He pushed that thought away; monks didn't think about girls, and he was determined to be a monk. He tried to steer his thoughts back to God and godliness, but was only able to appreciate the neatness of the beds of cabbages, and the precise border of old horsehoes set upright side by side, which closed the end of the field. As he reached them he shook his head, marveling at the labor it must have taken to so fence all the monastery's fields, not to mention gathering all those worn shoes. How like the monks not to count the labor, because their minds were on the other world! He sighed and lifted his hoe again.
"Hist! Farmer Hoban!"
Hoban looked up, startled, coming out of his reverie. Who had called? Brother Hasty, who watched over the monks in the field? But no, he was a hundred feet away, with a wary eye on two novices who had paused for a rest and a chat. And there was no other monk near him. Then who… ?
"Here, foolish one! In the patch of cowslips to thy left!"
Hoban started to look, then remembered that whichever way Brother Hasty was looking now, he was quite likely to be looking Hoban's way next, so he bent back to his hoeing, glancing at the cowslips out of the corner of his eye.
And To and behold, there he was, he really was, one of the Little People! Larger than he'd heard they went—he was a foot-and-a-half high, scowling up at Hoban, arms akimbo. "Aye, thou dost see me now. Be sure thou dost give no sign. 'Tis long I've waited for thee to come to the edge of the field, for I could not go in to thee, not past that barrier of Cold Iron."
Of course, Hoban realized with a shock, that pretty little fence would keep elves out too! And, of a sudden, all thoughts of the holy life were swept aside as he remembered what he had promised the Lord Warlock.
"Try not to think of it, if thou canst," the elf advised, "for there are many minds here to hear thy thoughts. I" truth, they do not like my kind, and I cannot help but wonder why. Tis not the sort of thing the Archbishop would have thought of by himself."
"I think thou hast the right of it," Hoban breathed. "I have not seen a mean spirit in him."
"Yet there is such a spirit in this monastery, or I mistake it quite." The elf cocked his head to one side. "Who is it, then?"
"Brother Alfonso, or I mistake," Hoban muttered. "He is the Archbishop's secretary, and is ever with him so long as he is within these walls. The other monks give him more respect than they ought, for one who is but a servant—and one who is so newly come."
"Newly come?" the elf frowned. "How newly, then?"
"But three years ago, saith Rumor. At the first he was ever willing to labor at whatever task he could, and worked long and well—so all came to know his name. Yet he could write and cipher, so the Archbishop—the Abbot then—set him to the accounts. He proved adept at them, and was therefore more and more in milord's company."
"As he became more and more set on separating from Rome, belike." The elf nodded, with a wry grimace. "How can he be countered?"
"He cannot, now! Those who would not submit to him, fled to Runnymede. All who remain here, live in fear of the fellow."
"Odd, for a man of God," the elf said. "Then we must deal with him. When doth he come outdoors?"
"In the evenings, to walk in the Archbishop's garden with His Lordship."
"Which is hung about with so much Cold Iron, I would think it a smithy." The elf's face hardened. "Well, we shall find a… whup!"
He disappeared into the cowslips as a shadow fell across the earth in front of Hoban. He looked up into the stern visage of Brother Hasty.
"Hoban," said the severe supervisor, "wherefore hast thou hoed at that same patch of earth for this last quarter hour?" * * *
"Surely the beast has no need for the second!" Kelly McGoldbagel stared at the huge paw print in the patch of moonlight. "I've never seen a dog who used the head he had!"
"Oh, be still!" Puck groaned. " Tis not the beast who hath need of two heads, but the one who made him."
"But why?"
"To fright poor peasants, thou lob!" Puck snapped. "Now be still, and follow his trail!"
Kelly grumbled and followed Puck down the trail between the huge old forest trees. Why Brom O'Berin had insisted he bring the Englishman along, Kelly couldn't understand— surely one leprecohen would be enough to track any monster! "Sure an ye don't think the Elfin King fears for the safety of one of his elves, do ye?"
" 'Tis not what I think, but what he doth! Wilt thou not be still and track?"
Kelly sighed and followed, frowning at the trail. The beast's paws must have been half the size of Kelly himself, to leave such traces. "At the least, the beast cannot have been one of yer pranks, if it left tracks."
"I shall leave tracks on thy backside!" Puck jerked to a halt, frowning at a fork in the road. "Here are but fallen leaves; I see no more prints. Whence came the beast?"
"Why, yonder!" Kelly exclaimed, pointing to the right. "See ye not the twigs it broke from the trees as it passed?"
Puck stared. Then he said, "Well done, great scout! Thou mayest take the lead now."
Kelly looked up at him, startled. Puck grinned. Kelly shivered and turned away, grumbling. "I'd sooner have a two-headed dog at my back than an Englishman!"
"Thou mayest have thy wish," Puck reminded. "We track the beast's trail in reverse, to discover whence he came; none say he hath returned. In truth, we may feel his breath hot on our necks as he doth come home."
For some reason, Kelly went a bit faster.
The path widened suddenly, and they found themselves in a small clearing, wide enough for some moonlight to strike through the forest crown, showing them a wattle hut with a thatched roof. The door was made of stout planks, though, and the single window was shuttered.
Kelly stopped. "I never knew a forest spirit that sought a roof over its head."
"Aye, nor that latched the door and barred the shutters when it was away from home." Puck frowned, stepping out into the clearing. "Yet it may be that 'tis within, and therefore hath made fast its portal."
"Then the more fool ye are, to be courtin' its wrath! What, would ye bring disaster upon us?"
Puck tossed his head impatiently. "The spirit's not made that can harm the Puck."
"Savin' his Elfin Majesty, o' course," Kelly grumbled.
"I misdoubt me an he bides within yon hut. Come, wilt thou not play hearth ghost and find a chink through which to enter?"
"What's to find? 'Tis more holes than walls, with wattle!" Kelly protested. "Whoever bides there does not mean to winter within it, does he?"
"Nay, or he would have daubed it without." Puck glanced about him and dashed up to the wall. Kelly stared, appalled, then cursed and sprinted after him.
Puck was fingering the wattle. " 'Tis yet green. This hovel's newly built, sprite."
"Aye, 'tis that." Kelly looked down. "Yet there's already a footpath trod from the doorway—and I see no prints of the hound!"
Puck glanced about, also, nodding. "And since the leaves have been cleared away to bare the earth, we should surely have seen such. What could this cotter have sought beneath compost? Yet the dog's prints end at the verge, as though it had been conjured forth at the spot."