"We've been trawling the tar pit some more," Newel began.
"We know you feel uncomfortable about removing valuables from Fablehaven," Doren said.
"But what if we found something you could use here?" Newel proposed. He rummaged in a large, coarse gunnysack and removed a metal breastplate, smoky gray, with a rich sheen.
"Whoa," Seth said, sitting up.
"I know," Doren said. "How cool is that?"
"Seth, this spell-forged breastplate is composed of adamant," Newel explained, turning it over in his hands. "The lightest, strongest magical alloy ever devised. In bygone days, wars were waged to obtain armor of this quality. A wealthy lord would have gladly emptied his treasury in exchange for a piece like this."
Doren motioned toward the armor. "These days, an article like this is considerably rarer. The breastplate is absolutely priceless."
"What do you want for it?" Seth asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
Newel and Doren exchanged a glance. Doren nodded and Newel spoke. "We were thinking 96 size C batteries."
Seth had to resist an urge to laugh. Would they really part with precious armor for batteries? "Let me see it."
Newel handed the breastplate to Seth. It felt almost as light as plastic, but when he tried to bend it, the metal was unyielding.
"What do you think?" Doren asked.
"Feels kind of flimsy," Seth said. Wearing his best bargaining face, he examined the armor suspiciously.
"Flimsy?" Newel exclaimed. "Hugo couldn't scratch it with a sledgehammer. The light weight is part of the value. Without restricting your freedom of movement, that breastplate will turn any blade, stop any arrow."
"Why do I need armor?" Seth said, deliberately giving them a hard time. "I'm not a knight. This may have been the ultimate prize back in the olden days, but guys, any object is only as valuable as a buyer is willing to pay."
Newel and Doren leaned together and conferred quietly.
"Seventy-two batteries is our final offer," Newel declared.
Seth shrugged. "Look, I've known you guys for a while now. And I like you. But I don't know. I bet Nero would give you some gold for this."
"Didn't you get the news flash?" Newel said, grinding his teeth. "Gold no longer buys batteries."
"We really need batteries," Doren begged. "We're missing so many shows."
Seth worked hard to resist a smile. The satyrs were desperate. They were normally much savvier negotiators. "I'll have to sleep on it."
"He's toying with us," Doren accused, eyes narrow. "He's enjoying this. Who wants to be a knight more than Seth Sorenson?"
"You're onto him," Newel agreed, holding out a hand to Seth. "Give it back."
Seth burst into laughter. "You guys need to lighten up."
"We were trying to have a serious conversation," Newel said stiffly, beckoning for the armor with his fingers. "You're right, Seth. Value is subjective. Since nobody wants it, we'll just go chuck the armor back in the tar pit."
Seth cleared his throat and assumed a serious expression. "Upon further reflection, I've decided to accept your offer."
"Ouch, too bad," Doren lamented. "The sale just ended."
Newel yanked the breastplate out of Seth's grasp. "The price just shot up to 120 batteries. Surely much more than a disinterested onlooker like yourself would be willing to provide."
"Okay, look," Seth said, trying not to sound nervous. "The breastplate is really sweet. And it could come in handy. I shouldn't have teased you. I know your lack of batteries stresses you out. I was just bored, so I was trying to be a tough negotiator."
"You're our only battery supplier," Newel said. "We've been racking our brains over this. You can't tease us like that. Not about batteries."
"The more TV we get, the more we need," Doren explained.
Seth raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you guys are spending too much time in front of the tube. It's making you grouchy. Grandpa might be right. Maybe you should take some time off and learn to appreciate nature."
"We've spent the last four thousand years appreciating nature," Newel groaned. "We get it. Plants are pretty and smell nice. For us, the new and exotic frontier is season finale cliff-hangers."
"It's your life," Seth said. "Look, of course I want the armor. But the Society is after us like never before, so it may take a couple of weeks before I can make it to a store. If you give me the priceless breastplate, I'll score you guys 120 C batteries as soon as possible."
"Done," Newel said, tossing the breastplate back to Seth.
"We fitted it with straps so you can wear it home," Doren said.
"Can I come out now?" a voice inquired from behind Seth.
"Sure," Newel replied.
"Verl?" Seth said, twisting in his hammock.
The cow-spotted satyr skipped into view, holding a large rectangular object bundled in brown paper. "I need your help."
"Where were you?" Seth asked.
"Crouching behind a snowdrift. Newel said I had to keep out of sight until they concluded business with you. What are batteries, by the way?"
"Tiny cylinders of power," Doren said. "Don't strain your brain."
"Right," Verl said, peeling back the brown paper to reveal the object in his hands. It was a canvas with a large image of Kendra's face rendered in charcoal.
"Wow," Seth said. "That looks pretty realistic. You drew it?"
"Along with many others," Verl admitted timidly. "At first I produced pictures of us together: on a carousel, rowing in a canal, waltzing at a ball. Doren warned me I was trying too hard. I finally settled on this striking vision of my muse. What better way to declare my affection than to simply revel in her beauty? Would you be so kind as to deliver it?"
"No problem," Seth said, grinning.
"I blush to think of her beholding my work," Verl confessed, handing over the canvas.
"So do we," Newel assured him.
"She'll love it," Seth said, trying to accept the canvas. Verl would not let go.
"You sure, Verl?" Doren taunted. "Pretty mushy stuff. Stan won't like it."
Verl released his hold on the picture. "Yes, I'm sure. Take it to Kendra with my highest regards."
Seth felt and heard a rumbling that built into words. Come to me, Seth.
Seth stared at Newel and Doren. "Did you guys hear that?"