George & The Magic Library: Excerpt - ‘Stealing’ the Leprechaun Gold

George stood, staring at the closed up doorway, in anticipation. The patterned paper on the wall started to come together and swirl around into a whirlpool of colours, like a dancing rainbow. It was as if the library knew what George’s intentions were. The colours then began to stretch out into the distance and it was almost as if he could see what was on the other side, but rippled, like looking into a pool of water, gently wafted by the wind. He felt every nerve ending in his body jangling within him, and on the tips of his fingers, as he gripped the Myths and Legends book tightly in his right hand. He had never felt so nervous in all of his life. He had also never felt so alive.

‘So you know what to do,’ Molly repeated.

‘Yes, Molly,’ he shouted back, ‘you’ve told me enough times and I’ve got the book as well if I need to check anything.’

He took several deep breaths and counted to three in his head before declaring;

‘Okay, here goes,’ he yelled.

He ran as hard and fast as he could across the room and, with a loud whumph, disappeared into the portal.

*

George picked himself up and wearily dusted himself off, spitting tiny specks of dirt from between his lips and picking clumps of moss and grass from his jacket with his finger tips.

He’d been catapulted through the doorway, with flailing arms and legs, making him tumble down into a messy heap. He made a mental note not to take such a long run up in future.

He looked over his shoulder. The portal was in between a couple of trees, where two large branches had met to make a huge archway. Apart from a few reasonably large boulders there was nothing else around him, except mist and darkness. He was in the middle of a field and the ground beneath his feet felt soft and squishy. In the distance he could see the outline of a wood and guessed that this must be where he was supposed to head for. He took the reading glasses off, which were askew on is face anyway, and put them, with the book, into his satchel which was slung around his shoulders. He decided it would be best, on this occasion, to leave the bookmark in place, because he had the feeling he would need to make a quick escape, later on.

With carefully placed footsteps he proceeded towards the haggard trees. Upon reaching the woods George didn’t feel any better about the prospect of entering into them. Luckily the moon above was bright, but in the thick canopy of the foliage, this would offer no help. He slipped his hand into the bag and blindly rummaged around until he chanced upon something metallic and cold to the touch. He pulled out a small thin torch about four inches in length. He normally used it to read under the bedcovers when he was supposed to have put the lights out and gone to sleep. It didn’t offer much light, but it would be enough to see the ground in front of him, so he could at least place step after slow step.

George moved forwards, tracing what appeared to be a track worn in the earth by past visitors. As the undergrowth got thicker he could feel wet leaves slapping and clawing at his clothes. Eventually, after several long minutes, he reached a narrow clearing about ten metres in length. At the other end he could just about make out two paths that headed off in different directions.

All of a sudden, as if on cue, he heard a faint voice coming from the direction of the path on the right.

‘This way George,’ it whispered, ‘this is the way to what you seek.’

The voice drifted and swayed in the air, singing to him in a magically enchanted way. He found it impossible to resist and moved off in the direction of the voice, as if hypnotised by its sound.

‘Come on George,’ it sang, majestically, ‘not much longer now, nearly there.’

George’s feet began to move more rapidly, carrying his body along quicker, but not quite jogging. He was now completely oblivious to anything he was stumbling into, determined to reach the source of the voice. Suddenly, as he crashed through the branches of a large bramble, the ground gave way underneath him and he began to fall.

With an instinct he didn’t realise he possessed his left arm shot out to try to grab something, anything, to halt the descent. He got lucky. A tree root was protruding out of the earth on the edge of the ravine, and he managed to hook his wrist into it. Somehow, with one fluid movement, he swung his body around to grab it with the other hand, ramming the torch into his mouth in the process, to leave him dangling over a drop which he could now see was at least a hundred feet deep. As he hung there stones mixed with earth crumbled over his head and body into the darkness below.

He didn’t dare to move, hanging there for what seemed like several minutes, trying to regain his composure and strength. Eventually he slowly, delicately, scrabbled and heaved his way back to the top before collapsing on his back, his chest heaving to regain some of breath back into it, with his ankles still hanging over the edge.

