Leprechauns Beware: Gold Costs Blood!

"Leprechauns Beware: Gold Costs Blood!" That's the sign that hangs above Grimhollow Gate, the entrance to Dwarfton, where I live with my parents in our underground stone hovel. My dad is Dwarfton’s high chief. He’s brave, he’s strong, he’s ruthless, the scar across his face a reminder to all that no one messes with Durgan Blooddeep. Ever. He single-handedly caught and slew a group of thirty leprechauns looking to steal our gold.

“I wish I was more like dad,” I say to Mum, as I pull on my favourite pyjamas. The pattern is of fierce dwarf faces with long braids and is an echo to our dwarven heritage.

“You’re perfect just the way you are Little Tirok,” Mum says gently, putting steak pie flavoured toothpaste on my toothbrush.

“Don’t call me that Ma,” I say plaintively. “One day, I’ll be just as strong as all the other boys and Dad will let me help keep Dwarfton safe from the leprechauns.”

“One day son, one day. Don’t try and grow up too quickly now.” Mum kisses the top of my head and switches off the light. “I hope you have fearsome dreams, Little Torik.”

I huff, thinking of all the ways I could join The Clover Crushers. My best friend joined them four months ago, but Dad says I’m not quick enough or strong enough yet. “One day, Little Weed,” he says every time I ask.

I fall asleep quickly but wake up a little while later to a faint scratching noise coming from next door. I slip out of bed and put my ear against the wall. I hear what sounds like the soft pitter patter of lots of feet. Impossible. Fennick Stitchsole has lived alone since moving in eight months ago, and I know he has no friends.

I run to my bedroom door and quietly pull it open. The lights are out and I hear Dad’s roaring snores. I pad over to the front door. “Clink, clank, clunk” go the chains as I remove them one by one. I look over my shoulder, the coast clear. I’m out of the house faster than you can say “mutton pie”, and creep up to Fennick’s front window, careful to stay low and out of sight. Nothing. I go to the window on the far side and wait. Still nothing. I huff, Dad’s right, I’m not ready to be part of The Clover Crushers.

Just as I’m about to go home, I see a glint of colour coming from the corner of the room. I push my face against the window. Sure as sure, a multi-coloured jet is growing in the corner. Three people cross the room and I lower myself out of sight. After a few seconds, I slowly lift myself back up to the window and jump back, stumbling and falling into the street. Looking out at me is Fennick Stitchsole’s menacing face. He’s wearing a green velvet hat and jacket. My heart thuds in my chest. Definitely not the clothes of a dwarf. My neighbour is a leprechaun.

I quickly pick myself up and run back to the house as fast as my legs will take me. “Clink. Clank. Clunk.” All three chains are secured. I run into my room and jump into bed. Dad’s snoring stops momentarily before starting up again. I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, my mind reeling. A leprechaun. Why is he here, in a place where they are hunted and outlawed? He must want our gold. I must tell Dad, but he’ll never believe me. First, I need proof.

The next day, when I get back from school, I start to prepare. I’ve been working on my plan all day. I need a net, a ladder, and some stones.

Mum and Dad aren’t home yet, so I pick up my rucksack, sneak into their bedroom and open the big leather chest at the bottom of their bed. At first, I move things delicately aside, looking for the net Dad uses when he goes hunting for food above ground. Frustrated, I start digging through, throwing things out of the way and onto the bed. Finally, my fingers brush against the net’s rough fabric. I pull it out and quickly stuff it into my bag, closing it up. I then hurriedly throw everything back into the chest. Hopefully they won’t look in it tonight, and by the time they notice, I will have found a leprechaun! Dad is going to be so proud.

I hear steps coming towards the bedroom, and I run to leave, bumping into Dad’s strong belly.

“What are you doing in here Little Weed?” Dad asks suspiciously, one eyebrow so high it might disappear under his ginger braided hair. “And what is in that rucksack of yours?”

“I came in to see if Mum was home. She said she was making steak pie tonight and needed help.” And, as if an afterthought “It’s just my school things in my bag.”

That was close. I’m pretty sure I fooled him. What a good liar I am! Dad stands in the doorway, staring me down. I grin and close my bedroom door. Tonight, I’ll get the ladder from the garden shed.

A few hours later, after the house has been silent for a long time, I sit up in bed. Dad watched me closely all evening, but I stayed on the straight and narrow and he’s now asleep in the room next door. I grab my rucksack with the net inside, and head outside, running to the fence on the opposite side to where our house is linked with Fennick Stitchsole’s. I pick up a handful of stones from our garden, shoving them in my pyjama pockets, and lift the ladder. It’s heavy, but I’ve been practising lifting weights, and I can just about move it. I drag it across the garden to the back of our house and with a gentle “Ting!”, I lean it against the roof. I hold my breath. No movement inside. Quick as a whip, I scale the ladder and tiptoe across our roof to Fennick Stitchsole’s, where I walk delicately across and lie on my stomach above his front door. I get the net out of my backpack, and some stones from my pocket.

