passing, you know.”
“There you go. C’mon, Scotty.”
Haskoll and Scott walked some distance off before Scott spoke. “Well, I should get going. My mom’s expecting me.”
Haskoll responded by clapping Scott on the back. Or rather clapping Scott on the backpack and in alllikelihood striking Mick in the head. “Oh, don’t rush off now. I thought you might like to see our little hunting lodge.”
“Ah … no thanks.”
Just then Scott felt a kick from inside the backpack. He winced.
“Well, on second thought…,” he said. “Maybe.”
Mick kicked him again.
Had they thought of it ahead of time they might have worked out a “one kick means yes, two kicks mean no” sort of system, but they hadn’t; and now Scott had no idea what Mick was trying to tell him.
“You all right, big guy?”
Scott nodded. “Sure. Let’s … go to your hunting place. Thanks.”
And now the backpack was still.
CHAPTER 13
Scott watched helplessly through the van’s windshield as the last gas station and bus stop of Goodborough passed behind him and Walnut Crescent lay beyond like the curled body of some huge, regal animal. This was the rich suburb of Goodborough. Scott had never been here before.
“Nice, huh?” said Haskoll from the driver’s seat.
“Very pretty.”
Each estate sat past a vast lawn of deep pile and tasteful flower beds. Some were behind high walls and massive yet girlishly patterned gates. Even the zoo didn’t go to this much trouble.
The van turned in toward one of these gates, which parted and swung open at the touch of a keypad outside Haskoll’s window. They pulled up to a house made of great dark beams and old stone.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Scott as soon as the vehicle came to a stop.
Haskoll let them in the tall front doors and disabled an alarm system that had just begun to beep for his attention. “It’s the first door down that hall,” he said. “Meet me back here when you’re done, and I’ll show you the trophy room.”
The hall smelled like tobacco and vanilla. Scott closed and locked the bathroom door behind him, and unzipped his backpack. Up gasped Mick like a trout.
“I know you’re a super-old magical leprechaun and all—” Scott hissed.
“ Clur ichaun,” said Mick.
“—but nowadays, getting into a van with a weird adult is considered a very bad idea.”
“I only want to find out wha’ these two know. I’ll have a wander and come back to this bathroom. Please, lad. If yeh get into a pickle, just call an’ I’ll come runnin’.”
Scott privately wondered what the elf could do to help, what with his short stature and complete lack of cool magic powers. “This Haskoll guy might see you.”
“Aw, chicken teeth. If Haskoll could see me, he’d have already asked yeh about me.”
“I guess so.”
“I overheard somethin’ about a spyglass. Did it have a pink lens?”
“Yeah,” said Scott, remembering. “I saw some other guys with pink goggles the day I met Harvey, too.”
“Ultraviolet-vision glasses,” said Mick. “Helps regular people see the Fay. They don’t work so well in the daytime, though. But, lad—if these two are hunting Harvey, then they’d be really interested in someone like you. Someone who can see the Fay without a pair o’ goggles. Watch what you say.”
Scott nodded and left Mick alone in the darkened bathroom. It wasn’t until he’d returned to the front door that Scott pictured Haskoll’s binoculars clearly—heavy and black and with perfectly ordinary lenses.
“There you are. Fall in? Just kidding. Wanna see the trophy room?”
Scott let Haskoll lead him through the marble entry hall to a wood-paneled wall flanked with facing staircases. Between these was a narrow door.
Scott took a breath and forced a question to his lips. They were here to learn, after all. “What was that rock you and Papa were talking about? The one you were going to use to check the … droppings?”
Haskoll opened the
“There you go. C’mon, Scotty.”
Haskoll and Scott walked some distance off before Scott spoke. “Well, I should get going. My mom’s expecting me.”
Haskoll responded by clapping Scott on the back. Or rather clapping Scott on the backpack and in alllikelihood striking Mick in the head. “Oh, don’t rush off now. I thought you might like to see our little hunting lodge.”
“Ah … no thanks.”
Just then Scott felt a kick from inside the backpack. He winced.
“Well, on second thought…,” he said. “Maybe.”
Mick kicked him again.
Had they thought of it ahead of time they might have worked out a “one kick means yes, two kicks mean no” sort of system, but they hadn’t; and now Scott had no idea what Mick was trying to tell him.
“You all right, big guy?”
Scott nodded. “Sure. Let’s … go to your hunting place. Thanks.”
And now the backpack was still.
CHAPTER 13
Scott watched helplessly through the van’s windshield as the last gas station and bus stop of Goodborough passed behind him and Walnut Crescent lay beyond like the curled body of some huge, regal animal. This was the rich suburb of Goodborough. Scott had never been here before.
“Nice, huh?” said Haskoll from the driver’s seat.
“Very pretty.”
Each estate sat past a vast lawn of deep pile and tasteful flower beds. Some were behind high walls and massive yet girlishly patterned gates. Even the zoo didn’t go to this much trouble.
The van turned in toward one of these gates, which parted and swung open at the touch of a keypad outside Haskoll’s window. They pulled up to a house made of great dark beams and old stone.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Scott as soon as the vehicle came to a stop.
Haskoll let them in the tall front doors and disabled an alarm system that had just begun to beep for his attention. “It’s the first door down that hall,” he said. “Meet me back here when you’re done, and I’ll show you the trophy room.”
The hall smelled like tobacco and vanilla. Scott closed and locked the bathroom door behind him, and unzipped his backpack. Up gasped Mick like a trout.
“I know you’re a super-old magical leprechaun and all—” Scott hissed.
“ Clur ichaun,” said Mick.
“—but nowadays, getting into a van with a weird adult is considered a very bad idea.”
“I only want to find out wha’ these two know. I’ll have a wander and come back to this bathroom. Please, lad. If yeh get into a pickle, just call an’ I’ll come runnin’.”
Scott privately wondered what the elf could do to help, what with his short stature and complete lack of cool magic powers. “This Haskoll guy might see you.”
“Aw, chicken teeth. If Haskoll could see me, he’d have already asked yeh about me.”
“I guess so.”
“I overheard somethin’ about a spyglass. Did it have a pink lens?”
“Yeah,” said Scott, remembering. “I saw some other guys with pink goggles the day I met Harvey, too.”
“Ultraviolet-vision glasses,” said Mick. “Helps regular people see the Fay. They don’t work so well in the daytime, though. But, lad—if these two are hunting Harvey, then they’d be really interested in someone like you. Someone who can see the Fay without a pair o’ goggles. Watch what you say.”
Scott nodded and left Mick alone in the darkened bathroom. It wasn’t until he’d returned to the front door that Scott pictured Haskoll’s binoculars clearly—heavy and black and with perfectly ordinary lenses.
“There you are. Fall in? Just kidding. Wanna see the trophy room?”
Scott let Haskoll lead him through the marble entry hall to a wood-paneled wall flanked with facing staircases. Between these was a narrow door.
Scott took a breath and forced a question to his lips. They were here to learn, after all. “What was that rock you and Papa were talking about? The one you were going to use to check the … droppings?”
Haskoll opened the
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