‘How could I have been such a fool,’ he remonstrated with himself. ‘What’s the point in having a survival guide if I don’t even consult it first?’

He pulled himself up onto his haunches before grabbing the torch, which was now on the sodden ground beside him after falling from his clenched teeth, and took the book out. He opened it up at the appropriate page.

When searching for the Leprechauns lair, situated usually in a cave deep in some woods, be wary of the Pixies. These mischievous little creatures are the bane of travellers and like nothing more than to lead them down the wrong path, often into danger.

He continued scanning the paper until;

One way of fooling a Pixie, so as to be sure not to be led off in the wrong direction, is to turn your overcoat inside out. This confuses them long enough for you to reach your destination…………be careful though, Pixies love Leprechaun gold and, once it is dug up from the ground, can smell it from miles around. No amount of treachery on your part will deter them from trying to steal it from you.

George put the book away and proceeded to turn his jacket inside out. He then gathered all his things together, straightened himself out, and headed back in the direction of the clearing. When he reached it he then took the other path. It wasn’t long before George could see, about twenty metres ahead of him, a cave in the side of a rocky outcrop. The trick with his jacket must have worked, because now he was making good time, unhindered.

The mouth of the cave wasn’t very big, only about four feet in diameter, but, brushing aside some of the foliage overhanging the entrance, he could see that it opened up into a much larger chamber inside, of which there was a small fire burning in the centre.

‘H..hello,’ he shouted into the cave, hearing the echo bounce around the walls. ‘Is anyone there?’

He waited a few seconds but there was no reply so he tried again;

‘I don’t mean to harm you, honest….please can I come in.’

Again he waited, without reply.

I suppose I should go in and wait then, he thought to himself but, just as he was about to crawl into the opening, a little, sharp featured, bearded face appeared from out of nowhere and blew fairy dust into his eyes.

*

‘Blisterin’ buff –gumbles,’ grunted the voice.

George fuzzily came to his senses as his vision adjusted to the dim, flickering, light.

Straddled across the top of the fire was now a small cauldron on a metal stand, with some kind of concoction bubbling away inside it, which the Leprechaun was taking sips from with a wooden ladle. He was muttering things in a strange language, while adding pinches of this and that.

‘Oh, so you’re awake then are ye’,’ he exclaimed in a distinct Irish accent. ‘Stormin’ in all uninvited like that, no manners ye’ aven’t, ye’ darned dumbimble.’

‘Sorry,’ George offered, rubbing his head. Now he knew what a hangover must feel like, or so he thought. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude….it’s just that I need to, well…’

‘I know what ye’ be needin’ ye’ great big scruff-guffle.’ He interrupted, flatly. ‘Ye’ don’t think now that you’re the only one to ‘ave been ‘ere wantin’ some of me gold do ye?’

George hadn’t considered it before, but of course he wasn’t.

‘Oh right, er yes well, if I could just have a couple of pieces then I’ll be on my way and I can leave you in peace...’

‘Ye’ don’t just get to come waltzin’ in ‘ere and expectin’ to take away some gold jus’ like that ye’ know,’ the Leprechaun protested, ‘you have to, let’s say, steal it from me, in a manner of speakin’.’

He studied the bemused look on George’s face, before adding;

‘Look in the darned book ye’ great big pile o’ stinkin’ pugmumble.’

George was shocked by the Leprechauns rudeness, which was in contrast to his tidy appearance, dressed neatly in a finely tailored bright red suit with gold edging and shiny, polished, buckles on his shoes and hat.

Again he took out the book and found the relevant paragraph –

Upon finding and meeting the Leprechaun you will find him most accommodating, but at the same time a rambunctious character, owing to his solitary existence. The only way he will allow you to ‘steal’ gold from him is to make him laugh. Warning: do not try to take the gold from him when his back is turned, for all you will end up with is a bag of smelly dirt.

George took a long, slow, gulp. This was going to be an impossible task he thought as he looked back across at the Leprechaun, arms folded, waiting, with a stony face.

