Gillian Summers: The goblin's curse

Then consult your wise book. Hrok gave a green, breezy sigh. I have tried to like the twig. I really have.

Keelie stared at the belligerent sapling. I hope I can help. She hugged Hrok, not sure if her tree friend really understood human hugs, and pulled Raven back toward the path.

“The trees aren’t loving that little guy. I wonder if your mom might know some herbal remedy for his anxiety?”

Raven shrugged. “She knows a lot, though she’s no tree psychologist. I’ll bet if you tell her what the symptoms are, and what results you want, she might be able to put something together.”

“I hope so.” Keelie’s other option was the Compendium, and though she hated to bother her dad when he was busy setting up Heartwood, he needed to know what was happening in the meadow. After their experience in the Redwood Forest, the presence of a goblin-tainted tree at this faire would be scary enough to bring him running.

Dad? We have to move that aspen sapling I planted where the Red Cap died. I’m getting bad vibes from it. She let him see the treeling and its surroundings.

Her father’s thoughts were momentarily visible to her as she connected with his mind, and she saw a file, a bowl of oil, and a neat array of carving implements. Dad was sharpening his tools.

I’ll come and see for myself, but I trust your judgment. I’ll get some help to dig it up. Maybe we can plant it by the shop later, where we can keep an eye on it.

She communicated that this was a great idea, then told Hrok and Raven the plan. The two girls continued on toward the bridge.

“So, you don’t know who that motorcyclist was?” Keelie asked. Raven had looked as annoyed by the noise as she’d been. The faire folk were probably buzzing about it.

“No. Plenty of the folk are bikers, but they keep their bikes in the campground.”

When she reached the middle of the bridge, Keelie stopped. Raven watched curiously as she leaned over the railing and called, “Hello? Anyone down there? I’ve met another sprite. Her name is Plu. What’s your name?”

The water below gurgled between the rocks, but aside from the quiet murmur of the trees, there was no other sound.

A discordant jangle stopped Keelie’s feet as she was about to step off the bridge. She knew that sound. It wasn’t the sprite, and it was no cowbell either. It was the sound of the bells that Peascod the jester wore on his hat. Peascod, who had served Herne the Hunter, dark lord of the hunt, then had betrayed him. Peascod the goblin baiter. Peascod, who had almost killed her.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Jester bells.” Keelie shuddered.

Raven’s eyebrows rose. “Keelie, we’re at a Renaissance Faire. If you freak out at jester bells, you need to find a nice mall job. What next? Fear of turkey legs or archers?”

Suddenly the bridge was humming with twiggy curses and Knot appeared, a smear of orange as he streaked toward them, bhata clinging to his fur. He looked like a frightened porcupine.

“Knot, come here.” Keelie didn’t care for the squeaky thread of fear in her voice. She cleared her throat and tried for a lower timbre. “Knot, leave the bhata alone.”

Beside her, Raven was doubled over with laughter. “He can’t resist trying to annoy the fae. He deserves whatever he gets.”

Keelie tried to pick the fairies off Knot as he staggered past, but he hissed and she drew back. He bolted into the meadow, looped around Hrok, and headed back toward the gate.

“Whatever.” The morning was full of grumps, both cat and tree. She hoped the people she ran into would be more pleasant. How could anyone be upset on such a beautiful morning? Despite the treeling’s bad manners, she was back at the High Mountain Faire, the sky was blue, and the stream gurgled romantically. Maybe Sean would forget his beloved jousting later on and take a break to stroll with her.

They headed up the hill to the faire, saying hi to old friends as they passed the shops. At Janice’s, a gangly boy in black leggings and a long-sleeved tunic sat outside in a folding chair.

“Who are you?” Raven parked her fists on her hips and stared at the boy.

The kid ignored her. “The new faire administrator is inside. Inspection day for Green Lady Herbs.” He laughed rudely. Keelie’s skin prickled in premonition.

“I’ll see what’s going on,” Raven said. “See you later.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming along.” Keelie had been glad for Raven’s company even if her friend couldn’t hear trees. She turned to leave.

Janice dashed out of her shop, clutched her cap over her head, leaned backward, and gave a long silent scream. Then she ran back inside choking out the words, “Faire admin.”

Knot yowled.

“The day is getting stranger by the minute, Knot.”

A woman dressed in colorful skirts and scarves stepped past Keelie and pushed the shop door open a crack. “All quiet,” she hissed over her shoulder. Keelie recognized her as Sally, the tarot card reader whose popular shop was by the front entrance.

She also noticed that a crowd had gathered.

“Everyone’s getting inspected this year,” one grizzled man said. Keelie remembered that he’d been a pirate the year before. Then all voices stopped as a familiar female voice rose in anger.

“I don’t have time for your petty problems. We have to have the faire in order. I asked for an inventory. I get a scribbled sheet. Who are you, Leonardo? Is this a secret code?” The tirade grew louder, and the voice more familiar.

“The new faire admin,” whispered the old pirate.

No… Keelie thought desperately. There were three Ren Faires in Colorado-no way she could be so unlucky.

The door to Janice’s shop banged open. Janice charged out, red-faced, her hair in wisps around her face, her cap gone. Close behind was the faire’s new administrator.

This was much worse than goblins.

Keelie staggered as the crowd shifted to allow Janice to pass. She strode rapidly up the path. Keelie watched her go, then turned to face her fire-breathing nemesis.

The new faire administrator was in fact her old boss from the Wildewood. Finch.

Keelie’s feet solidified on the ground, goose bumps of fear adding a physical element to her mind’s conclusion: Run. Run as fast as you can.

Sylvus help them all.

The fairy girls she’d met at the pub were hovering at the corner of Janice’s shop, their faces frozen in fear. It was as if they’d seen one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse strolling through, searching for its next victim.

Before Keelie could bolt, Finch sighted her. She stopped and pointed. “You. Heartwood. Walk with me.” She turned to the boy and held out a sheaf of papers. “You, kid, take these to my office.”

The boy frowned. “I’m Eric the Bold.”

“You’ll be Eric the Bald if you don’t hurry.”

The boy raced away, papers under his arm.

“Don’t dawdle, Heartwood.” Finch marched up the path.

“Okay,” Keelie managed to squeak.

Sympathy flickered in Raven’s eyes. “Good luck,” she mouthed. “I need to go and help Mom.” She hurried away as if her pants were on fire.

Two fencing instructors, walking with a trio of belly dancers, darted to the side when Finch passed them in a blazing fury. “There is no fraternizing on my watch! Less cleavage, ladies,” Finch yelled as she passed them. “Heartwood, keep up.”

Keelie scurried to Finch’s side.

“I’m going to bloody kill whoever dared bring a motorcycle into the faire.” Finch came to a sudden stop in the middle of Ironmonger’s Way, then whirled around to glare at Keelie. “Do you know what the penalty is for bringing machinery into the faire?” She lowered her voice, as if it hurt her to say the words, and pounded her fist into her hands.