy #$@!!’ mean?” said Ethne.
“Tell you later,” panted Pega. Both she and the elf lady were weighted down with baskets of supplies balanced on their heads. Fortunately, the path began to go up. The floor of the tunnel changed to sand and the ceiling rose until all could walk freely without fear of bumping into rock. They came at last to a level section. Everyone collapsed on the ground, and Thorgil jammed the torch into the sand.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” said the Bugaboo after a while.
“It’s the same old pest hole,” grunted the Nemesis. A breeze moved fitfully from ahead, pushing back the remnants of ripe whale.
Jack looked around at the oddly bulbous rocks. They resembled balls of dough glued together. “What kind of pest?” he said.
“Yarthkins, mainly,” said the Bugaboo. “The wraiths stick to their hall, except for Jenny Greenteeth. She wanders a bit.”
“Why? What’s she looking for?” said Pega.
“Don’t you worry, my little moss blossom,” the Bugaboo said, wrapping an arm about the girl. “Old Jenny’s learned a thing or two about bothering hobgoblins since she last—well, I won’t go into details.”
“I’ve heard of yarthkins, but what exactly are they?” said Jack before Pega could ask further questions about Jenny Greenteeth’s habits.
“They’re old gods,” said the Nemesis. “They keep themselves to themselves. If you don’t bother them, they don’t bother you.”
Pega passed around cold, grilled leeks as a snack to keep up everyone’s spirits. She had smoked fish as well, but the Bugaboo said it would make them thirsty and shouldn’t be touched until they found freshwater. Thorgil’s torch had by now burned down to the ground, and she lit another one.
The walk was almost pleasant. The tunnel grew larger until it was wide enough for ten men to walk side by side with their arms outstretched. Jack was glad of the space. Narrow, underground tunnels made him nervous. The sand changed to dirt. The air became fresher with a hint of growing things, although nothing green could have lived in such darkness. Still, if Jack closed his eyes, he could imagine walking through a field. There was a liveliness to the air, a feeling that at any moment a leaf might burst out of the soil.
Presently, they came to a spring bubbling up from the ground. It flowed into a brook, and huge, pale mushrooms as tall as a man grew along its banks.
The Bugaboo called a halt. “We’ve been walking for hours. I’d guess it’s already dark outside.” Jack realized, with surprise, that it was true. He’d been so interested in this last part of the journey, he hadn’t noticed how tired he was.
“You can douse the torch,” the Nemesis said. “We won’t need it here.”
With some misgivings, Jack saw Thorgil reverse her torch and extinguish it. The light went out, and for a moment all was dark. Then—here, there, far, and near—a gentle glow rose like mist. Jack couldn’t make out the source at first, but after a few moments it had strengthened enough to cast his shadow on the ground.
It was the mushrooms. Pale green and misty pearl, they shone like veiled moons. Along the ground by their
