Fair Folk and Foul Folk, Part 2

“Fair Folk and Foul Folk at Deerwood Arboretum, Part II (The continued Adventures of Lacey the Pixie at Deerwood Arboretum & Nature Center)

Lacey capered, gamboled, and cartwheeled across the freshly mown grass. He never walked unless he absolutely had to.

Will couldn’t help noticing when they came to the riverbank, Lacey went down the wooden staircase the Boy Scouts had built a few years ago instead of of clambering down the steep, muddy bank.

Lacey pointed to three turtles in the river. “Want to go turtle surfing?”

Will placed his hand on his chest and declaimed melodramatically, “Be still, my beating heart. Oops, sorry, my heart ain’t beat since I took that Yankee bullet.”

Lacey attempted to kick Sweet William, but his foot passed harmlessly through the ghost’s leg. “What’s your hurry, Will, that turtles ain’t good enough for you? You’re dead; why do you need to hurry?”

“Don’t mean I want to take an hour to go ten feet. And don’t say ain’t. Miz Susan won’t like it.”

Lacey shrugged. He liked riding turtles, but not enough to argue over it.

Two of the three turtles perched on a big branch in the Little Harpeth River. One of the turtles jumped or fell off the branch into the water.

“Looks like that one ain’t interested in being your riding horse,” Will observed.

“Still two more,” Lacey said.

“Leave ’em be,” Will urged.

At that point the Little Harpeth River was an actual river, with a current strong enough to knock a pixie over. At other parts, it was barely more than a creek, at least until the next good rain. Lacey and Will proceeded along the edge of the river, Lacey moving carefully so as not to slip into the water. With his luck he’d be washed straight from the Little Harpeth River to the Harpeth River, and then into the Cumberland River.

In just a few minutes, they came upon a plastic drainage pipe, sticking out of the river bank, dating back to the bad old days when Deerwood Park had been the site of the Brentwood Sewage Processing Center.

Lacey pointed. “That must be it.”

“Bro, you sure you wanna do this?” Will asked.

“Who else would dare?”

Will shook his head. Only Lacey.

The stench of the sewage still lingered. A few minutes later, Lacey felt a prick in his back and smelled another foul scent: deathmetal. Pixies weren’t as susceptible to Cold Iron as High Elves were, but they had the same susceptibility of all living creatures to having sharp objects poked into them.

Lacey stopped short and turned his head to see what was happening.

A troll stood behind him, a spear in her hands.

“You’re my prisoner. Keep moving until I tell you to stop,” she ordered.

“Yes’m,” Lacey agreed. He continued walking forward slowly. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for a chance to escape.

“What’s your name, prisoner?” The troll poked him her spear to punctuate her question.

“Lacey, ma’am.” He was young and reckless, but not stupid enough to be rude to a troll with a Cold Iron spear. “I am Lacey, brother to Sweet William, son of Alyssum, daughter of Black-Eyed Susan.”

She poked him again. “Keep moving. I asked your name, not your whole family’s names.”

“Quit poking. That hurts.”

“That’s the general idea. You’re my prisoner. You have to do what I say.”

“Ugly as you are, the only way anybody would ever obey you is to keep poking ’em with Cold Iron.”

“I could do more than poke if you don’t mind your manners, pipsqueak.”

She was ugly. (Most trolls are.) She was a good three times Lacey’s height, and far better muscled. Her skin was sallow. Her eyes were a dull yellow. Her bare feet were wide and splay-toed. Her face was flat, other than a bulbous nose the size and shape of a tomato. Her mouth was full of sharp brown fangs. She wore brown pants of crudely tanned leather and her blouse seemed to be made of black plastic. Vinyl gardening gloves protected her hands from the spear she carried.

The troll forced him forward to a door where a male troll stood waiting, spear in hand. He straightened to attention at the sight of them and banged his spear-butt on the floor.

Lacey was pretty sure fro the stink of it that his spear ha a Cold Iron point, too.

“Princess Brown-Recluse.” He banged his spear-butt again.

“Is my father busy, Cigarette?”

“If it’ll pleaseYour Excellency to wait just a minute, I’ll inquire if the king is free,” Cigarette opened the door, slipped inside, and shut the door behind him. The door re-opened a minute later, and he banged his spear on the filthy floor again. “The king will see you right away, Princess. You and the pixie-wixie.”

Brown-Recluse pulled her spear back and whacked Lacey across the shoulder. She hit him hard enough that he fell to the floor. “On your feet, prisoner. Move. And mind your manners.”

Lacey scrambled to his feet and preceded her into the room. He wasn’ about to argue with a troll princess with a Cold Iron spear.

To Be Continued….