The Not-So-Grim Folk Tales

The Leprechauns

Gilroy, you overweight idiot, that is your stupidest, most dangerous idea lately! You have fruitcake for brains!

He comes up with one lame scheme after another. This time it is slaying a dragon—an idea for the lunatic fringe.

Gilroy’s unpolished manners and speech attest to the fact he’s lived in the countryside ever since we were on our own. I’m his brother. I live in the city and, by the time I’m here two days, I wonder why I visit.

Like me, Gilroy is forty inches tall, with red hair and beard. But unlike me, he has acquired a roundness from being too fond of our good Irish ale. We are both dressed in green, jacket matching breeches and stockings perfectly, with bowler hats. If you think we look like leprechauns, we do—because that’s what we are.

Liam, yer always findin’ fault. We nivver have any fun er adventure.

That wouldn’t be fun—that would be asking for trouble. If the Faerie Circle discovered what we’d done, we would be punished—even if we got back with a whole skin, I say.

Gilroy pouts. The rainbow stuff is all we do, and that’s gittin’ mighty dull. The Big Book is goin’ ter waste—we nivver even git ter grant a wish. I’m goin’—even if ye don’t come with. And think of how grateful mister high-and-mighty Praefectus would be if we kill off that dragon. The Faerie Circle could have back that whole area of the King’s Woods.

Maybe we’re short on excitement, but we don’t have bad stuff to worry about either. Going after that dragon would give you excitement all right—maybe even cook your fat rear. In case you’re forgetting, that dragon breathes fire.

Oh, I ’member fer sure—that’s what’d make ever’buddy so grateful, ye know?

I see my brother has not thought this through.

Just how would you kill this dragon? I ask.

Potion. I saw one in the Big Book. Put it in whatever he drinks from. He walks across the room to the stand holding the book in question and flips a few pages. Putting his finger on an entry he says, See, right here. Knock the old dragon right off—and we already have all the stuff for the recipe.

I join him and look over his shoulder. All is now clear. My rotund idiot brother stumbles across this recipe for a dragon-killing potion and— shazam—we have a must-do daytrip.

This is dangerous.

It’s not like we’re usin’ daggers. It may nivver see us.

And the Faerie Circle has forbidden contact with the dragon. What if it doesn’t work and the dragon is angry and goes on another rampage like the last time? It burned down a whole town before its rage was used up. What about that, eh?

This potion’ill work—guaranteed. He jabs his finger at the Big Book several times. Ye’r jist scared.

And what if we need to do a rainbow?

I’ll bring me pot o’gold along. Happy now?

No.

In spite of all my best logic, the next morning we are silently treading down the road into the forest. It is called the King’s Woods—in spite of the fact we Irish have no king.

I break the silence. How are you going to find the dragon?

Well, we know gener’ly where it is. And then there’s the smell.

He’s certainly right about that. The dragon has a rotten-egg sulphur smell anyone with half a nose will notice from a mile away. We trudge along toward the center of the forest, the last known location of the dragon. The area is posted Do Not Enter by the Faerie Circle. This means all Folklore People. We finally come to one such sign which says we must turn around and go back.

Okay, Gilroy, I say, If we go any farther and anybody finds out, we’re in big trouble.

Mebbe so, but nobody’s goin’ ter find out. Come on.

As we continue on I notice the absence of wildlife. The normal population of deer and other small animals has either been eaten or is just giving the dragon a wide berth.

And then we get the first whiff of dragon odor.

From here on, it’s a simple matter, although not a very pleasant one, to home in on the dragon. In another twenty minutes of walking, being as quiet as we can, we arrive at a cave.

We needs ter go up and check if it’s in there, says Gilroy.

I think I’ll stay here and watch, I say.

Gilroy sneers at me and tippy-toes up to the cave entrance to check the strength of the smell. There is a shallow indentation in the rock outside the cave where rain water has collected. He must be satisfied the dragon is inside the cave, because he pulls the bottle of potion from his hip pocket and dribbles some into the water. Then he tippy-toes back to where I’m crouched behind a rock.

Now we jist wait, he whispers.

We don’t have long to wait. A snout with two large nostrils appears from the darkness and a scaly greenish-purple body—or perhaps it is purplish-green— follows it. Its wings are folded down its back and its claws scrape on the stone as it moves. It drinks from the rainwater, turns, and is swallowed up by the cave.

