Page 11 of Ellie and the Prince
The boys mumbled their names, spelling them when necessary. She’d been right—the redheads were brothers, and all three were lords’ sons from Rathvilly. Then Torbjorn waded out waist-deep and passed their gear to Ellie, who stowed the small tackle box in her storage compartment and laid the fishing poles across her lap.
“Is this everything?” she asked.
The boys nodded.
“What did you use for bait?” the man asked.
“We dug worms in the garden,” the youngest boy, Brian, answered warily.
“That was stealing. Put them back where they belong.”
Ellie bit her lip to prevent a smile. “He’s right,” she said. “I’m sure you did not have permission to dig worms.”
“The guy is cracked!” Quinn, the big brother, muttered. “Clean off his nut!”
Which may well be true, Ellie mused. On the plus side, the boys didn’t dare defy her authority while the big vigilante loomed near. No need to use her magic. She ordered, “Now you boys head directly to the dock and turn in your boat. I must report your offense to Bence, my supervisor.”
The dark-haired boy, Desmond, spoke up. “We need our oars back. He took ’em.”
As the man waded back to the shore where he’d tossed the oars, Ellie saw something large and gray break the water’s surface not far behind him. A fish? She was jumpy after that lake-serpent encounter.
Then, when Torbjorn waded back out to return the oars, the creature appeared again, bumping him in the side. “Back off a minute,” she heard him say. To the fish?
Its head appeared at the surface beside him, revealing a wide mouth, small yellow eyes, and trailing whiskers.
“Whoa! I didn’t know there were fish that size in this lake,” Quinn said.
“That’s a monster catfish,” said Desmond with awe.
Monster? These kids had no idea what lurked in these waters. A close-up glimpse of the lake serpent might put them off fishing for life!
Once he’d handed over the oars and the coiled mooring line, the man Torbjorn reached out to rub the catfish’s broad head. “He’s no monster. He’s a pet. Years ago, he was hooked by another illegal fisherman”—he pointed to a notch in the fish’s broad lip—“but someone rescued him. And he’s smart. I haven’t been here in six years, yet this fish still remembers me.”
“No way!” Desmond said. “I didn’t know fish could think.”
“And they’re protected by law.” Torbjorn spoke with calm authority. “From now on, hunt fish with a camera. Maybe you could make friends with one like Fathoms here.”
“I’ll put the worms back in the garden, mister,” Brian piped up.
Torbjorn nodded approval.
Desmond started rowing, and Brian waved to the fish man. “Goodbye!” he called. “Goodbye, Fathoms.” The fish swam after the boat, that big head plowing through the waves, and Brian reached over the side to touch its slimy back. Only Quinn still looked sulky by the time the boat moved out of sight.
Ellie turned to the fish guardian. “I appreciate your assistance, sir.”
Standing there in the reedy water, Torbjorn bowed slightly, then for the first time focused on her. “Have there been any siren incidents recently? I mean, do they still live on the island?”
“Why do you ask?” Her guard went up. She backed her scooter, keeping her eyes on him.
“I need to know.” The catfish returned and butted against the man’s arm. He absently put his arm around its thick body.
“The sirens are still around.” She wanted to add “unfortunately” but restrained herself. This guy needed watching, she mused. He was either a genius or a wack job. Maybe both. “Thanks again for the help.”
She drove away, leaving Tor among the reeds with his catfish. What a strange dude! At the docks she tied up her scooter, unloaded the tackle box and awkwardly carried three fishing poles toward the lifeguard station. “Whoa,” was Bence’s comment when she stacked her booty in a corner of the shed.
“Did the boys turn themselves in?” she asked. “I have their names. If they gave me false names, I can identify their faces.”
“They did come.” He gave her a look. “Did you enchant them?”
