of his golden eyes revealed that he was nearing the end of his patience. "I have not the time."
"Ye taked the trouble to catching me," Mickey snarled.
"Not so much trouble," Kelsey assured him.
Mickey rested back and considered a possible escape through the meadow again. Kelsey was shooting down his every leading suggestion with no room for argument, with no room for bargaining. By a leprechaun's measure, Kelsey wasn't playing fair.
"You shall accept my offer, then," Kelsey said. "Or I shall have your pot of gold here and now." He paused for a few moments to give Mickey the chance to produce the pot, which, of course, the leprechaun did not do.
"Excellent," continued the elf. "Then you know the terms of your indenture. When might I expect my human?"
Mickey kicked his curly-toed shoes again and moved to find a seat on the enormous mushroom. "Suren 'tis a beautiful day," he said, and he was not exaggerating in the least. The breeze was cool but not stiff, and it carried a thousand springtime scents with it, aromas of awakening flowers and new-growing grass.
"Too beautiful for talking business, I say," Mickey mentioned.
"When?" Kelsey demanded again, refusing to be sidetracked.
"All the folk o' Dilnamarra are out to frolic while we're sitting here arguing..."
"Mickey McMickey!" Kelsey declared. "You have been caught, captured, defeated on the chase. Of that, there can be no argument. You are thus bound to me. We are not discussing business; we are... I am, establishing the conditions of your freedom."
"Suren yer tongue's as sharp as yer ears," mumbled Mickey quietly.
Kelsey heard every word of it, of course, but this time he did not scowl. He knew by Mickey's resigned tone that the leprechaun had surrendered fully. "When?" he asked a third time.
"I cannot be sure," Mickey replied. "I'll set me friends to working on it."
Kelsey bowed low. "Then enjoy your beautiful day," he said, and he turned to leave.
For all his whining, Mickey was not so unhappy about the way things had turned out. His pride was hurt - any self-respecting leprechaun would be embarrassed over a capture - but Kelsey was an elf, after all, and that proved that the chase hadn't really been fair. Besides, Mickey still had his precious pot of gold and Kelsey's request wasn't overly difficult, leaving plenty of room for Mickey's own interpretation.
Mickey was thinking of that task now as he sat on the mushroom, his legs, crossed at the ankles, dangling freely over its side, and he was thinking that the task, like everything else in a leprechaun's life, just might turn out to be a bit of fun.
"It cannot be," the sorceress declared, pulling away from her reflecting pool and flipping her long and wavy, impossibly thick black hair back over her delicate shoulders.
"What has yous seen, my lady?" the hunched goblin rasped.
Ceridwen turned on him sharply and the goblin realized that he had not been asked to speak. He dipped into an apologetic bow, fell right to the floor, and groveled on the ground below the beautiful sorceress, whining and kissing her feet piteously.
"Get up, Geek!" she commanded, and the goblin snapped to attention. "There is trouble in the land," Ceridwen went on, true concern in her voice. "Kelsenellenelvial Gil-Ravadry has taken up his life-quest to forge the broken spear."
The goblin's face twisted in confusion.
"We do not want the people of Dilnamarra thinking of dead kings and heroes of old," Ceridwen explained. "Their thoughts must be on their own pitiful existence, on their gruel and mud-farming, on the latest disease that sweeps their land and keeps them weak.
"Weak and whimpering," Ceridwen declared, and her icy-blue eyes, so contrasting her raven-black hair, flashed like lightning. She rose up tall and terrible and Geek huddled again on the floor. But Ceridwen calmed immediately and seemed again the quiet, beautiful woman. "Like you, dear Geek," she said softly. "Weak and whimpering, and under the control of Kinnemore, my puppet King."
"Does we's killses the elf?" Geek asked hopefully. The goblin so loved killing!
"It is not so easy as that," replied Ceridwen. "I do not wish to invoke the wrath of the Tylwyth Teg." She winced at the notion. The Tylwyth Teg, the elfs of Faerie, were not to be taken lightly. But Ceridwen's concern soon dissipated, replaced by a confident smile. "But there are other ways, more subtle ways," the sorceress purred, more to herself than to her wretched goblin.
Ceridwen's smile only widened as she considered the many wicked allies she might call upon, the dark