The Land of the Silver Apples

“Well, you see, Your Majesty, that’s a bit difficult with the Hedge,” began the man who had listened to the elves singing.

“Silence! She crept in like a thief. How do you know she’s not planning an invasion?”

“She could invade my house anytime,” said the man.

“Guards! Take this fool out and give him six of the best. No, make that twelve of the best. Any questions?”

“No, sir. No, Your Majesty. Not a word,” muttered the men as two burly guards dragged the unfortunate soldier away.

“You’ve been far too comfortable,” the king said to his men. “You spend your days drinking and gambling and have grown careless. We invaded this fortress from below. Others could do the same. Elves, kelpies, hobgoblins—”

“Oh, that reminds me. Could you invite our hobgoblin friends in?” Ethne broke in.

“Ethne! No!” cried Father Severus.

“It’s nasty down there. I’m sure they’d like this place better,” she said with a pout.

Yffi signaled, and a soldier swiftly put a knife to the monk’s throat. “Not another word, wretch. The rest of you be quiet too, or he dies. Now, my pretty fay. What were you telling me about hobgoblins?”

“They rescued us from Elfland—Mother was ever so cross when Pega lit the candle. Besides, I have a soul now and want to be a nun. It’s ever so exciting! Anyhow, the hobgoblins knew how to get here, but they hid in the dungeon because they weren’t sure of their welcome. But I know you won’t mind, being a king and all. Or if you do, could you put us out the front door? Although a party would be nice.”

Yffi frowned, trying to strain the meaning out of Ethne’s words. One thing did make itself clear: “You say there are hobgoblins in my dungeons?”

Jack started to object, but the soldier pressed the knife harder against Father Severus’ windpipe.

“Oh, yes! At the bottom of the stairs.”

“Why, I thank you, Princess. Your friends are most welcome,” said the king in a soft voice. “I haven’t had hobgoblin since—I must prepare a feast! Yes! Yes! It’s an opportunity that cannot be missed! Hurry, lads, and fetch me those guests before they leave. We must have wine and ale, cheeses and tarts. Send me the cook and the boy Ratface, if he’s still alive. Let me see, hobgoblin stuffed with hazelnuts. Hobgoblin on a bed of mushrooms. So many choices…”

Chapter Forty-five GLAMOUR

The hobgoblins, securely bound with rope, were dragged into the throne room. There had been a fierce fight in the dungeons. The soldiers were covered with cuts and bruises. One man had lost his front teeth, but the Bugaboo and the Nemesis hadn’t a scratch on them. Hobgoblin skin, as the Nemesis had boasted, was as tough as old tree roots.

The effect on Yffi was extraordinary. He leaped from his throne and bounced around the pair, uttering hisses of delight that were not remotely human. Suddenly, he threw off his helmet and inhaled deeply. “Ah! The smell of hobgoblins! You never forget it! Oh, the wonder, the ecstasy, the deliciousness of it!”

Pega fell to her knees and the Nemesis fainted dead away, for Yffi’s parentage was clear without his helmet. His mouth was a V-shaped slit in bleached frog skin, and his hair clung to his scalp like fur on a seal. The Bugaboo tried to come between the kelpie and his friend, but Yffi danced around so wildly, it was impossible.

“Pega, my dearest, are you all right?” the hobgoblin king asked.

Pega moaned, clasping her hands.

“We’re fine, but you, I fear, are not,” said Father Severus. “It seems this fortress is ruled by a kelpie tricked out as a man. Did you know that, Jack?”

Jack forced himself to speak. “Yes, sir.”

“And yet you failed to mention it. Strange. I suppose you had your reasons.”

Jack did and was swept with both shame and horror at what he’d caused. He’d wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He’d lied to the Nemesis—or concealed the truth, which was the same thing—and he’d argued Pega into concealing the truth, too. The Bard will figure something out, Jack had told himself. But deep down he had known he was lying.

“We have a saying in my country,” the Bugaboo said. “‘No use pining for yesterday’s mushrooms.’ What’s done is done, and I hold no grudges.” As the Nemesis began to stir, he added, “Courage, old friend.” Pega tried to run forward to help the Bugaboo, but she was forced back by a soldier.

“We’ll save you,” she cried tearfully. “I don’t know how, but we’ll think of something.”

“It makes me happy to know you’re safe. As to our fate—why, we’ll be able to meet St. Columba. I’m quite looking forward to dying.”

“Speak for yourself,” muttered the Nemesis.

Meanwhile, Yffi had worked himself into such a state that he burst into song:

Scrumptious and savory,
Toothsome and flavory,
Nothing so tasty
As hobgoblin pastry.

They’re also good fried
With mushrooms inside,
Or in hazelnut stew
With an onion or two.

There were several verses of this sort, and each one ended with the chorus:

Of hobgoblin cutlets
I’ll eat my fill
With fennel and parsley and dill
Tra la
Done up in a nice little grill.

The Nemesis, try as he would to be brave, fainted again.

“What a miserable creature I am, lowest of the low!” sobbed Ethne. “I’ll starve myself! I’ll endure public floggings! No penitent will ever be so abject or suffer more gloriously!”

“You meant no harm,” Father Severus said wearily. Ethne had been going on like this for an hour, and they were all thoroughly sick of it. They were huddled in a corner of the courtyard. Soldiers bustled about. Cooks bawled orders to slaves. Ratface slunk by with a bundle of wood. He cast a surly look at the people who had deprived him of his shirt.

Jack concentrated on how to rescue the hobgoblins. He knew he was more at fault than Ethne, but wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to save anyone. He went over the small amount of magic at his disposal. He could call up rain and fog, kindle fires, and make apples fall from trees. Once, he had called up an earthquake. Jack looked speculatively at the fortress walls. He grasped the staff and sent his mind down to the life force, but it was too