by Rick Johnson
Helga and Tē’d’Tē ran back to where Christer waited with the blazing torches.
“Won’t need the torches now,” Helga said, “those dragons were off like lightning.”
“What in ’tarn’t have you got now?” Christer exclaimed as they reached him. “Who’s that giant with you?” he asked, eyeing the tall newcomer.
“Don’t stand there with your eyeballs bouncin’ off the floor,” Helga replied. “You can’t pick and choose when desperate does the choosin’—but desperate picked a good one this time. This is Tē’d’Tē—saved my hide plain and simple back there. Now give her the welcome she deserves.”
Putting the torches back in their holders, Christer thumped Tē’d’Tē on the back. “That’ll have to serve as welcome for now,” he said, “but any friend of Helga’s, is a friend of us all. Lookin’ to the future, I’m happy to meet you—but lookin’ at the present, we’d better get movin’.” Turning, he headed down the passageway, motioning for them to follow.
As they walked hurriedly after Christer, Helga asked Tē’d’Tē, “What’s all this ‘Sweet Ella’ stuff?”
“My given name is Elizat Tammy, but I never liked that name, and when I was a wee beast, because I was big and muscular, my friends called me Tam’d Tank. It stuck.”
“Well, you’ve certainly made good use of your muscles,” Helga.
“I’m a lot more than muscles,” Tē’d’Tē replied, “always have been. And, I always make good use of all of me. You’d do well to remember that.”
“O.K., whatever,” Helga said.
“No, I mean it,” Tē’d’Tē answered. “You’re going to need all of me to get out of here alive—believe me, I know.”
“I hear you,” Helga said, “I won’t underestimate you.”
“Then you’ll be the first one,” Tē’d’Tē replied evenly.
“So, don’t underestimate me, either,” Helga said. “I promise you that we’re in this together—I mean it.” She smiled, “But, seriously, what’s this ‘Sweet Ella’ stuff? You don’t strike me as the type…”
“Oh, I was a bit of a handful for my Mum, and that’s what she called me when she was scoldin’ me. If I’d really done something bad, she’d say, ‘Great Sweet and Wicked Ella! Whatever am I going to do with you?’—I heard that so much, it just kinda became part of me. I like the way it sounds—so it just kinda jumps out of me when I get excited. I don’t like being called Elizat, but ‘Great Sweet and Wicked Ella’—now, that’s got a nice ring to it.”
As Helga, Christer, and Tē’d’Tē headed back to Klemés’s cell, Helga noticed that Tē’d’Tē wasn’t moving. Puzzled, she stopped and went back to where the Weasel was standing. “Something the matter, Tē’d’Tē?” she asked. “We should get back to Klemés’s cell.”
“You just did it,” Tē’d’Tē answered with a scowl.
“Did what?” Helga asked.
“Underestimated me,” Tē’d’Tē said, with sharp look. “You headed off just like you know everything and I’m just a tag-along. Did it ever occur to you to ask me if I might know something helpful?”
“What do you know?” Helga asked, startled.
Seeing she had captured the Wood Cow’s attention, Tē’d’Tē said mysteriously, “What do you think a smart, extremely careful beast might know if she were free to wander about the fortress at night?”
“You’ve been wandering around Tilk Duraow at night?” Helga exclaimed.
“You don’t think I’ve just been laying around up there in the rafters for two months, do you? Sweet and Wicked Ella! If nothing else, a beast’s gotta stretch the legs! And, since the only reason I hung around here was to figure out how to make as much trouble as I could, why would I just sit up there in the rafters doing nothing? Sweet Ella! Turn your brain on!”
“O.K., O.K.” Helga replied, “I’m really sorry I underestimated you. But time’s a wastin’—what do you know?”
“Well, that’s more like it,” Tē’d’Tē said. “Let’s get back to Klemés’s cell, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
As they walked, Tē’d’Tē explained that she had learned how to move around the fortress in the dead of night, avoiding guards. “I learned all the night operations of this place,” the Weasel said proudly. “What time the guards make rounds. When they lock doors. What doors get locked and which ones don’t. Everything. I learned it all.”
