Tommy Puck and the Prince of the Elves

Chapter One

Tommy Puck sat against the sun-grayed privacy fence in the front yard of his new foster parent’s home.

How much longer would he last here with the Walters, especially after tomorrow’s meeting with Principal Ruggins? Tommy’d already given the family the reason to bail on him. That was the pattern. Five foster homes in the last two years.

The prank was stupid enough; getting caught was idiotic.

Oddly enough, the Walters’ disappointment regarding the whole affair stung worse than had they responded with the traditional outrage. There was no screaming or throwing things. No one called him stupid, retard, worthless, or any of the familiar string of pejoratives. Mr. Walters had approached him with respect, treating him not as a delinquent, but a responsible, young adult. At seventeen, that was a first for Tommy. Their reaction confused him.

The shrieking and laughter of the children living across the street interrupted his introspection.

The eldest four children, all girls, took turns riding a dilapidated bicycle. Their hands were stained black from regularly replacing the chain on its track.

Though dirty, disheveled, and obviously poor, they played as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Tommy had no recollection of ever being so unencumbered, so free and ignorant of the ugliness of life. All he’d ever experienced was the worried stares of adults he barely knew, patronizing sympathy, or the utter disinterest that stung the most.

Tommy plucked up one of the autumn-brown oak leaves littering the yard, twirling the dead thing slowly between his thumb and pointer finger. With his other hand, he pulled a plastic lighter from his jeans’ pocket. Drawing his knees to his chest, he drew the leaf and lighter closer together. Cradled in the tight space, a flame leapt into action on the first flick. He scanned the front yard from behind his drooping bangs, his eyes darting about furtively before they were finally drawn to the small, jittery flame. It looked so vulnerable, a beautiful, frightened thing, dancing about nervously.

Holding his breath, he slowly sank the leaf into the flame. White tendrils of smoke wafted up from the point of union, gently, but purposefully fleeing the damaging heat. Tommy’s pupils widened as the edge of the leaf blackened. A yellow/red line became an ever-widening circle consuming the leaf with increasing passion. He exhaled a long, husky breath as bursts of tiny, bright flame erupted along the burning edge.

You’re not supposed to have a lighter.

Tommy started, looking up to see Asia, the Walters’ twelve-year-old daughter. She wore a stern expression.

And? If he played it cool, maybe she wouldn’t run off and tattle.

Asia sat next to him, sharing in the spectacle of the smoldering leaf. Tommy released the trigger and the flame vanished. The half of the leaf that remained continued to smoke between his fingers, the grey tendrils growing thicker as the glowing, yellow line of the burning edge flickered and turned ashen white.

He slid the lighter back into his pants’ pocket and flicked the remainder of the leaf into the yard. A breeze caught it just before it landed, lifting it on the draft. Tumbling end over end, the leaf drifted in the air before falling back to the yard.

Why do you do that? Asia asked, her unkempt, curly blond hair falling across her eyes. Burn things.

Don’t worry about it, Tommy countered. Doesn’t matter. None of your business anyways.

Don’t you like it here? If you keep lighting things on fire, you’re gonna have to go back to... Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word.

Inexplicably shifting subjects, Asia held up a book in her hands. I’m almost finished, she said. You can borrow it if you want when I’m done.

Tommy knew the story. All the sheep at school were reading it. Some orphaned kid who’s supposed to be a great magician.

Tommy shrugged. Nah. I’m not really into that fantasy crap.

Really? This is a good book, Asia said. Tommy projected detached indifference as he often did when people got too close, but she wasn’t buying it. I think we have all of ‘em. The whole series. Bet you’d like it.

Magic’s stupid.

I think it’s fun, persisted Asia. Have you ever read it?

Dropping his chin to his chest, Tommy ran a hand through his shoulder-length, thick black hair.

Asia stood. It’s dinner time. Mom wants you to come in and get washed up. She continued to stare down at him.

He sighed. Sure, kid. Be right there.

The young girl started back along the fence toward the front door, but stopped and looked back at him. She stood there a few seconds before turning and heading into the house.

Tommy got to his feet and brushed the leaves from his pants.