Oh, we got’im now, whispers Gilroy. We got’im now! He looks ready to burst out cheering for himself.

Indeed, in less than a minute the dragon writhes back out of the cave. Fire shoots out of both ends, and the stench is unbearable. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, the dragon throws up, and it gets worse. It’s spewing flame and undigested stomach contents, and nearby bushes catch fire.

Gilroy, we need to get out of here. Where did you leave your kettle?

It’s ‘round front of this here rock.

Well, grab it and let’s go. Trees are now burning. The dragon is roaring and still spraying fiery bits and pieces everywhere.

We run back the way we came. After we put some distance between ourselves and the cave, we slow down and walk. We look back and see smoke rising from where we were.

As we turn away from the disaster scene and start back down the path, a wood elf pops out of the brush.

Hold on, you two, he says. You’re in the forbidden area.

Well, so er you, blurts Gilroy.

The elf gives Gilroy a look reserved, I’m certain, especially for simpletons. The elf confirms my guess.

I’m the ranger on duty, you simpleton. What are you two doing here?

Just killin’ the dragon, tha’s all, says my simpleton brother.

The elf’s eyes narrow. I know you two now. You’re the Nolans. You’ll be reported to the Circle. Now get out of here!

He pops back into the bush—very tricky, these elves, but well-suited for woodsy kinds of things.

When we get back home, I ask Gilroy, What was in that potion, anyway?

He digs in his pocket and hands me a crumpled piece of paper. I smooth it out on the table. The items don’t look particularly poisonous. I consult the Big Book.

"There’s no entry for dragon poison," I say.

It’s not that, says Gilroy. "It’s called dragon eraser."

I look again. Sure enough, there’s dragon eraser—but none of the ingredients match the list Gilroy handed me. I keep looking. Finally I see a match.

"Gilroy, you idiot, you made dragon emetic, not dragon eraser.

So?—That’s poison, too.

Doesn’t kill a thing. Just makes it throw up. And as I recall, that pretty much describes the scene.

Oh. Well, better luck next time is what I say.

At that point there is a banging on the door. I open it to see a dwarf with a large envelope clutched to his chest.

You are Gilroy Nolan? he asks.

Liam Nolan, I say.

Good enough. He hands me the envelope and scampers off down the path.

Back inside, I open the envelope and read the contents.

What I was afraid of, I say. That ranger reported us. We’re due at The Ring tomorrow at noon. And you’re to bring your kettle with you.

I was meanin’ ter tell ye about that. Me coins is kinda melted together. Shoulda brought ‘em back behind that rock.

I can only shake my head. One more stupid thing.

The next day it’s back to the forest again. This time we’re headed for the offices of Western Folklore. Deep in the Enchanted Forest there are two folklore buildings—The Coliseum and The Ring. The big building is The Coliseum. It houses the General Assembly when it meets. The small building is circular like the Coliseum—which is why it’s called the Ring—and that is where the Praesidium meets. It is chaired by the Praefectus of the Faerie Circle, a wizard I have heard about but never seen. I willingly would forgo the experience but, thanks to my brother, I have no choice.

We enter the building and an elf with a badge of some kind directs us through a door and out onto the floor of the Ring.

Sit there, he says, pointing to a table with seats facing a large, high-backed chair with elaborate carvings, positioned on a level above the floor. It is flanked by other less elaborate chairs—thirteen in all. Praesidium members are filing in from a door behind the large chair and taking their seats.

I’ll take that, says the elf, as he grips Gilroy’s kettle.

With a sad look, Gilroy lets go and the elf leaves the floor with the kettle.

The Praefectus enters and sits in his high-backed chair. Middle-aged, with a wiry build, he is prematurely bald. His sad brown eyes, set on either side of a large hooked nose, regard me with a steady gaze.

We are not only in trouble—we are in big trouble.

Without taking his eyes off the two of us, he intones, Read the charges.

From somewhere out of sight, a voice rattles off a list of transgressions, some of which I recognize—like being in the forbidden area, and destroying gold coins. The voice stops.

Silence.

The Praefectus speaks. Gilroy Nolan, what do you have to say for yourself?

I was jist tryin’ ter get rid of the dragon so’s the Faerie Circle could have that part of the woods back.

You address me as Sir.

Yessir.

Did you know it was forbidden to be there and to try that?

Yessir, but I thought yer’d be glad to—

Doesn’t matter what you thought. You knew it was forbidden?

