“If he can’t, we’ll try something else,” said David with a sanguine air. “We’ve traveled to the Sidh, Max. I have every confidence we can make our way to Piter’s Folly and bluff our way in to see a smuggler.”
Max grinned; David’s spirits were reviving.
A moment later, Toby fluttered back and landed with an inexpert, skidding series of hops.
“We’re in luck,” he reported. “There’s a small ledge across from the guardstones, some twenty or thirty feet above the road. Not an easy climb, but it should be manageable.”
David glanced dubiously at his stump of a right hand.
“Worst case, I can carry you,” Max offered.
“Did you see any guards?” David asked Toby.
“No,” replied the smee. “Just the stones, sealed tight as a troll hitch.”
“At one point I knew the password,” Max reflected. “I made Skeedle and the others tell me, but that was a long time ago. I’ll bet they’ve changed it.”
“I’ll bet they haven’t,” said David. “Let’s get settled. I want to try something.”
Hurrying up the road, they finally got their first glimpse of the guardstones—two gargantuan blocks of granite that were joined so tightly that the door appeared to be little more than an incongruous slab of reddish stone. Max glanced up at the ledge Toby had reported; it would be a very difficult climb for David.
But perseverance won the day. With Max giving him the occasional boost, David managed to scramble over the boulders and piled rubble, clinging to roots and rocks with fierce determination. In fifteen minutes, he reached the ledge, wheezing and coughing into his cloak. Shielding himself behind a boulder, he took a deep breath and caught a snowflake on his tongue.
“Not bad,” said Max, crouching to peer at the guardstones. “You’ll be scaling the Witchpeaks next.”
“So what’s the plan, gentlemen?” inquired the jackdaw, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to warm his tiny body. Giving up, he suddenly ballooned, his feathers smoothing to fur as he became a brown marmot.
“Well,” said David, “we could sit here and watch for Skeedle. But that might take days and there’s no guarantee we’ll see him. But if Max knows the password, we might try sending him a message.”
“How are we going to do that without stirring up the whole clan?” asked Max.
“A little trick,” said David. “One that involves some magic, but just a very little. There doesn’t appear to be anyone on our trail. I think we can risk it.… Speak into my hand and tell Skeedle that you want him to come outside. Assure him that he’s not being haunted or going insane.”
The sorcerer opened his hand and Max saw a swirling sphere of golden vapor materialize between his fingers. At David’s urging, Max leaned forward and spoke into it as though it were a microphone.
“Skeedle, it’s Max McDaniels. If you can hear me, I need you to come meet me outside the guardstones right away. Come alone and don’t let anyone know what you’re doing. Trust me; this is not a ghost and you’re not going crazy. So put down your spicy faun tripe and come see your old friend.…”
“Perfect,” said David, closing his hand about the sphere. “Now we just need you to try the password.”
Leaning forward, Max cupped his hands and said, “Bitka-lübka-boo.” He braced himself for the expected tremor.
Nothing happened.
“Maybe a little louder,” David suggested. “You’re practically whispering.”
Max tried again, but the stones remained as they were.
Toby scoffed. “You sound like a ninny. What are you afraid of?”
“Well, I don’t want to shout it,” Max snapped. “There could be sentries nearby.”
“When bold hearts fail, send a smee,” Toby declared, brushing past Max and waddling down the steep ledge. Arriving at the bottom, he looked both ways before stealing across the road to the red slabs. Rising up on his hind legs, the marmot gingerly touched the doors.
Again, nothing happened.
Max could not hear the smee, but if his pacing was any indication, the creature was losing patience. Dropping to all fours, the marmot arched his back and bellowed.
“Bitka-lübka-boo!”
When the mountain shook, Toby panicked and came racing back, bounding up the rocky slopes to land beside them in a panting, trembling ball.
“Good work,” David whispered. “Stay low.”
Spreading his fingers, the boy sent the vaporous sphere snaking toward the guardstones, which were sliding apart to reveal a dark chasm beyond. It zoomed into the entrance, skimming past the head of a potbellied goblin that came clanking out in his iron-soled shoes to peer at the road. Lifting his broad-brimmed hat, the creature stood and scratched at his lumpish forehead before clutching his pelt closer and shuffling back inside. The mountain groaned as the stones slid shut.
“Now what?” Max asked.
“We wait,” replied David, spreading a woolly tartan over his legs. “If Skeedle’s inside, the zephyss will seek him out, slip inside his ear, and deliver our message.”
“Maybe we should have sent two,” said Max, imagining the twitchy goblin’s reaction. “He’ll definitely think he’s going crazy.”
“Have faith.”
Within the hour, they felt the mountain shake once again. Peering over the ledge’s lip, Max watched as a caravan of five wagons emerged into daylight. A pair of goblins sat in the driver’s seat of each, one holding a tall spear and the other a whip. Yelling out to the mules, the drivers cracked their whips and urged the teams to turn the wagons west and head down the road from which Max and the others had come. As the stones were closing, Max saw a small figure slip outside. It paused, shielding its face from the flurries as it gazed about. Max stood and waved.
The goblin waved excitedly back, hurrying across the road and climbing skillfully up the fallen rocks until he joined them on the ledge. When Max knelt and hugged him, the hideous little creature nearly danced a jig.
“I never thought I’d see you again!” Skeedle exclaimed, struggling to keep his voice low. The young goblin had grown since Max had seen him, having added another sharp tooth and perhaps twenty pounds to his short, plump frame. “What are you doing here?”
“We need your help,” Max replied. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Settling down next to his hero, the goblin listened attentively as Max and David relayed where they were going and what was needed.
“So … two wagons and someone who’s traded with the Great Piter Lady,” confirmed Skeedle, twiddling his stubby claws as though brainstorming various options. “I’ve never been so far, but my cousin’s been three times and once with Plümpka himself. He never shuts up about it.”
“We also need trade goods,” added David delicately. “Something the Piter Lady’s always eager to buy.”
“Kolbyt would know, but he’s still passed out,” said Skeedle. “He got back last night from a caravan and swore there are ghosts on the road. Went straight to the casks and drank till he dropped.”
“Do you think you can wake him up?” asked Max. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Skeedle, but we need you two to take us to Piter’s Folly. Realistically, I’m guessing it will be six weeks for you to get us there and come back.”
The goblin frowned. “Longer if the passes get snowed in,” he mused. “Ravenswood Spur goes through rough country. Normally we’d need bribe money and a whole guard troop, but with you …”
Skeedle sat talking quietly to himself in his native tongue while flakes collected on his belly. “I think … I think we can do it,” he said, brushing off the snow and standing up.