“Congratulations,” Christer remarked. “Nice work. But what does that do for us now? We don’t need to know that stuff anymore.”
Tē’d’Tē cut a look at Helga that said, “Stupid, isn’t he?”
“Just wait, Christer,” Helga interjected, “she’ll tell us what it means. I’m not sure how that helps us either, but I’ve seen what this Weasel can do, and I wouldn’t underestimate her if I were you.”
“From the moment Klemés sprung me free,” Tē’d’Tē said, “I knew I wasn’t going to leave Tilk Duraow. Oh, yes, I made a good show for Klemés so he would think I had taken one of the escape routes out of here. I didn’t want anyone to know I was still around.”
The group had now reached the rough stairs leading down to Klemés’s cell. Stopping, Tē’d’Tē said, “I’m not going to Klemés’s place with you right now. I’ve got something to do—but you’ll want to hear the rest of my story before I go.”
“What?” Christer said, showing some irritation. “We’ve got slaves to free—save your story for later.”
Looking at Christer, the Weasel smiled, “I like you, Wood Cow—you’re my kind of beast. You like to get on with things. And you’re absolutely right—you don’t need to know about most of my time looking around at night. That’s just useless trivia now, from my point of view.” The Weasel paused, and pulled a small, thin piece of wood from her pocket.
“But there’s a bit more you need to know. This is what I call my Slip Key. It lets me to slip through most locked doors. I slip it in at the latch, the latch pushes back, and—Sweet Ella—the door swings open.”
“Brilliant, you rogue, brilliant!” Klemés howled gleefully, joining the group. “Well rogued! Well rogued!”
“Save the applause,” Tē’d’Tē said, “the best is yet to come. Except for the slave cells—which have different locks and can’t be opened with a Slip Key—what door do you think I’d most like to open?”
“The Subtendent’s office,” Klemés exclaimed, his eyes wide.
The Weasel smiled. “Yes, but why the Subtendent’s office? Why not the Superintendent’s?”
“Because the Sub is the Chief of Operations—everything about how the slave system operates is his business.”
“Exactly,” Tē’d’Tē replied. “I had no idea what I’d find when I broke into the Sub’s office, but I quickly discovered that I’d found a treasure trove of information. Maps of the entire slaving system, laying down in detail every road, every bridge, every caravan station. Everything clearly drawn, labeled, described down to the exact location and dimensions of every bridge and significant building. Not to mention records of where Skull Buzzards and Battle Stallions were stationed…”
Except for Klemés, who was nearly jumping with excitement, the others were stunned into silence by Tē’d’Tē’s revelations.
“That’s it!” Klemés howled. “That’s how we get the slaves out of here. We’ll know the dangerous spots to avoid and have a good map of the backland trails and roads.”
“And more than that,” Tē’d’Tē said. “It’s the key to the High One’s kingdom—we can take the entire thing down with this information. We know now where we can really hit it.”
“Us?” Helga asked. “I think it’ll take more than the few of us to do that.”
“Yes,” the Weasel replied, “it’ll take many more than us, but it can be done. There are plenty of beasts that would join us.”
“First things, first,” Helga said. “First we get the slaves out of Tilk Duraow and on their way to freedom. Then we can take on the High One if we think it can be don
e.”
“No,” Tē’d’Tē said evenly. “I’m not doing that. I agree that we’re too weak and disorganized right now to break the system, but we won’t be for long. I think you should lead most of the slaves out of here to safety. I’ll stay behind, maybe with a few volunteers, to do some planning and preparation. You get out of here with the slaves—most of them are in bad health and malnourished. Get them out of here to safety. When they are healed, rested, and fed, meet me back up here with those who wish to help, and other recruits. By then, I’ll have a plan and be ready.”
“You’re staying here?” Klemés asked.
“Well, not exactly here,” Tē’d’Tē answered. “But in the high country near here. I expect that the High One will soon learn what has happened here. If there aren’t spies to tell him, there will be supply caravans coming. Somehow, he’ll find out. So I won’t stay here. I’ll take the maps and set up a camp somewhere. I’ll send word to you about a meeting place, when I get set up.”