Looking across at the five siblings, Tommy saw that the bike chain had yet again leapt its gears. The oldest sister was struggling to reassemble the faulty part, but it had become wedged between the rear track and the well of the wheel. No matter what she tried, the chain was stuck fast.

She threw up her arms. I can’t fix it. Pushing the bike to the ground and crossing her arms at her chest, the young girl sat on the sidewalk, staring angrily at the fallen conveyance.

The youngest four kids stood around their sister, staring helplessly at the fallen bike. Then one of the younger girls held up a finger. I know, she blurted. I’ll go get Mom. The poor thing didn’t notice the doubtful expression, disturbingly impotent, of her eldest sibling. Turning, the younger girl ran back to her house, yelling Mommy! repeatedly at the top of her lungs before disappearing through the front door.

Tommy walked along the fence toward the Walters’ front porch. As he stepped up to the entrance, he saw the younger sibling step back outside. She looked crestfallen. The other kids ran up to greet her. The little girl spoke something Tommy couldn’t hear and all their shoulders fell.

Guess they did know a thing or two about the ugliness of life.

Turning the knob, Tommy stepped into the house. He glanced over his shoulder at the children hovering helplessly around the damaged bike before shutting the door behind himself.

A few minutes later he walked back outside, a couple of wrenches and a screwdriver in his hands.

It’s time to eat, Tommy, Mr. Walters chided from inside the house.

Go ahead and start without me, Tommy answered. I’ll be right back.

He walked down the brick-covered pathway that crossed from the front porch to the sidewalk in front of their house. At the curb, he stopped to make sure there weren’t any cars coming before crossing the street and heading toward the children and their downed bicycle.

Chapter Two

With the sun high in the afternoon sky, Kelvin, the messenger elf, lay on his side, staring at the lifeless husk of the horrible goblin sprawled out before him. The cursed Uul had ambushed him, dropping from the canopy of the Yok’sey trees.

The blade protruding from the abomination’s head was without a doubt his own, though Kelvin had no recollection of besting the creature. Well, mostly besting it.

Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out the Device. His young heart sank. The shiny, black cube, featureless and smooth, sat in his hand. If it had been in working order, the piece of tech would have allowed Kelvin to communicate with the palace or look up life-saving information about treating his wounds. Unfortunately, his was ruined. A large dent warped three sides, no doubt damaged in his fight with the Uul. Kelvin ran his fingers over all the surfaces with no response. As a committed techtard, it was far beyond his skills to repair.

Absently sliding the useless Device into his bag, Kelvin’s hopes fell. He was in debilitating agony. He might even be dying, having certainly lost more than enough blood. There would be no rescue party, as his means of contacting Rossen Lye was broken. For the same reason, he could not let the palace know the goblins had returned.

The Uul have returned.

With agonizing effort, he pushed himself into a seated position against the trunk of the tree. He was a mess of cuts, bite marks, and ugly gouges continuing to bleed, adding to the azure pool beneath him. There was plenty of magic in this forest, but exhaustion and a fevered mind prevented him from using it to heal himself.

He yanked out a goblin tooth imbedded in his chest, huffing as the jagged object ripped yet another divot from his flesh. He stared at it, turning it slowly in his hand. Yellow and ragged, pieces of him were caught in the serrated edges that ran its length. A green, smoky liquid slowly beaded from large pores lining the enamel. The beads grew until they pooled, running down the tooth. He tossed the ugly thing away.

Kelvin stood. He groaned loudly, swaying.

Food. He needed to eat. And water. To drink and wash off the goblin pieces.

He must complete his mission. If he was successful, and the Prince took the throne, the Uul were finished. No more goblins.

A terrifying thought pushed through the fog crowding Kelvin’s mind. Did the goblins know the identity of the Prince? Could they get to him first? The Uul knew how to use the mirrors as well as the elves. Suddenly, he felt the weight of time smothering him. He was losing control.

Kelvin laughed. The situation had far exceeded his control quite some time ago.

Spotted sunlight littered the forest floor with moving yellow-orange stones that vanished and reappeared at the whims of the breeze.