‘Come on, bring it on, give it ye’ best,’ he said. ‘An’ I don’t wan’ te be hearin’ the same ones ye’ Ma an’ Pa told me last time either. Good as they were, I be hearin’ ‘em already now.’

George was stumped. All the best jokes he’d ever heard had been told to him by his mum and dad. He delved into the deep recesses of his memory to try and remember a few from the school playground.

‘Okay, here goes,’ he announced, ‘what type of monster really likes to dance?’

There was no reaction from the Leprechaun.

‘A boogie man,’ George said, enthusiastically.

Still no face movement from the diminutive man sitting opposite.

‘Alright, maybe not that one then…erm...how about this one: What do you call a fairy that never has a bath?......Stinkerbell.’

Still nothing, not even the slightest crease of the upper lip.

‘Oh come on,’ George said, ‘surely you found that funny?’

‘Oh, to be sure, it was mildly amusin’, but not enough to make me split me britches.’

He saw the fettered look pasted on George’s face and, almost but not quite, felt sorry for him.

‘Look, I tell ye’ what, ye can have one more try. Think of the best one ye’ can, but then ye’ll have to feddle yer diddle an’ let me have me supper, okay.’

‘Right, it’s a deal,’ George replied, biting his lip in deep consideration. ‘Are you ready for it?’

‘Go on; give it ye’ best shot.’

‘Okay, here goes,’ He shouted.

George jumped up and darted around the fire, pounced on the Leprechaun, and bundled him onto his front, tickling him furiously all over his tiny body. The Leprechaun started letting out high pitched giggles and squeals.

‘Alright, alright,’ he gasped, ‘you win….leave me alone or I’ll wet meself.’

George pulled away, catching his breath, emitting little ‘he’s’ and ‘ha’s’. He hadn’t had that much fun in a long time. By now the Leprechaun had lifted himself off the cave floor and was releasing little, excited, breathless gasps.

‘Bhago Dhaia, boy, that’s the best of ‘em yet. I’ll gladly give ye’ some o’ me gold. Follow me,’ he said.

The Leprechaun wiggled his finger, directing George to follow him to the back of the cave, picking up a small spade on the way. He plucked a twig out of the ground and started digging on the same spot. Not long after he lifted a miniature treasure chest out of the hole and shook the earth off the top of it.

He then lifted it up to his mouth and whispered something into the lock and the lid clicked open. Inside it there were several tiny leather bags. Leprechaun gold was obviously not very big.

‘Here, take a bag. There’s a few pieces in there, ought te last ye’ a while,’ he said, ‘but ye’’ll need te be quick now mind, the pixies’ll already be smellin’ the scent.’

‘Thank you,’ George said, shaking his hand, before slinging the satchel around his neck and scrambling back outside the cave.

He didn’t want to waste any time as he sprinted back along the track, hurdling over the outline of tree trunks and ducking under branches. The idea of being beaten up and robbed by a gang of marauding pixies wasn’t his idea of a good time.

As he made his way along the path, crashing through branches and brambles, he could hear little yelping sounds to the rear of him and to the side. His heart thumped inside his chest and his legs pumped even harder as the noise got louder and louder.

He finally reached the edge of the wood and exploded into the field, sending leaves and undergrowth flying into the air. He could see the portal in the distance, the mist having now cleared. It was only now, in the bright moonlight, that George could see his pursuers, and then wished he hadn’t looked. Hundreds of tiny blue figures, about a foot in height, all dressed in green costumes swarmed out from every opening at the edge of the trees and closed in on him in a massive semi-circle. Red, silver and purple Pixie dust exuded from every footstep, rising, to create a huge bulging cloud in the air.

Closer and closer he got to the archway, but he was now tiring, his lungs protesting vigorously to every yard of ground he covered. A few of the Pixie front runners had jumped onto him, swinging from his coat tails and pulling at his hair while they clamped their legs to his shoulders.

He flayed his arms around, batting and swatting them away, keeping the leather pouch of gold tightly enclosed in his fist. He only had a few feet to go now so, with a sudden burst of energy and resolve, he took a huge leap head first into the portal, leaving several confused Pixies gliding through the air.