back in her old shirt and skirt. Her hair remained untangled and shiny.
“Don’t know why you did that,” observed Koszmar. “You looked quite—”
“Shut up, Kosz,” Lukasz cut in.
“Come,” said the Leszy. “Let me introduce my family.”
A lawn stretched ahead of them, with a wooden table in the middle. A hundred miniature versions of the Leszy crowded around it, each with a slightly shorter beard and a slightly smaller stomach. They stood on their chairs, screaming at each other at the top of their lungs. One little Leszy was quiet, but only because he was focused on inserting a noodle up his nose.
The little Leszys squalled, and food flew thick and fast over their tiny heads. Another Leszy, identical to their guide, was running up and down the length of the table, pausing periodically to wallop the little Leszys with a chicken leg.
“This is my family,” declared the Leszy proudly. “That is my wife, the lovely Leszachka.” The bearded Leszy paused in walloping the little Leszys. She took a bite out of the chicken leg by way of greeting. “And these pint-sized delights are my children, the Leshonki.”
The Leshonki leapt up and down on their chairs and beat their chests with tiny fists. A hundred tiny clubs swung through the air. A hundred tiny voices whooped.
Leszy chuckled proudly and snapped his fingers.
The table transformed. Tureens refilled with soup, plates of potatoes and pierogi rattled as they appeared, and three enormous pork roasts landed on the table with a thud. Babka, chocolate puddings, and angel wing pastries materialized from one end of the table to the other, along with baskets of oranges and whole bushels of grapes.
The Leshonki sat down with their clubs on the floor and their hands folded in their laps. Seamlessly, they morphed from eight dozen miniature monsters into eight dozen perfect sons. They looked princely with their pressed shirts and clean faces, even though one of them still had a noodle up his nose.
Leszachka also disappeared in a burst of flames. Lukasz heard Felka gasp as the fire cleared to reveal a ten-foot-tall woman with black hair and a deep green gown, relaxed at the far end of the table. Empty chairs, wrought of gold with cushions of purple velvet, sprang out from either side of the table.
“Come, friends,” said the Leszy, seating himself at the head of the table and tossing his club over his shoulder. “Let us eat and be merry.”
As he threw away his club, the Leszy grew tall. He stepped down off the chair to seat himself in it. Only he was no longer the Leszy, but a kingly man with gray-brown hair and a beard and lines at the corner of his eyes. Like his wife, he was ten feet tall.
“We must put on our dinner attire for you,” he said with a wink, and gestured to the newly appeared chairs. Without his bandy legs and potbelly, he had a somewhat less insane air about him.
It made Lukasz trust him less.
He lowered himself gingerly into a chair next to Jakub, leaning the rifle against one gilded arm. Jakub glanced sideways at him, and Lukasz wondered if the Unnaturalist was equally suspicious.
What could this . . . god want?
Across the table, Ren collapsed into a couch-sized chair, Ry? and Czarn curling up on either side of her. Her hands fell to her brother’s head, and with a furrowed brow, she ran her fingers over his ears. On her other side, Koszmar was seated next to a little Leshonki who immediately poked him in the ribs.
“Ow!” yelped Koszmar. He shoved the little Leshonki, and a half dozen chairs toppled like dominoes.
“Koszmar,” cautioned Jakub.
Koszmar folded his arms.
“He started it,” he sulked.
The little Leshonki resurfaced from under the table, grinning evilly.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Leszy’s children began to serve the guests. On either side, everyone ate feverishly, while still more feverishly the Leshonki refilled their plates. Lukasz kept farther back from the table than the others, one ankle crossed over his knee.
He watched very carefully before he even took a bite. He wished Franciszek were there. Franciszek would have read about this creature. He would have known what to do.
“So,” began the Leszy, gesturing expansively. “What brings you into my forest?”
“We’re on our way to the Moving Mountains,” said Ren. “To slay the Golden Dragon.”
Lukasz watched the Leszy drench a piece of chocolate cake in gravy and devour the whole thing with relish.
“The Dragon, my, my,” chortled the Leszy. “Selected quite the beastie, haven’t you? Wouldn’t