Somewhere Over the Rainbow Detector

By Arlan Gerig

Most people believe rainbows are formed by light refracting through water droplets. They’re wrong. Rainbows are ingenious GPS trackers developed by leprechauns to locate hidden treasures.

It’s time to test my newest invention and prove my hypothesis.

Astride my Harley chopper, I peer through misty rain, scanning the sky for rainbows. I’ve settled beneath a rural Ohio overpass to watch the edge of the storm roll away. I point my Rainbow Detector––the RD––at gloomy skies as the rain ends. The clouds part, light pours through, and my RD beeps like crazy.

At last! A chance to prove the existence of leprechauns and snag some gold to fund future inventions.

A beautiful arc of colors forms overhead. I adjust some dials as the RD’s screen blips and calculates. The rainbow’s origin comes from a cornfield, and it ends behind an abandoned red barn.

Balancing the RD between my knees, I tuck my umbrella under one arm, start my chopper, and peel rubber down Ohio’s Route 598 toward the barn. I can almost feel the cold, smooth gold between my fingers.

The rainbow shifts as I draw close, but my RD shows the right location. It beeps faster, and my heart rate increases with it.

My bike skids around the barn. I hit the brakes, and the front tire narrowly avoids a green-suited leprechaun wearing an eye patch, black boots, and a complementing black hat.

“Aye, matey,” the leprechaun grumbles, waving his spade at me. “Watch yer crazy antics. Ya got no business driving yer cycle like Captain Ahab chasin’ his white whale, ya hear?”

I mute my RD and park my motorcycle. The leprechaun squints, trying to hide his shovel behind his back. A small muddy mound sits beside him. My attention gravitates to that spot.

“My apologies.” I smile and bow. “Testing my new device and I found my first leprechaun. I suspect you’re digging up gold.”

He glares and adjusts his eye patch. “I’ve got me crew joining in a jiffy, so ya best mosey away before ya walks the plank, if ya catch me drift.”

My smile falters. My research never mentioned pirate leprechauns.

“According to leprechaun tradition,” I say, “the wealth uncovered when someone stumbles across the rainbow’s end belongs to the human discoverer. In this case, that’s me.”

The leprechaun chortles. “Captain Orangebeard ain’t never paid attention to tradition, leprechaun nor otherwise. Ya been readin’ the wrong books if ya think I’ll give ya treasure that’s been buried since Viking Captain Olaf stuck it here a millennium ago. ’Twas one of the first leprechauns here, and his treasure belongs to me!”

I nod. “It’s possible Vikings traveled this far into North America, but it’s taken a thousand years to find his treasure?”

Orangebeard plunges his spade into the thick mud. “No one knew Olaf was here till recently, ya human whalebait. I used me own rainbow tracker when conditions were right. Now give me space.”

He scoops the mud onto my shoes. I step back, but I’m not leaving, not when ancient gold coins worth millions are on the line.

He digs up five more shovelfuls.

I fake a yawn. “I’m wondering where your crew is. Your ship’s nowhere in sight. This could take a long time by yourself.”

He stops, grumbling pirate obscenities under his breath. “Whatcha gettin’ at, whalebait?”

“I can help you dig and we’ll split the treasure. No tricks, no gimmicks.”

Orangebeard sneers. “Like I’d make that kinda deal with human scum. When me crew arrives, yer certain to walk der fearsome plank at thirty thousand feet.”

I stroke my chin. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. You must have a flying ship to be here without any significant bodies of water for two hundred miles. And your crew must have dropped you off to avoid suspicion, since a large flying boat would attract all kinds of attention. However, they haven’t returned, so that could mean they’ve mutinied and you’re stuck here all alone. Am I close?”

More pirate obscenities, a little louder this time. “Ya got the main points, ya conniving seagull. But with Olaf’s treasure, I can buy a new boat and crew and still make ya walk the plank.”

I examine my fingernails. “This could go faster if we work together. Your choice, of course.”

He continues shoveling.

I turn to the abandoned barn. Inside, it retains the dank, musty smell of old hay and horse manure. Rusty items hang on the wall, a shovel among them. I grab it, return to Orangebeard, and lean on the shovel.

After several muddy scoops, he stops, takes a breath, and scowls. “Okay, whalebait. Ya can help, but ya only gets a third of dis here treasure. Flying ships don’t come cheap.”

“Deal.”

We shake hands and start digging. Within half an hour, we’ve made good progress. My next shovel stab strikes with a metallic clank. We lock eyes, then feverishly dig faster.

We uncover a metal trunk and together haul it from its hiding place. It’s locked, but with a single shovel smack, one rusty latch breaks. Orangebeard pries open the lid. It gives an ear-piercing creak.

Inside are a score of earthen jars. I grab one, open it, and sniff. I cough and hand it to him.

My shoulders droop. “How much do you think twenty jars of thousand-year-old Viking ale will bring us?”

Orangebeard sniffs and groans, tossing it in the mud. “Not even the thirstiest Irishman would drink this swill. I’ve got Pegleg’s buried treasure tracked a couple leagues from here, so I’ll be moseying on. Dontcha follow me.”

He takes four steps, spade over his shoulder, before he turns back.

I smirk. “You need a ride?”

He glowers. “Possibly, ya oversized guppy, but don’t be gettin’ coy. I don’t normally work with humans.”

He climbs behind me onto the growling chopper. I flip on my RD, grin, and burn rubber down Route 598.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arlan Gerig has stories published in Havok, Every Day Fiction, and the Animal Kingdom anthology. Arlan recently fulfilled a goal: a Bahamas mission trip to help Haitian refugees. When he’s not reading a great book, writing flash fiction, or bringing wizard apprentice Gwynfar to life in a YA fantasy novel, Arlan enjoys walking his two pit mixes around his Ohio neighborhood.

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