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But when Ben tried to compare the professor’s writing with the lettering on the signpost, he saw that swarms of sand-elves covered the sign. Scarcely any bigger than brimstone yellow butterflies, these elves were the color of the sand itself, with shimmering wings and hair dusted with green. They giggled and hummed as they whirred and fluttered around the sign. It made Ben quite dizzy to watch them.
“Now we’re in trouble,” muttered Sorrel. “Big trouble!”
A little group of the featherweight elves left the main swarm and flew toward Firedrake. They settled on his spines, his nose, and his horns. Some of them fluttered around Ben and Sorrel, too, giggling as they pinched their cheeks, tugged their hair, and pulled their ears.
Twigleg drew his head in until only his nose was visible between the buttons of Ben’s jacket. “Young master!” he cried. “Young master!”
But what with all the twittering and giggling of the elves, Ben couldn’t hear the manikin. He sat there entranced and watched the shimmering little creatures.
“Well, do you like them up close?” whispered Sorrel.
Ben nodded. An elf tickled him under the chin, putting out its tiny yellow tongue. Then it settled on his knee, winking at him. Ben marveled at its brightly colored wings.
“Hey, you!” Sorrel looked over Ben’s shoulder at the elf. “Would you be kind enough to move off that signpost? We have to see if the road down there is the right way for us.”
The sand-elf crossed its legs, folded its wings, and grinned at the brownie girl.
“No, it’s not the right way,” it twittered. “Absolutely not.”
Ben looked down at it in surprise. “How do you know?” he asked.
“Because it’s the wrong way,” replied the little creature, winking at him again. “Undeniably. One-deniably, two-deniably, three-deniably wrong. See?”
The elf was then overcome by such a fit of the giggles that it almost fell off Ben’s knee. Sorrel groaned.
“Which way should we go then?” asked Ben.
“Go any way anyday,” replied the elf. “Just not that way, no way should you go thataway.”
“Oh,” muttered Ben, baffled.
A second sand-elf flew up and perched on the shoulders of the first, grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear. “What’s up, Mukarrib?”
“They want to go the wrong way,” twittered Mukarrib. “Tell them it’s the wrong way, Bilqis!”
“He’s right, it’s the wrong way!” twittered Bilqis immediately. “In fact, I’d say it’s the wrongest way of all, no doubt about it.”
“I can’t stand this!” growled Sorrel. “If those silly little flitterbugs don’t get off that signpost this minute, I’ll —”
“What did your friend say?” Mukarrib asked. “Should we take offense?”
Three more elves flew up and settled on Ben’s shoulders, giggling.
“N-no, of course not!” stammered Ben. “She just meant you have pretty wings.”
Flattered, the sand-elves giggled, and one fluttered down to settle on Ben’s hand. Enchanted, he lifted the little creature in the air to look at it more closely. It weighed no more than a feather. But when the boy carefully raised his other hand to touch its iridescent wings all the elves flew away.
Firedrake turned his head around to them. “What next, Sorrel?” he asked. The little creatures were turning somersaults all over his spines.
“You could shoo them off with a puff of dragon-fire,” suggested Sorrel. “I’ve no idea how they’d react, but we have to get moving.”
The dragon nodded. Then Twigleg suddenly reached his arm out from under Ben’s jacket and pinched the boy’s hand.
“Ouch!” cried Ben, looking down at the homunculus in surprise.
“Young master!” whispered Twigleg. “Young master, I know how to get rid of them. Lift me up!”
Luckily the elves were occupied with sliding down Firedrake’s tail. Mukarrib and Bilqis were turning cartwheels in the air, and the three elves who had perched on Ben’s shoulders were dancing around and around in the air above Sorrel’s head. Ben took Twigleg out of his jacket and put him on his shoulder.