His vision kept clouding. Only the sharp pains shooting through his body with each step momentarily cleared away the persistent, mounting haze.

Why was he walking?

The trees parted and Kelvin saw the river. Water. He needed to clean away the goblin pieces. Though only steps away, the river was insurmountably distant.

His feet sank into the cool river’s edge, the water sloshing about his calves.

The river, the trees, the wonderful blue sky all danced and swayed as Kelvin collapsed into the cradle of the flowing water.

Chapter Three

Tommy sat in one of the yellow, plastic chairs outside of Principal Ruggins’ office. The other four chairs were empty. Not surprising, since the final bell of the school day had sounded thirty minutes ago.

The door from the hallway to the waiting room swung open, and one of the janitors lumbered into the room. Tommy could feel the scrutiny of the old man upon him. The guy was huge, imposingly massive, six and a half feet tall at least. His skin was pure black. And he was uber old. Not frail old. He was far from frail. While Tommy was too intimidated to stare back at the man, he did get the impression of severely weathered skin and what struck him as a dignified presence. Tommy scrunched up his face, wondering why he would think wrinkles were dignified. Wrinkles weren’t cool. He stole a second glance. Sure enough, the wrinkles looked distinguished. The man’s eyes were another matter. They were cold and hard.

Principal Ruggins’ door swung open and his secretary, Ms. Lemming, walked out, leaving the door ajar behind her. She ignored the janitor, but fixed a suspecting eye on Tommy. The principal will see you both now, she said, her tone markedly unpleasant.

Tommy looked at the giant janitor with suspicious surprise. Why was he here?

The janitor led the way into Ruggins’ office without a glance back.

Principal Ruggins, who took to his feet when the two of them entered, gestured to the two chairs facing his desk. Mr. Puck, he said with cold austerity, please take a seat.

Tommy felt his mouth go dry as he attempted to respond. He cleared his throat instead and nodded. When he scooted into the chair it slid a few inches, making a loud, obtrusive noise. He settled into the large seat, grasping each arm tightly for fear of causing another discordant ruckus.

The principal softly cleared his throat. Tommy looked up at the man, trying desperately not to look apologetic. Principal Ruggins had a care-worn, leathery face that was a perfect square. His peppered hair, mostly grey with just hints here and there of black, was combed back.

The administrator nodded toward the janitor who stood just to the left, but slightly behind Tommy. Mr. Puck, this is Mr. Shakespeare. He’s the Head Maintenance Officer of our school. He graciously volunteers his time maintaining this establishment.

Is that like a janitor or something? Tommy asked, looking from Mr. Shakespeare to the principal.

Principal Ruggins frowned and prepared to respond when Mr. Shakespeare’s low, rumbling voice flooded the small office. It was a deep, resounding sound impossible to ignore. There was a cultured severity to it despite the underlying southern drawl.

With all due respect, Principal Ruggins, I think I can accomplish more on my own. Tommy looked back over his shoulder and found the large man’s eyes boring a hole through him. Perhaps you can find another means of teaching this, he paused, considering the boy as he would gum or toilet paper stuck to the sole of his shoe, "young man whatever discipline you think is necessary."

Yes, well I’m sure Mr. Puck is very eager to assist you these next few evenings. He put a great deal of emphasis into each of his words as he stared intently at Tommy. Principal Ruggins’ frown deepened and his brow furrowed. Aren’t you, Mr. Puck?

Tommy sat up straighter. He looked weakly from Principal Ruggins to Mr. Shakespeare, and then back at Ruggins.

Uh, yeah. Sure. He was unsure what response was expected. Since he didn’t know what the principal planned for his restitution, he sure as heck couldn’t say whether or not he was eager to participate.

Ruggins frowned. The principal leaned over his desk, placing his weight on his fists.

The alternative, Mr. Puck, will be far less conducive to your continued education. Tommy’s expression must have informed the principal he was failing to understand the full depth of the message. Principal Ruggins leaned further forward, his large knuckles popping as he did so. Your options, Mr. Puck, are to either assist Mr. Shakespeare, he looked up at the janitor and then back at Tommy, every evening of this week, with great enthusiasm, in whatever manner the Head Maintenance Officer might require, Principal Ruggins stood and folded his arms across his chest, or I will expel you.

