Right, so here's the thing. When DAVE dropped the word "leprechauns," I thought I'd gone daft. Seriously, bloody leprechauns? But no, that giant glowing crystal doubled down, like it was announcing the weather.
"Yes, Captain Montgomery Scott. The first batch of leprechauns is ready to enter service," it said, all prim and proper, like some posh salesman hawking a dodgy vacuum.
"What the hell did you just say?" I barked, damn near choking on my own spit.
Robert, cool as a cucumber, waved me off. "Easy, Scotty. You'll see." He nodded at DAVE. "Bring one out."
Now, I've seen some wild shite: rock gorillas the size of tanks, floating orbs, a tower stuffed with magic gear. But this? This was a whole new level of barking mad. I crossed my arms, waiting for some gnarly little gremlin to pop up and start cackling.
Then it happened. A flash of gold light, soft, warm, like a good dram catching the sun. Out struts this tiny bloke, barely three feet tall. Green coat, gold trim, boots polished to a shine, and, aye, you guessed it, a bloody top hat. Straight out of a St. Paddy's Day bender, but he had a presence. Not just some daft prank.
"I'm Finn MacGold, at yer service!" he chirped, bowing so low his hat nearly hit the deck. His voice had a singsong lilt, like he'd start belting a tune any second.
I gawked. Then I laughed, couldn't help it. "That's a leprechaun?" I shot at Robert, jabbing a thumb at Finn. "You're pulling my leg, aye?"
Finn snapped upright, giving me a look that was half pride, half cheek, "Aye, I'm a leprechaun. And you're Scotty, the mouthy one. Good to meet ya." He stuck out a wee hand. Small as it was, his grip was solid when I took it. Respect.
Robert smirked, arms crossed, giving me that "wait for it" stare he's mastered. "Finn's one of the first. They're heading out to spread some joy and magic. Show folk magic's not all doom and gloom."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Joy? What else, tricks? Thievery?"
Finn's grin widened, pure mischief. "Tricks, sure. But only for the bastards who earn 'em. Boons for the decent lot. That's how we roll."
I'll admit, I was hooked, "Right, then. Prove it. Show me what you've got."
Finn's eyes lit up. He sized me up, smirking like he'd already got my number. With a flick of his wrist, golden light swirled round me. When it cleared, my boots gleamed like they'd been spit-shined for hours, and my uniform was crisp as a fresh bill, bloody hell.
"Good as gold," Finn said with a wink.
I let out a belly laugh, slappin' my thigh. "Well, I'll be damned, you wee gremlin, that's pure class! Ready for inspection!" I shook my head, thinkin' of them old tales where leprechauns'd curse ye for stealin' their gold, vindictive little buggers who'd make ye pay with cruel tricks if ye crossed 'em.
Robert's face went stern. "They're for the people, Scotty. Bring some hope back. Magic's got to be a friend, not a bogeyman. The Warlock's out there stirring up terror with his beasts. These leprechauns? They're our counterpunch."
I nodded, slow-like. Smart move. "A charm offensive with pots of gold," I muttered.
Finn tipped his hat. "Happy you're on board, Captain."
So, aye, leprechauns. Real as the dirt under my boots. And, don't tell Robert, I reckon he's onto something. Just keep your coin purse close, eh?
Robert had DAVE call in the rest. Twenty-five, maybe thirty of the little buggers. A proper Irish fairy tale lineup, all introducing themselves. I'll not forget that sight if I live to a hundred.
They're yammering away, "Finn MacGold!" "Quinn MacBold!" "Winn MacSold!" "Tinn MacCold!" on and on, a bloody rhyming parade. I elbowed Robert, "What in the blazes, are their names all gonna rhyme like some daft nursery song?" Finn chuckled warmly, "Aye, Captain, 'tis our way to keep things lively, a wee rhyme to brighten yer day!"
Bowing, tipping hats, grinning like lunatics. I nearly pissed my shiny new trousers laughing. It was like a pub singalong gone off the rails. Couldn't dream this up sober.
Then Robert whips out a map, lining 'em up one by one. Points out cities across Britain: big ones get three, midsize get two, small towns get one. London scores four, the lucky sods. A spy network in green coats.
He tells me they'll report to DAVE if they spot trouble, so we can swoop in. I'm thinking, how? No radios, no nothing. So I ask.
"They're leprechauns," Robert says, smug as hell. "Watch." He gives 'em a nod, good luck, fair winds, and one after another, they grab their noses and squat. Aye, squat.
Pop! Like bubble gum bursting, and they're gone, teleporting little devils, leaving behind a shower of confetti, a shimmer of glitter, or a spray of bubbles with each vanish. I jumped back, nearly trippin' over my own boots, "Bloody hell, they're like bleedin' ninjas!" Robert just laughed.
Robert's grinning like he's won the lottery. I chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're alright, boss."
He chats with DAVE, sets up a cushy spot for the leprechauns to crash when they're back, luxury digs, the works. DAVE says they'll triple our gold output weekly. Weekly!
But then he delivers the bad news: "Sir, they eat up the magical budget. We're in the red now, month from now, we're skint with the piddly tax we've got." I whistled low, "That's a right mess, ain't it?"
Robert rubs his chin, then eyes me. "We need more taxpayers. Come on, Scotty, let's rally your lot. Town meeting time."
I wave at DAVE, figure he'll catch it, and he pulses light back. Good enough. We're headed for the portal, but I'm itching to hit that training dungeon.
Then DAVE shouts, "Sir! Wait! Someone's coming out the dungeon!"
Robert spins round. "Langston?"
And out steps a sight I never saw coming. This lad's every inch the nerd: glasses, greasy hair, button-up shirt, red suspenders holding up tweed trousers. But he's got this gauntlet: gears, chips, metal plates, golden wires sparking like a live wire.
He waves at Robert, and the thing buzzes. Then he straightens up, and it's like some comic book switch, shoulders broad, legs busting those trousers. Muscular. Proper handsome now that he's not slouching.
He nods at me, curious. "Who's the gun jockey?"