I throw a stone at his window and wait. I’m about to catch a leprechaun!

Nothing happens, so I throw a second, then a third. I hear movement. The door opens. “Hello?” Mr Stitchsole grumbles. I hold my breath. He closes the door. I lean forward and throw another stone. The door opens again. “Who is out there?” asks Mr Stitchsole angrily. “Show yourself this instant. If you think this is a game…” He lets the threat hang in the air, like the heavy weight of a storm waiting to hit.

This is it. I see his nose. Then his head, and soon, he’s standing on the doorstep. I take the net and throw it over him. “Got you!” I shout. “Got you, leprechaun!”

Mr Stitchsole roars, thrashing around in the net. I run across the roof, down the ladder, and just as I round the house, our front door opens and Mum and Dad run out.

“What is all this noise? It’s the middle of the night!” Dad asks angrily.

“Your son has thrown stones at my window and now has me trapped in this ridiculous net,” Fennick Stitchsole snarls. “Get me out now!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Dad barks.

“He’s a leprechaun, Dad! I saw him last night. He was wearing a green velvet hat and jacket and had a rainbow in his house! He wasn’t alone either,” I say proudly, pointing my finger.

“What a load of nonsense,” Fennick snaps. “As you can see, I’m in my pyjamas. Check my house if you must. But get. Me. Out. Of. Here.”

It doesn’t take long for Dad to go through Fennick Stitchsole’s home, while Mum helps him out of the net.

“We’re so very sorry,” Mum says to Fennick.

“A lot of imagination this boy,” says Dad. “You need to put your energy to better use Little Weed, if you ever want to join The Clover Crushers.”

Dad turns to Fennick and they exchange a silent glance that I can’t decipher. “He’ll be over tomorrow Fennick with a tankard, some mutton, and an apology.”

Mum and Dad usher me into the house. “Never again,” growls Dad.

“I know you want to join The Clover Crushers Little Tirok, but this isn’t the way,” says Mum. She’s disappointed. My heart sinks. “To bed with you. Tomorrow you’ll go and apologise.”

The next day comes with the promise of a capture. Of that, I am sure. I’ve been planning all night.

I get out of bed, and go into the kitchen for some bread, cheese and pickled onions. “Mmmm,” I say, “My favourite.”

Mum and Dad look at each other before Dad turns to me and gives me a hard stare. “After breakfast, I want you to go and get three brokks from your pocket money and then we’re going to buy a tankard for Fennick.”

I gape. “But Dad, it’s taken me four whole months to put that much aside.”

“Then you’ll think twice next time before accusing and attacking someone without real proof,” Dad barks. “Be thankful I’m not making you use up all your pocket money to buy him a golden tankard like this one.” He proudly puts down the golden tankard he’s been drinking from, the crystals that line the top glinting in the lamp light. It shines brighter than the sun. Well, I think it does, I’ve never actually seen the sun, but I have been told it’s very bright. Once I’m a Clover Crusher, I’ll see the sun.

There’s a knock at the door, and Mum goes to answer. “Come in Fennick,” she says kindly, “He’s right here. Thank you for bringing it over.”

Fennick Stitchsole appears in the kitchen doorway. I fidget with my spoon, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Young man,” Fennick says “I found this on my roof this morning. I thought you might need it for school.” He hands me my rucksack. I must have left it on the roof. Rookie mistake, I can’t believe I did that – I’ll never be a Clover Crusher.

“Thank you, Mr Stitchsole,” I mumble.

“And what else?” Mum prompts.

“And I’m very sorry for last night. I’ll bring you a tankard and some mutton after school.”

“Yes, yes,” Fennick mumbles. I follow his gaze, he’s staring at the golden tankard on the table, a hungry look in his eyes.

I clear my throat and his eyes snap back to me. “What’s that you said, boy? I’m afraid I’m terribly tired after last night and lost my train of thought.”

Later that day, when I come home with Dad, holding the tankard and the mutton, I can’t help but question whether I should just let it all go. But that’s not what a Clover Crusher would do, I remind myself.

“Where’s my gold tankard Lally dear?” Dad asks Mum. “Have you seen it?”

“It should be on the table love; I haven’t moved it since this morning.” We end up searching the whole house – nothing. And then I think of Mr Stitchsole this morning, and how he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“I’ll be back in just a minute. Just dropping off the tankard and mutton to Mr Stitchsole,” I shout, running out the door before waiting to hear what Mum and Dad answer.

I run next door and knock. Mr Stitchsole answers, leering at me down his pointy leprechaun nose. “What do you want?” he snarls.

“I brought you the tankard and mutton, sir,” I say. As Mr Stitchsole reaches down to take the bag, I duck round his legs and run into his house, searching for Dad’s golden tankard. I know it’s here somewhere. This leprechaun won’t get away with it.

