Publisher's blurb: The villagers gather around the deathbed of Geolur Ead the miner. His breathing has grown labored. His skin has acquired the telltale bright-orange of the poison's spread. The curse is upon him. "We went into the mines," he wheezes. "We discovered a new branch, and crossed for a mile until we were under Mushroom Moor. That's when the others started shaking. I felt it, too. Walls closing in on me, voices in my head. My mates panicked and turned bright-orange. I told them to run, but they screamed and did that Dance of the Orange Leprechaun." The retelling causes his body to erupt in hives. "It must have been those evil leprechauns guarding Dripping in Gold palace. We must have been close to their treasure!" For a moment, there is a gleam of faint hope in his eyes. "Come! I'll lead you there!" Ead pleas. "There's enough riches for ..." he abruptly stops and stands up rigid in bed. His arms and legs bend in painful positions, as if he is a marionette forced into jerky, frenetic movements of explosive energy. The dance--with its high kicks and rapid jigs--is mesmerizing, even perhaps beautiful, if you don't know what's next. "It's there!" Ead howls. "Dripping in Gold!" And then the miner collapses limp, silent, and dead.