“Danny’s farts!” Alex shouted, and all four convulsed.

“Groilach smelled even worse. As well as an evil heart, he had a huge appetite, and he’d been after Leaf the leprechaun for years. Leprechauns, you see, were his favorite food of all…”

Rowland talked on quietly, until he could see the boys were lulled. First Danny fell asleep, then Alex, then Ben. Only Colin remained awake, hanging on every word.

“He didn’t eat Leaf, did he, Rowland?” Colin whispered, stealing out a hand from under the bedclothes, and holding Rowland fast.

“Well, and of course he didn’t,” Rowland replied, knowing it was now time for his story to take a different course. “Not a chance. Leaf was good-hearted and brave, so he was bound to triumph in the end. Besides, he had a sword. And to tell you the truth, he wasn’t that worried about Groilach.”

“Why not, Rowland?”

“Because he had other things on his mind. He’d heard of this princess, you see. A very beautiful and very sad princess, a leprechaun princess who had eyes like sapphires and pale golden hair. She’d been imprisoned by a spell a long time ago. The spell kept her in this tower, which was a hundred feet high, and made of glass. She wept tears like crystals every day, because she longed to be rescued…”

Colin was sleeping now. Gently, Rowland released his hand. He rose and stretched his legs. The room was peaceful and still, the only sound the quiet breathing of the boys. For some reason, a residue of sadness from his story remained with Rowland, and he felt reluctant to leave.

His story had brought his childhood back; he could see in his mind’s eye the farm buildings he had described, where he himself had lived until he was around eight, Alex’s age.

He moved across to the window and eased the curtains aside. The moon was high; the trees and hedges were already white with hoarfrost; he looked out at a silver world. On the far side of the orchard he watched a shape detach itself from the shadows of a hedgerow; he watched the dog-fox move delicately across the grass. It circled the henhouse, lifted its snout, sniffed the air, then stiffened as, from the front of the house, came the noise of people, and cars.

The last of the local guests must be leaving. Soon one of Charlotte’s wonderful dinners would be served. Rowland listened to the cars crunch their way down the drive. He watched the dog-fox trot back to the hedgerow, then move off across the fields toward the hills. For a moment, straining his eyes to follow the fox’s movements, Rowland thought he saw lights move, high up behind the house. This puzzled him slightly, for he had walked that way many times, and he knew there were no villages up there, and no roads, just open wolds.

Voices drifted up from the kitchen below. Rowland let the curtains fall and left the room quietly. Ducking his head beneath the beams, he made his way down the narrow, twisting stairs.