“Get back here you little rascal,” Mr Stitchsole screeches. “Your parents won’t be hearing the end of this, I’m telling you.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him knocking on our door, gesturing agitatedly with Mum or Dad. It must be here somewhere. Not in the cupboards, not under the bed. I’m about to check in the bedroom wardrobe when pain lances through my ear like fire.

“Get back home this instant,” Dad growls, dragging me out Mr Stitchsole’s house and back to ours. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was looking for your golden tankard,” I explain quickly, “I saw how he looked at it this morning. He’s a leprechaun Dad. I’m telling you, he stole it.”

“Listen to me carefully. He. Is. Not. A. Leprechaun. And you will never be a Clover Crusher. We found the tankard; Mum had taken it out to her favourite chair in the garden to polish it. She left it there when she went to make dinner and simply forgot,” Dad growls.

Tears threaten to fall, but a Clover Crusher wouldn’t cry. I take a deep breath. Sitting alone in my room, I ruminate. I know Stitchsole is a leprechaun; I feel it in my dwarven bones. Nothing will stop me from proving it, and when I do, Dad will finally be proud of me.

I lie back onto the bed to think – I need a new plan. I will trap this leprechaun.

I reach for the notebook and pen on my bedside table and start writing.

“Rainbow crushing tonight. 10pm at the Ironwatch. Don’t be late.”

I carefully fold the paper in two and, the next day, on my way to school, sneak over to Mr Stitchsole’s house and slip it under the door. I run back to the street and continue on my way.

Tonight is the night. At 9:45pm, the house is quiet. Mum is sleeping, Dad is with The Clover Crushers at the Ironwatch. I get out of bed, fully dressed. I grab my rucksack, the golden tankard, a torch and a couple pickled onions. Just in case.

When I get to the Ironwatch, I run up to Dad and the others and tell them to be quiet. Dad starts to speak, but I cut him off. For once, he listens. I switch the room light off, put the golden tankard on the floor and grab my torch. When the light hits the crystals at just the right angle, a rainbow appears on the wall.

“My tankard…” Dad says.

“Everyone be quiet.” I hush. It’s 9.58pm. I hold my breath.

9:59pm. “Little Weed…”

“Dad please. One more minute, I promise.”

10pm. My heart thumps loudly and I wonder if anyone can hear it. I hope they can’t – embarrassing! I clench my jaw. My throat is as dry as an empty pickled onion jar. Then, when I thought no one would come, I hear a noise. I hold my breath. The door to the Ironwatch is opening. No one moves, aside from a shape that slips into the room. No one makes a noise.

“A rainbow…” says a voice gleefully. The shape comes closer. The Clover Crushers are well hidden, in the shadows against the wall. A hand touches the rainbow.

“Why isn’t it working?” says a confused voice.

I pounce and land on the intruder. The light comes on and I see that I’ve pinned Mr Stitchsole on the floor. “I’ve got you! A leprechaun! I knew it!”

To my surprise, I hear clapping. First one person then slowly but surely everyone in the room. Even Mr Stitchsole is smiling. I look up, confused. Dad is grinning.

“You can let him up, Little Weed,” Dad says, helping Fennick to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder.

“I told you he’s a bright one,” Dad says to our neighbour.

“That he is Durgan, that he is. He’d make a great Clover Crusher.”

I gape.

“Come on son, let’s go home. We’ve got a lot to tell you. Let’s have pickled onions,” Dad says, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

Fennick and Dad chat as we walk home but don’t explain anything. “Your mum will want to be there,” Dad says.

We open the front door. “So?” Mum asks, rushing to us. “Did he pass?”

“Of course he did,” Dad beams. “Made a rainbow using my gold tankard and a torch, would you believe it?”

“But I don’t understand,” I stutter.

“You, son, have just caught your first leprechaun. I knew you could. You’re now officially part of The Clover Crushers. If that’s something you still want, of course.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” I exclaim, bouncing up and down. “But why haven’t you stopped him if he’s a leprechaun?”

“An excellent question, son.”

“You see,” Mr Stitchsole says smoothly “I’ve been working for The Clover Crushers for a long time now. Never got on with my kind, never truly fit in. So, in exchange for a generous payment and housing, I lure unsuspecting leprechauns to your Dad.”

“So I did see leprechauns the other day,” I breathe.

“You did - that was day one of your Clover Crusher Trials,” Dad explains.

“I’m a Clover Crusher, I’m a Clover Crusher, I’m a Clover Crusher,” I chant, dancing around the room.

“Yes you are son, yes you are,” Dad says proudly, giving me a long hug. “But don’t forget, to everyone aside from The Clover Crushers, Mr Stitchsole is a dwarf. You mustn’t tell a soul his real nature.”

Wearily, I walk to my bedroom. I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

A week later, I’m coming home from a hunt with The Clover Crushers. I have just seen the sun for the first time – it really is bright!

"Leprechauns Beware: Gold Costs Blood!" says the sign that hangs above Grimhollow Gate. I smile to myself. Next time a leprechaun tries to enter Dwarfton, this Clover Crusher will be waiting.