“Whenever the High One’s minions show up here, all they’ll find is a big stone box they cannot enter,” Klemés said grimly. “When all the slaves are out, I’ll make sure every possible entrance is sealed. They’ll never get back inside.”
“Never is too long to predict,” Helga observed. “How about we just say it may take them a long time—maybe more time than they want to invest? May work out to the same thing—that Tilk Duraow never reopens.”
“Well, let’s talk more about this later,” Christer said. “Right now, we’ve got to free those poor beasts caged up down under.”
“Wait a moment,” Helga said. “What will we feed them? We closed down the passages to the kitchen, and even it they were open, it’s swarming with dragons back there.”
“The Slip Key works on the Midge Reserves,” Tē’d’Tē chuckled. “Everyone will eat well tonight—no one will go hungry. I’ll head down there and open it up so we can feed everyone. You go down and open the slave cells. I’ll open up the Midge Reserves.”
“What’re the Midge Reserves?” Helga asked.
“The Midge is a cold cavern under Tilk Duraow,” Klemés answered. “It’s the cold storage warehouse where food is kept before it’s taken to the kitchen. I didn’t shut off access to that.”
Helga gave Tē’d’Tē a surprised look. “If the Slip Key works on the Midge Reserves, why did you have to steal food from the dragons to eat?” she asked.
“That’s what I meant by stealing from the dragons,” Tē’d’Tē chuckled. “I wasn’t about to tell you everything I knew back there at the dragon pens. And, I did eat some real nice shark steaks that never got to be leftovers fed to the dragons.”
“One more thing,” Helga said. “Seeing the way those dragons went after you back at the pens, how did you ever sneak down from the rafters to look around at night?”
“I went after the dragons were finished eating,” the Weasel replied with a smile. “When dragons eat, they absolutely gorge themselves—eat until they drop into a stuffed stupor. Once they’re like that, it’s easy to slip past them.”
“Easy to slip past dragons,” Christer said, “I’d never have guessed…”
“That was easy,” Tē’d’Tē replied, “compared to what lies ahead of us. Everything has been easy up to now—now it gets difficult.”
Barely Begun
As Tē’d’Tē left Klemés, Helga, and Christer, and headed for the Midge Reserves, her heart raced. The stealthy exploration of Tilk Duraow she had done under cover of night had revealed many exciting secrets, but for a sheer heart-pounding thrill, nothing matched the Midge Reserves. Her first visit had been beyond astonishing…
Inserting the Slip Key, Tē’d’Tē gently pushed on the massive stone door. It swung open so silently in the dark, that at first she doubted it had moved at all. A widening crack of dim pink light, however, proved the door had opened. Stepping forward and pushing the door again, she entered the Midge Reserves for the first time.
When her eyes adjusted to the odd lighting, she nearly shouted like an explorer finding a new land. Her heart was pounding, although caution kept her quiet. “Com’on! Sweet Ella!” she breathed, swinging her gaze across a vast, freezing cold room.
Torches, shut away behind sheets of pink quartz, provided the only faint illumination. It was enough, however, to send Tē’d’Tē’s mind reeling. Scores of massive ice blocks hung from hooks along long tracks in the ceiling. Suspended by chain from wheels running along the tracks, it was clear the ice made up a gigantic cooling system for hundreds of frozen shark carcasses. Row upon row of tracks ran the length of the gigantic room. One track had ice, then a track with slabs of shark, then another track of ice, and so on.
It took some moments before Tē’d’Tē could move beyond shock and wonder. “Sweet Ella! Sweet Ella!” she silently repeated over and over, the long-famished Weasel barely comprehending the magnitude of the food storehouse. For so long she had survived on poor food. Now, seeing what was all around her, her own never-ending hunger gave way to a parade of images running through her mind. Thousands of abnormally thin and enduringly hungry comrades crowded her mind.
Deprived of even the commonest comforts of living, Tilk Duraow slaves received only two meals a day—both poor. Pieces of barely cooked bread and sour bat’s milk came daily just before dawn. Boiled rock-lice noodles, and a few pugs of gritty water to wash them down, made a fitting end of day meal after back-breaking labor on the Granite Hulks. The slaves left their cells only to work, and the meager rations were handed through narrow slots in the cell doors.
