Three months had passed since Giggleton signed Horace's contract and the prince had heard nothing. Instincts told him Giggleton had long since found the Gem Maker and his spies informed him of the goblin's increased wealth and sudden home improvements. With a vast estate of his own, Horace knew it cost far more than he had paid the goblin to live in such luxury. It was time to visit Giggleton and check on his investment.

After arriving in a thick, green fog, Prince Horace slipped his silver coin into his pocket and set off to find the fortress. As he wove between the trees, Horace caught the faint whiff of a campfire. With a few sniffs, he wandered further into the woods, tracking the trail of smoke as the smell grew stronger—until he stumbled across a pixie. How amazing! Agnes would be thrilled.

With light steps, the wicked imp crept up on the unsuspecting Pixie.

*

The crack of twigs made Pickles jump to his feet. He spun around in time to see the silhouette of someone nasty lurking among the trees.

"Who's there?" Pickles said, trying to decide whether to run for his life.

"You should know who I am," Horace replied, edging closer. "Everyone knows who I am."

Pickles shivered with the sudden chill that washed down his spine and into his toes.

"I don't."

A gentle breeze blew through the woods, carrying the tree's whispers.

Run little pixie... poor little pixie.

"I am Prince Horace. Ruler of the Imp Empire."

Horace's yellow eyes glowed in the shadows, and when he blinked, he momentarily vanished.

"Why are you here?"

"I am visiting an old friend. Are you very brave, pixie?" Horace asked, tapping his claws together. "You must be to ask so many questions."

Pickles was terrified, but Hex wasn't far away, and if he kept Prince Horace talking, maybe the sorcerer would save him. Pickles raised his chin in defiance.

"I'm not afraid of you," he lied, unable to control the trembling that began with his knees and spread to his back. Soon his whole body shook.

"Then why are you shaking?" Horace stepped into the daylight.

The fear Pickles felt was paralysing. Starved of light, Horace's grey, scaly skin swallowed the sun's rays and any hope of rescue.

"Tell me your name?" Horace grinned at Pickles. Not in a friendly manner, but in a way to make a creatures flesh crawl.

Pickles gulped at the imps' sharp teeth. "Pickles," he muttered.

"It's most fortunate I stumbled across you, Pickles."

The pixie couldn't bare to ask why.

"Agnes adores children. Mummy loves them so much she collects them."

Now, Pickles asked, "Why?"

"To add to her collection."

"She collects children?"

"Yes... to transform into dolls. Mummy has hundreds of dolls, each one perfectly preserved and displayed. You will make a wonderful addition."

Pickles stepped back and glanced to his left. The forest floor was treacherous, covered with slippery moss and twisted tree roots spread out like claws waiting to snag and trip him.
In a gust of wind, the tree's rustled.
Hurry, hurry.... Run sweet pixie.

With no sign of Hex, Pickles did as the trees said. He ran and didn't dare look back. He sprinted past trees and leapt over roots and rocks. Branches tore at his clothes and flesh, scratching his face. Pickles ran until his lungs burned. Lost and alone, he staggered from the forest.

For the first time in his life, Pickles was free. With no Hex to give him orders, he followed the Brook of Spells, hoping to find his way back to Pixie Village.

*

Horace had watched as Pickles bolted through the trees. The foolish creature believed he could escape. But Horace had an uncanny ability to track and capture runaways. And when he did, there were two punishments, his Maze of Monsters or Agnes. With thoughts of tracking and punishment, he turned his focus to more pressing matters and continued towards Giggleton's fortress.

To Horace's amazement, Giggleton had conjured a wall of thorns around his home. Where the goblin had learned such advanced magic was a mystery. The twisted vines wrapped around each other, creating a formidable defence. No doubt to keep him out. But that was futile. With a growl of annoyance, Horace pierced the brambles with his sharp, venomous claw. Instantly, rot spread through the enchanted plants, clearing a path for the imp.

Horace glared at the fortress, taking a moment to absorb what his money had paid for, and as his anger simmered, he imagined hurling Giggleton into his dark, damp underground maze. Filled with a wicked magic his maze was impossible to survive. A tingle of excitement accompanied his vivid daydream. But before dealing with Giggleton, Horace had an unruly dragon to punish.

*

Rufus enjoyed the autumn almost as much as the summer. Rain and frost gave him the chance to practise his skills. Giggleton had banned him from fire breathing in the summer to avoid wildfires, but in the winter, when the ground was wet or frozen, he could breathe as much fire as he liked.

Busy singeing the grass, Rufus had no notion of the present danger until it was upon him.

"Rufus," Horace hissed. "I have a bone to pick with you."

The dragon's fire fizzled into a puff of smoke and cautiously he turned to face Prince Horace.

"Prince Horace, what are you doing here?"

Rufus knew he was in trouble. He had told Giggleton to hand the Gem Maker over. No amount of riches was worth a slow, painful death at the hands of Horace, or worse, Agnes.

Horace scowled at the dragon. "Did you and that no good goblin believe I wouldn't keep tabs on you? Did you think me so foolish I wouldn't know Rose is here?"

Rufus struggled to find any excuse because Horace spoke the truth. With only one viable option, he lowered his gigantic body and rested his head on the ground before the prince.

"Submission will not save you!" Horace said. But a sly grin replaced his snarl. The dragon's behavior was quite endearing and for once, he felt compelled to be merciful.

Rufus whimpered and widened his already enormous eyes.

Horace folded his arms. Unable to punish such a woeful creature, he said, "Oh, very well. Be gone before I change my mind."

The dragon didn't wait to be told twice. Without hesitation, he flapped his wings and shot into the air.

Horace watched as Rufus became a distant speck on the horizon and then he headed inside Giggleton's fine home.

Word Count 5463