Expel me?

I don’t think you realize just how much trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, Mr. Puck.

Ain’t no surprise there, Mr. Shakespeare said, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

You owe Mr. Walters a great deal, Ruggins continued, ignoring the janitor’s snide aside. After the stunt you pulled, and given your history, I had every intention of not only expelling you, but reporting you to the authorities. He let his words sink in. Your foster father spoke at length - and with great passion - about the potential he believed you have to rise above your past. He is a very good man, Mr. Walters. He certainly has a great deal of faith in you.

Tommy squirmed in his seat, suddenly feeling vulnerable. And, for reasons he could not fathom, angry. He felt his face flushing red.

Ruggins’ brow furrowed. He sat slowly, leaning back into the chair and folding his arms across his chest.

I don’t know whether I share Mr. Walters’ opinion of you, Mr. Puck, the principal continued, but the depth of the man’s convictions has led me, for better or worse, to give you a break.

Hmph! the janitor's doubt rumbled through the office.

You will help Mr. Shakespeare in any endeavors he puts before you, the principal spoke pointedly. You will do so in an agreeable manner, and, his eyes narrowed, if I see even a single match anywhere around you, or find a lighter on you...

Leaning back into his chair, he let the unfinished threat hang in the air.

The janitor coughed.

Do we have an understanding, Mr. Puck?

Tommy continued to brood. Unable to identify the source of his anger, he was equally incapable of squashing it. A small voice encouraged him to get his act together before he blew everything. Unfortunately, it was a lone voice amongst a chorus of adamant naysayers.

Yeah, sure. Whatever, he finally answered.

Principal Ruggins pursed his lips.

Tommy met his gaze unflinchingly. Like hell, he thought, I’m not some weak wussy. He was not afraid of the losers in juvenile detention. He had been there before and held his own just fine. The last thing he needed was this old guy’s charity, or, worse yet, pity. Self-righteous prick.

Then his mind drifted to the Walters. He recalled their kind acceptance and wondered what Mr. Walters had said to the principal. Why had he stood up for him?

His anger unexpectedly faltered. He thought of the seemingly genuine care and understanding he experienced while in the Walters’ care.

Suddenly, Tommy did not want to let Mr. Walters down. The man’s faith in him, alien and unnerving though it was, struck an unfamiliar cord. It was too absurd to entertain, but what if Mr. Walters were correct, and it was everyone before who’d got it wrong? What if he wasn’t a complete loser? That he was something other than a social outcast?

Tommy relaxed the smallest amount and felt the anger diminishing and the flush slowly draining from his face. Abruptly self-conscious, he squirmed again in the large leather chair.

Sure, Tommy started, then stopped.

He stilled his wiggling and sat up straight. What remained of the anger abruptly collapsed, leaving Tommy with a feeling he could not identify. Whatever it was frightened him. Hope, maybe?

I’ll do the best I can, Principal Ruggins. The words came from Tommy before he knew he would speak them, but they felt right. Thanks for giving me a chance, even though, well, even though I probably don’t deserve it. Tommy had never heard himself speak that way to anyone. He marveled that he was even capable of such sincerity. A burst of giddiness passed through him.

Mr. Ruggins shifted in his big chair, but did not take his eyes from Tommy. The moment lasted an interminably long time, and Tommy suspected he had blown what may have been his last chance. If Ruggins reported him to the police, they would remove Tommy from the Walters’ care and likely place him back in juvie.

The all-too familiar anger welled up within him, but, for once, Tommy knew at whom it was directed. He had gone too far this time. Now everyone else - all the people who said he would amount to nothing - would be proven correct. With pained clarity, he finally understood who was at fault for this predicament. He wanted to blame it on everyone else, all the people who put him down, beaten him, and kept him from achieving his dreams. But they hadn’t, had they? He put his dreams just out of reach. Mr. Walters had gone out on a limb for him, was the first to give him a chance, and Tommy had wasted this final opportunity.

Very well, Mr. Puck, Principal Ruggins finally said.

