They were both so numb they could hardly move. Jack roused Kerry who had curled tight against him like a sleeping husky in the shelter of the stone. His shoulders were rimed with ice and his skin was blue.
The snow glistened, icy in the morning sunlight.
"Come on," Jack said. He quickly scanned the land all around for any sign of the monstrous creature that had lumbered too close in the night. "We better move before we freeze to death."
"I think I already did."
"I saw geese last night. Hundreds of them, flying one way, then another. It's weird."
Their joints creaked as they got up, teeth chattering. Beyond the standing stones they cast around for footprints of whatever had rumbled close, but there was no sign underneath the thin spindrift blanket.
The stream was iced over, and a clump of marsh marigolds that had tumbled golden heads towards the water were wilted and grey with the frost.
"We have to get warm," Jack said. "And into some cover, just in case."
Kerry moved slowly, holding his hand against his ribs.
"And I want a look at that. Maybe you broke a rib."
"Feels more like half a dozen," Kerry said. "Lucky she hardly touched me or I'd be dead meat."
The started moving upstream until they came to the thorn hedge, spiked with icicles. Along its length, something had smashed straight through it. The frozen branches had snapped like twigs and were crushed into the ground.
"Just as well it never saw us," Kerry said. "It would have flattened us for sure."
The coppice tinkled like fairy bells, frosted pine needles sparkling in the dawn light, tiny crystals twinkling as they fell, disturbed by their passing between the trees. The couldn't see a break through the cloud, but a warmer wind blew from the south, shaking the ice from the branches like sharp hail that quickly turned to a cold misty rain as it melted. In half an hour, the ground was wet under their feet as they skirted the edge of the trees and the snow out beyond the cover was gone, converted now to a low, creeping mist.
"Weirdest weather I ever saw," Jack said, and just then he recalled the line from the rhyme in their Book of Ways.
The green sward turns to winter Waste
And famine spreads in evil Haste.
Before he could ponder that any further, Kerry broke in.
"We have to find something to eat," he said. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut. I could eat a scabby horse."
"Me too. I'd give anything for bacon and eggs."
"Sausage and mash. Steak pie."
"Burgers and beans."
Kerry grinned weakly. "Enough. My belly's rumbling loud enough to hear a mile away."
"We'll find something," Jack said. "I'm sure we will."
But Jack wondered what there could be that was edible. He finally stopped beside the upturned root of a fallen beech tree, big enough to give them some shelter. He began to make a fire while Kerry got his fishing line and scouted around for good places to lay snares. When he came back, Jack had a billycan boiling over a small, hot fire and a tin mug steaming with thick tea.
"No milk, no sugar, but it tastes fine."
Kerry picked up the mug and drank with relish. "Best I ever tasted," he said. "I found some rabbit runs. There's some mushrooms, but I don't know if they're safe. And I nearly hit a pigeon."
He took another manful swig of the dark tea and let out an appreciative gasp. "Surely hits the spot, does this. But I'd shoot my granny for a couple of dunkin' biscuits."
In the shelter of the big root, the heat of the fire warmed them through and their damp, ripped clothes began to dry off. Jack got Kerry to take off the rabbit skin tunic he'd made himself for the Halloween party that now seemed a lifetime away. A thin, ragged cut ran from Kerry's armpit right across his ribs and all around it a purple bruise blared against his pale skin. The wound seeped a little blood.
"I don't like the look of that," Jack told him.
"I don't like the feel of it," Kerry said, as brightly as he could. "But at least we're still walking and talking."
Jack ripped the sleeve of his own shirt and soaked it in the hot water, dabbed it against the cut to clean it and winced as Kerry took a sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth. His eyes filmed with tears but he bravely blinked them back.
"I think it needs stitches," Jack said.
"Phone for an ambulance," Kerry shot back. He tried a grin which was more of a grimace than anything else. "I don't trust you with needles."
He gritted his teeth as Jack made a pad and clamped it against the wound, then tightened his tunic to keep it in place. It was the best they could do.
"We have to head south," Jack said. "That's what the book says."
"You think she's here already?"
"I think so. That line in the book – For friend now lost, a quest begin. – that makes me think she's here. How long I don't know. But we'll find her, I promise."
Kerry was about to reply when a thin cry pierced the air from somewhere out in the undergrowth. It startled both of them, but Kerry recovered quickly and got to his feet.
"That sounds like dinner," he said, leading the way from the campfire and through a tangle of thick holly until they came to a narrow track where animals had passed. He had laid snares here in a line, little loops of fishing line close to the ground. The first three, carefully planted in the centre of a rabbit-run, were still intact, but when they came to the final one, close to the edge of the coppice, it was clear something had been caught.
What was clearer still was that the snare had been cut by a sharp blade, and whatever Kerry's poaching skills had earned them for dinner, was gone.
"I don't believe it," he hissed. "Somebody's stolen my catch." His hand went to the hilt of his sword and he drew it out silently, turning slowly to scan the trees around them. Jack did the same, amberhorn bow at the ready. The only sound they heard was the growl of their empty stomachs.
"You see anything?" Jack spoke under his breath.
