"Well, now, that's just lost me," Sarah said helplessly, turning to me for translation.

I winked at the old man. "Really? Bad, is it?"

"Aye. 'Tis evil." He winked back at me, and spat again.

"That's a common fallacy, you know," I said, tucking away the notebook. Beside me, Sarah groaned. "Although faery rings have been considered places of enchantment for many centuries, they aren't really made by faeries. They are the result of a fungal growth pattern. Mushrooms, you know?"

The man blinked at me. Sarah tugged on my shirt and tried to pull me to the car she'd rented for the duration of our trip.

"I know this area is rich in folklore, and faery rings certainly have their share of believers, but I'm afraid the truth is much more mundane. It turns out that there are three distinct types of rings, and that the effects on the grass depend on the type of fungus growing there, although not all rings are visible…"

"Ignore her, she's a heathen," Sarah said, yanking me toward the car. "Thank you for your help! Have a good day!"

The old man waved a gnarled hand, spat again, and hobbled past us toward the pub.

"You are so incorrigible! Honestly, spouting off all that stuff about fungus to that very colorful old man."

I got into the car, taking a moment to readjust myself to the English-style cars. "Hey, you started this bet, not me. I'm just doing my part to win serious 'I told you so' rights. Ready?"

"Just a sec…oh, whew. Thought I'd forgotten this." Sarah folded a wad of photocopied pages and stuck them in her coat pocket. "I can't wait to see what effect these spells have on the faery ring!"

"I am obliged by reason to point out that some weird quasi-Latin words found in a Victorian book on magic are not very likely to have any result other than making your friend and companion don a long-suffering look of martyrdom."