“My ever-so-great-grandparents concealed themselves in motley wool cloaks to listen to the saint’s sermons,” the Bugaboo resumed. “Then, as now, hobgoblins were not welcome in mud men’s houses. They followed Columba as he walked from village to village, always keeping out of sight. And one dark night my ever-so-great-grandfather got up the courage to approach his window. ‘Please, mud man,’ he whispered. ‘What magic did you use on the Picts?’

“‘Come in by the fire so I can see you,’ said Columba. My ever-so-great-grandfather edged through the door, expecting to be pelted with rocks, as was the custom. But Columba only laughed. ‘You’re a rare one,’ he said. He gave my ever-so-great-grandfather a cup of cider and asked him many questions about mercy and pity. He was impressed with my ever-so-great-grandfather’s answers. ‘I see you’ve been listening,’ Columba said approvingly. My ever-so-great-grandfather admitted to eavesdropping at windows.

“The upshot was that Columba called all the hobgoblins together and baptized them. They stood on the banks of Loch Ness, and one after the other, Columba popped them in. It took seven days and seven nights. At one point a kelpie surfaced and ate a few hobgoblins, but the saint drove him off.”

“Kelpies! That’s the part I hate!” the Nemesis broke in. “They’ll do anything to get at us—climb trees, burrow into the earth, hurl themselves off cliffs. I can’t bear thinking about it!” He had turned pale, and his whole body quivered. Mumsie and the Nemesis’ wife settled on either side of the distraught hobgoblin, cooing and stroking him until he recovered.

“He lost his parents, aunts, and uncles on a picnic at Loch Ness,” the Bugaboo whispered to Jack. “We all try not to mention the K-word around him. To finish our history, Columba assured our ancestors that they now had souls in tip-top condition. And since that time the elves have been our bitter enemies.”

Jack was curled up in his sleeping hutch. It was the middle of the night, not that this made a difference. Without sunlight, things tended to run together. He heard the various bleeps, bloops, hisses, and groans of the slumbering youths.

The opening of the sleeping cave glowed. A will-o’-the-wisp had come down to the opening, which was odd in the middle of the night. Jack turned his back, dully watching the movement of shadows on a nearby wall. Will-o’-the-wisps hardly ever stayed still, and so neither did the shadows. Suddenly, arms reached down and wrenched him out of the hutch. Something clamped over his mouth and eyes. He struggled and kicked, but his assailant was too strong.

Jack felt himself rushed along, as when the youths performed their morning leaps, but this was not accompanied by cries of joy. Whatever held him traveled in complete silence. Jack’s head cleared instantly. His apathy vanished.

What had captured him? It wasn’t a dragon. Not hot enough. Or a troll. Not cold enough. A kelpie? Not wet enough. That left wyverns, hippogriffs, cockatrices, manticores, basilisks, hydras, krakens, and Pictish beasts, about which Jack knew little. Could it be a knucker?He remembered the loathsome body like a monstrous tick engorged with blood. Arms coiled from its sides, anchoring it to the rocks, and others fanned out across a floor deep in slime.

Jack began struggling in earnest, but it did him no good. He heard something hiss, and his arms and legs were clamped even harder. I’ll wait till it stops,he decided. I’ll fight it then.He forced himself to think rationally. It couldn’t be a knucker. Not slimy enough.

Jack’s blood was singing and his heart pounded, but amazingly, he wasn’t afraid. It was a relief to have something happen after so many days of monotony. He understood Thorgil’s joy at awakening the maelstrom.

The headlong flight jolted to a stop, and the creature let him go. He saw shadowy forms around him and attacked. He headbutted one of the shapes in the stomach, causing it to shriek and fall. He turned swiftly to pull the legs out from under another, and just as quickly, he grasped an arm and swung a creature around to collide with more of its kind. But there were too many. They swarmed over him, pinning him down.

“Festering fungi! This one’s as bad as the other!” growled a familiar voice. The battle fury in Jack’s mind vanished. He lay on a bed of squashed mushrooms with the blobby shapes of hobgoblins sitting on his arms and legs. A pair of will-o’-the-wisps, barely enough to dispel the gloom, hovered overhead.

“I hope you’re satisfied, mud man. You’ve made Blewit lose his dinner.” The Nemesis loomed against the dim light, and Jack heard someone hacking and spitting. It must have been Mr. Blewit he rammed in the stomach.

“If you ambush someone in the middle of the night, you can expect trouble,” said Jack.

“Oh, we’ve had nothing but trouble since His Royal Idiocy invited you,” the Nemesis said. He signaled, and the hobgoblins allowed Jack to sit up, but they still held him.

“It was a good fight,” said Thorgil from not far away. “You would have made a decent berserker.” She was being guarded as closely as he.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I acquitted myself well too,” the shield maiden replied. “Knocked out two of the little sneaks and crippled a third.”

Jack saw Pega sitting nearby. “Are you all right?” he called.

“As well as can be expected for someone who’s been pulled six ways to Sunday.”

The Nemesis sniffed derisively. “That’s what you get for driving our king off his head.”

“I never did such a thing,” Pega retorted hotly. “He was the one who pursued me.”

“Oh, I’ve seen your mincing little ways, charming him so he forgets his duties. You asked him to hand over our Hazel and break the Blewits’ hearts. Well, I won’t have it.”

“If you intend to murder us, at least let us die with weapons in our hands,” said Thorgil.

“Murder?” The Nemesis bounced up and down with rage. “Do you think we’re mud men? We have souls and we take care of them, thank you very much. We’re simply going to move you on.”

“To Middle Earth?” said Jack.

The hobgoblins laughed—or they at least made the noise that showed they were amused. To Jack, it sounded like someone choking on a piece of gristle.

“Oh, no,” said the Nemesis, catching his breath and blinking his eyes rapidly. “We’re going to give you exactly what you asked for and send you to Elfland.”

“Elfland?” echoed Jack, hardly daring to believe their good fortune.

“Why not?” said the Nemesis. “I tried to get the Bugaboo to do it straightaway. He was too besotted with Lady Temptation there.”

“I never tempted him!” protested Pega.

The Nemesis signaled again. The hobgoblins let go of their prisoners, scampering out of reach before Thorgil could react. They climbed the rocks and sat there, blobby shadows in the half-light. Mr. Blewit, still holding his stomach, joined the Nemesis.

“Look, I’m sorry I hurt you,” Jack said. He had no ill will against the melancholy hobgoblin, who only wanted to keep a child he looked upon as his own. “Why didn’t you wait until we could talk things over?”

The Nemesis came close enough for Jack to see into his dark eyes. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. Losing Hazel a year from now would be just as painful.”

“What kind of future can she possibly have here?” Jack said. “She’s not made to spend half her life underground. What happens when she grows up? Someday she’s going to look into a pool and know she’s not the same as the rest of you.”

“We’ll tell her it doesn’t make a scrap of difference!” said Mr. Blewit.

Jack couldn’t think of an answer to this. Hazel had never accepted him and ran when he tried to approach her. She might not accept Mother, either.

“There’s no point in arguing. Hazel can’t go,” the Nemesis said flatly. “Anyhow, she’s terrified of elves.”