Kerry shook his head. He got down on one knee, examined the cut snare, then searched around. A few leaves had been scattered by something. A few yards away there was a small depression in the now-warming soil. Kerry said nothing, but pointed ahead, in hunting mode.
Slow and stealthy, they followed the near-invisible trail, pausing every now and again to listen, but so far the forest was silent, except for the distant tap-tap-tap of a lazy woodpecker. Ferns grew tall here in patches of sunlight. Somewhere ahead a small stream burbled softly. As them moved on the wood-pecking got louder. Jack wondered if woodpeckers were edible. The way his belly complained he felt he would even try hedgehog.
Kerry paused, one hand raised up. He hunkered down and peered through the fern fronds.
Jack pushed beside him and they peered into a small clearing, and as soon as they did, they smelt wood smoke and then the mouth-watering smell of cooking meat.
A good fire was going in a circle of stones and an old black pot was bubbling away on the coals. The woodpecker rat-a-tat-tat was louder still, but there was no sign of the bird.
Then Kerry pointed into the centre of the clearing and a small figure sprang into focus. It was wearing a brown, hooded garment and was hunched over, close to the fire, working at something they couldn't see.
"Freakin' thief," Kerry grated. "He's cooking our rabbit."
Jack's stomach rumbled like thunder. It sounded very loud indeed.
"Let's get it back," he whispered.
Kerry nodded, and wriggled forward, silent as a cat, eyes fixed on the hooded figure. He got to within four paces of the hunched shape then lunged forward, sword out, and grabbed it by the neck.
The small thing shrieked like a piglet as Kerry's hand clamped round its throat and it wriggled like an eel. Jack ran forward and snatched an arm and the hood fell back as the thing twisted towards them.
Kerry let out a yell of fright as a hairy face loomed at him, mouth lined with long, black teeth as sharp as needles. He got such a start he lost his grip and the thing squirmed away from him. But Jack still had it by the arm and with his free hand he grabbed a thin leg. The creature howled and wriggled but Jack held it tight and then, amazingly, all the black teeth tumbled out of its mouth onto the grass.
"Take your hands off me, you big oaf."
Jack froze, as startled as Kerry, still unable to comprehend the explosion of teeth.
A small whiskery face grimaced up at him, mouth agape in a silvery beard that swept out in two big curls. It wore an odd little cap of red leather.
"If it's gold you're after, that girl's got it," yelled the little man. "Her over there."
Kerry turned to look and the little fellow tried to pull out of Jack's grip, but Jack hadn't been fooled. He held tight until eventually the tiny man stopped struggling.
"Who are you?" he demanded to know. "Sneaking up on a fellow at work."
"You stole our food," Jack shot back.
"Oh, yours was it?" The elaborate whiskers shivered like antennae as the little fellow spoke. "And here was me thinking all game's fair game."
"It was ours. I trapped it myself."
"Well you should keep an eye on your snares. You never know who's about."
"We know that now," Jack retorted. "Just who are you?"
"Sure, I'm the leprechaun. Jack of all trades, and master of most of them. So it's gold you're after, is it?"
"We just want our dinner," Kerry said. "And anyway, you're no leprechaun. We've seen them. They live in trees."
"In trees, eh? That must be the Sappelings you're thinking of. Distant relations, so I believe. Third cousins thrice removed, something like that. A different branch of the family."
He chuckled, nudged Kerry in the ribs. "Different branch. I must remember that one."
Kerry rolled his eyes. "Sure. We twigged the first time."
"Twigged. Twigged? That's even better. You're a sharp one for a thieving poacher."
"Who are you?" Jack demanded again.
"Sure, I'm a Cluricaun. Different family of the leprechauns, so to speak. Who wants to live in an old tree when you've got all the open road ahead of you?"
He patted himself down. "And you've caught me unawares, square and fair, so I suppose it'll have to be the gold I give you."
"We don't want gold," Jack said. "We just want our dinner."
The little fellow snatched his arm away. He lifted his red cap and showed a bald dome of head, tufted at the ears with white hair. He had sparkling blue eyes.
"Well then, if you had just told me that in the first place, we could have saved all this fuss and bother. Here. I've a fine rabbit stewing. Too much for a wee man like myself, so you're welcome to share."
"Thanks a million for sharing our food," Kerry snorted.
"Don't you mention it young feller. And no need to thank me. Sure, I always enjoy a spot of company over a rabbit stew."
He took a bow and doffed the cap. "Sit ye down and we'll share and share alike and you can tell me what you're doing in this neck of these woods. And maybe we'll share a traveller's tale or two."
"What happened to your teeth?" Kerry asked.
The leprechaun smiled, pulled his lip down and showed a fine lower set. "Still got every one, so I have."
"They were black and spiky," Kerry said. "Gave me a heck of a fright."
The leprechaun burst into laughter, a jolly musical chuckle that rang through the trees.
"Teeth? That weren't no teeth. Sure, that was my hob-nails, for making shoes. Shoes. That's what we're best at, us Cluricauns. As my old daddy always said, cobblers to kings and princes.
He winked. "And cobblers to them all, say I."