The young boy’s eyes widened. Huh?

Let’s see if this can’t be the start of something different for you, young man, said Principal Ruggins as he leaned forward on his desk, placing his weight on his elbows. His face softened just enough for Tommy to fully grasp that he had indeed been granted a reprieve.

He felt numb.

Let’s not let Mr. Walters down, the principal added, smiling.

Uh, yes, sir.

Ruggins settled back in his chair. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Puck, I’d like to have a word alone with Mr. Shakespeare.

Um, sure. Tommy stood, still dazed.

He walked toward the door, opened it, and started to walk out of the office. Tommy stopped inside the door frame and turned back toward both men. Principal Ruggins eyed him expectantly while Mr. Shakespeare looked displeased at the boy’s continued presence.

And, uh, thanks, Tommy added awkwardly. He felt foolish for having spoken, and quickly stepped out of the office, shutting the door.

He sat down in one of the ugly yellow chairs. Tommy was surprised at how tired he felt. For the first time he could remember, he considered the possibility that he might actually change his path. It was a slender prayer at best, sure, but he was excited at the prospect. Or, at least he thought he was excited. Maybe scared was a better word. Terrified even.

A broad smile stretched across his face.

Mr. Shakespeare’s booming, deep voice bellowed from behind the office door. His words were muffled and unintelligible, but their meaning was unmistakable. Shakespeare firmly encamped his opinion with those who came before Tommy’s newest foster father and Principal Ruggins.

Tommy looked up at the clock hanging above the entrance to the administrative office. 5:45. Only an hour and fifteen minutes before Mr. Walters would arrive to take him home. If Mr. Shakespeare’s attitude were any indication, that hour and a quarter could very well be the longest of his life.

Eventually, the principal’s door swung open and Ruggins stepped into the waiting area, followed by the towering mountain of disagreeable temperament that was the janitor.

Tommy stood quickly. The chair he sat in bumped into the wall. Thanks for giving me this chance again, Principal Ruggins, he said, perhaps too enthusiastically. I’m not going to let you down. Even to Tommy, his words sounded forced.

The principal smiled, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Ruggins let his authoritative demeanor ease, a subtle kindness momentarily lighting his eyes. This is the only chance I can give you, Mr. Puck. I trust you’ll rise to the challenge.

Tommy flushed, unaccustomed as he was to such benevolence.

Mr. Shakespeare grumbled.

Mr. Walters will be here to pick you up, the principal glanced down at his watch as his hand left Tommy’s shoulder, in roughly an hour.

Tommy glanced up at Mr. Shakespeare. The aged face with its impressive array of deep wrinkles glowered back.

Principal Ruggins continued. Until then I want you to do exactly what Mr. Shakespeare expects of you. He looked at the janitor and then again at Tommy. Do you understand?

Um, yeah. Cool.

Mr. Shakespeare rolled his eyes.

For the next five nights, you’ll go to Mr. Shakespeare’s office following final bell. Mr. Walters will pick you up each night at the gym entrance.

Tommy nodded.

Then I believe we’re finished here, the Principal concluded. He turned to Mr. Shakespeare and added: I place this boy in your hands, sir. I’m certain you have plenty of work to keep him busy.

Mr. Shakespeare’s jaw clenched.

Principal Ruggins reached up and patted the janitor on the shoulder.

Then good evening to you both. With that, the principal stepped back into his office and shut the door, leaving Tommy staring up at the very unfriendly-looking man who would be his boss for the next week of evenings.

Mr. Shakespeare unceremoniously pushed past Tommy and headed out the waiting room door into the hallway beyond.

Tommy was not sure what to do.

The large, gruff man stopped just outside the door. Without looking back, he barked, Boy, I ain’t waiting all day, and continued down the hallway at a brisk, unforgiving pace.

Keeping up with Mr. Shakespeare was no easy task. The man’s stride was impressive. For such an old guy, he sure could move. And the hallways wound on forever. Tommy broke into a hurried trot, just shy of a jog. He thought about asking Mr. Shakespeare to slow down, just a tad, but suspected it would accomplish little but make the giant dislike him