Yessir.

Silence.

Liam Nolan, what do you have to say for yourself?

Sir, I tried to talk him out of it.

But you also went.

I see where this is going. Intentions mean nothing. What was done means everything. I decide it’s best to say nothing further.

The Praefectus looks up and down the flanking chairs. Any comment from the Praesidium?

The various witches, wizards, elves, gnomes, and dwarves shake their heads. Open and shut case.

Very well, you two are on permanent probation. Liam, you will live with your brother. You will share one kettle of coins. You will perform your leprechaun duties and nothing else. Questions?

Gilroy and I shake our heads.

Adjourned, intones the Praefectus. He rises and leaves through the door behind his chair.

The elf with the badge appears. This way out, he says, walking toward the door where we entered.

It could have been worse, I suppose. But now I will be living in the countryside. Apart from not having his own kettle any more, I can’t see my idiot brother is much worse off. Perhaps being on probation will put a crimp in his adventurous thinking.

I’m hoping there will be plenty of rainbows to do.

The Magimorph (1843)

The Magimorph

One rainy day, I stand in my front doorway, dreaming and watching the rain come down. My dearest wish is to be a bride and no longer Aislinn Reilly, the store clerk. As my mind pictures my ideal new life, the rain stops and the sun comes out. I see in the distance a perfect rainbow.

Now, I know the stories about rainbows and pots of gold at their end. I also know one can keep walking forever and never reach the end of the rainbow. Still, on this particular day, it looks very much like the rainbow ends in the nearby woods. I decide to walk there—even if finding the end of a rainbow only happens in folklore.

I stroll under the trees, breathing deeply, enjoying the earthy smell. As I come around a bend in the path, I see a clearing ahead. A curtain of bright light falls straight down and fills it. The curtain is colorful. It has a section of red on the left edge blending into orange, followed by yellow, green, and blue ending in violet on the right. It dawns on me I am looking at a rainbow—or at least one end of it. I rush up the path to the clearing and sure enough, a small metal kettle sits there in the grass. I am thinking this is a strange coincidence—this can’t be the famous Faerie Tale pot of gold. But on closer inspection, the kettle does contain gold coins. The coins are small and not very many but there they are.

I immediately decide it’s a case of finders-keepers, which means it’s mine since I’m the finder. I snatch up the kettle and stuff it in a nearby hollow tree trunk for a temporary hiding place. I look back at the clearing, but the rainbow is gone. As I ponder my next move I hear the sound of footfalls coming along the path, and two little men come into view. They both have red hair and beards but one is thin and the other fat. Neither is taller than four feet and both are dressed in green, wearing bowler hats. They stop short when they see me. The fat one stares at me while the thin one looks around the clearing.

Hey! Somebody took our gold! the thin one says, elbowing the fat one in the ribs.

The fat one shifts his gaze away from me and rubs his side while he, too, looks around the clearing.

Oh, right, he says. His gaze shifts back to me. Ye wouldn’t be havin’ anythin’ to do with this, would ye now?

I wonder, could these be leprechauns? As unlikely as it might be, they look the part. You’re both missing your pots of gold? I put on a worried look.

Just the one pot, says the thin one.

I thought each leprechaun had his own pot of gold. There’s only one pot for the two of you? What happened?

Nivver ye mind. That’s a story for another time. We needs our gold, says the fat one.

So—they are leprechauns! I decide to take a chance. Would there be a reward for whoever finds your gold?

The thin one squints as he studies me. He is obviously the sharper of the two. The fat one just stares.

There might be, the thin one finally says, speaking very slowly.

And what would that be?

One wish. The thin one pokes the fat one. Isn’t that right, Gilroy?

The fat one nods, continuing to stare at me, but says nothing.

May I help you look? I ask as sweetly as I can. If my idea works, I know for sure what my wish will be.

I suppose.

Fine, I say. Let’s spread out and start looking then.

Of course I contrive to find the kettle. I stand there with my arms wrapped around it. So now I get a wish.

The thin one looks suspicious but says, Fair means or foul, you have our gold. So you get a wish—come along.

I follow the two down the path to a tree with a door in it. It doesn’t look like there would be room inside that tree for one leprechaun, let alone all three of us. Once we’re inside though, there is room aplenty, although my head comes close to the ceiling.

What’s your wish? asks the thin one.

I want to be a bride.

"Okay—a