Taken together, the meals were insufficient to sustain life, so any beast working the Granite Hulks survived by eating the plentiful beetles, spiders, and flies. “Superfood—unlock the goodness beneath the shell,” the famished beasts joked darkly. Tē’d’Tē herself had often plucked an insect from the wall and, with a grim “Die, Beetle! Die!” dropped the squiggling morsel into her mouth, crunching it with near relish.
The fact that Tilk Duraow seemed almost designed to display hunger in all its wretchedness and woe, made Tē’d’Tē’s discovery of the Midge Reserves even more astonishing. Such a vast storehouse! Beyond the hanging slabs of shark: racks of shark fin and buckets of shark eyeballs for soup; other rooms full of dried fish, smoked lizard, fruits and greens, nuts and sweets. Yet no Granite Hulks slave ever saw even a flake of minnow! How could a mind comprehend it? The shock of discovery gave way to fury. “Sweet and Wicked Ella!—I’ll break this place open if it’s the last thing I do!”
So it was that each time Tē’d’Tē approached the Midge Reserves, her heart raced. This time, however, was different. The time had come to break open the storehouse. This time, her heart raced with the vision of the cell doors flying open and famished beasts eating their fill. What had been a hidden treasure trove for the Skull Buzzard brazzens and their helpers, today would become the place that served the best of everything to everyone.
“There’s not enough knives and forks in the place to serve every beast when the cells are opened,” Tē’d’Tē thought. “Ha! Never mind the finery! We’ve no kitchen to use either. We’ll build fires in the parade ground, burn them down to embers, and roast the shark over them. No chairs, no tables, no niceties—but shark steaks cut off a pound at a time! Sweet Ella! That’ll serve—that’ll serve.”
For their part, over the coming hours, Klemés and Christer undertook the happy task of seeking out and freeing the slaves, while Helga returned to the Offaluvia to find Emil, Bem, and their comrades.
As Klemés and Christer walked—no, ran—down to the cell blocks, a fiery feeling swept through them. Springing down the long flights of stairs as if they almost did not exist, they soon were in the midst of a roaring, living storm. Every slave in Tilk Duraow knew about Klemés, although virtually none had actually seen him. But when the old Wood Cow appeared with a ring of keys, even those who had never laid eyes on him before knew it was him. The ancient Wood Cow, and his role in helping a steady stream of sla
ves to escape from Tilk Duraow, was legendary. It was not so much the coming of a savior, as the final clawing open of a door that had so long kept him in solitary confinement. Yet opening that long-locked door also flung open dozens of other cell doors—causing such a deafening cheer that Christer thought his eardrums might explode.
For Klemés—confined so many years as a solitary prisoner—it was like a dream to suddenly be united with the multitude of other long-suffering beasts. So clouded were his eyes with tears that it seemed he was looking through a haze. Only a heartless beast could look upon the condition of his friends without tears. The slave cells were more like holes carved in the rock than proper lodging. Far below ground, the dungeon-hellholes were completely without any natural light or fresh air. Smoke from torches, escaping only slowly through narrow slits in the ceiling, made the air thick and unhealthy. Sick and wornout slaves, although nursed by their comrades, were simply left in the cells until—one day while their comrades were working—they disappeared, and newly arrived slaves replaced them.
Now, as Klemés moved cell to cell, his trembling hands turning the key, each feeble and injured beast was helped through the opening cell doors. Those who could walk were given an arm. Those too weak to stand were carried by their friends. As he moved about opening the last cells, Klemés heard a familiar sound above the din.
Migg’s happy days will soon be over,
Never to return!
For they've raised my eats five bugs a day,
But doubled my floggin’ forever.
Come my friends, pass the beetles round,
My time with you is short,
Tomorra’, or next week,
I’m switchin’ to grog and steak!
You say I’m no beast ’o pleasure?
No free ’n mighty beast?
Then you never really knew me—
I’m sailin’ my own mind,