Wings

by Jason Lethcoe

The winged toad reached his webbed fingers into the bag and produced a slightly smashed cherry tart. “See?” he said, grinning proudly.

  Sariel made a disgusted face. “But it was in thetrash. Honestly, Artemis, have you lost what little dignity you had left? Digging in trash cans is no way for a Guardian to act.”

  “I’ve still got dignity,” Artemis huffed, looking hurt. Then, after taking a huge bite out of the pastry, he added with his mouth full, “You’re jusht jealosh ’cause I found it and you didn’t.”

  “Right. Jealous of your trash,” Sariel replied sarcastically. “I think the Corruption is getting to you. You’re developing a serious gluttony issue.”

  “Yeah? Well you better watch out, Miss ‘Look-at-Me, I’m-So-Perfect’!” Artemis mimicked Sariel’s haughty expression. “Arrogance is worse than gluttony. If you don’t watch out you’ll end up just like the Jackal.”

  “Don’t you darecompare me with him!” Sariel growled, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Take it back, Toadbreath!”

  “Make me!”

  Sariel leaped at Artemis, her teeth bared in a ferocious snarl.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Spines grabbed Sariel by the scruff of her neck and Artemis by his wings, trying to separate the bickering creatures. “Enough!” he shouted. “You’re both acting like a couple of Groundlings!”

  The two creatures fell silent at the word and looked up at Mr. Spines with guilty expressions. To be called a Groundling, a nickname used to describe the servants of their sworn enemy, the Jackal, was a terrible insult.

  Spines glared down at them and said, “Edward’s itch will probably reach its peak late tonight. We have to get him out of there before Scruggs can do anything.”

  “Wait, do you mean Whiplash Scruggs?” Artemis exclaimed, nearly choking on his mouthful of cherry tart. “How come he’s here?”

  “Whyelsewould he be here? He knows about Edward, stupid.” Sariel gave Artemis a withering look.

  “Sariel, were you able to repair the Oroborus?” Spines asked, changing the subject. He was eager to hear how repairs to the magical weapon were progressing.

  The ermine nodded. “I think so. I was able to use a small quantity of silver to fill in the corroded parts, and it seemed to help. The Groundling we stole it from didn’t care for it very well.”

  Sariel scampered over to a small box by the hearth and removed a large, rusted-looking ring from inside. She handed it to Spines, who examined it carefully, noting the repair work. The ring was worn and pitted all over its surface, and made from a strange metal that gleamed redly in the firelight. It had a picture of a serpent biting its tail etched into its surface.

  Mr. Spines turned it over in his hands a couple of times, and then, holding it out in front of him, said a strange guttural word in a commanding voice.

  “Nsh!”

  The ring glowed for a moment, forming a fiery circle. Spines gazed at it, carefully noting the repaired areas. After a moment he spoke.

  “Well done. The repairs seem to be holding.”

  Sariel beamed back at him.

  Spines stared, transfixed, into the center of the ring. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, gathering his will. Then he hissed another word through his broken, yellow teeth.

  “Qadosssssss . . .”

  The ring’s fire turned from red to a bright blue. The icy flames danced around the edges of the ring, casting long shadows in the tiny room.

  “It’s working!” shouted Artemis, his wings fluttering with delight. “You did it, Sariel!”

  The toad had no sooner said this than the flames around the areas that the ermine had repaired began to falter. Moments later, the fire that surrounded the glowing circle began to fade and then flickered out.

  Sariel glanced over at Spines’s disappointed expression. She grabbed her fluffy tail in her front paws and fiddled with it nervously. Mr. Spines let out a long, disappointed sigh and handed the ring back to her.

  “It’s going to take twice as much of my power to keep it lit. I’ll have to sing a Song of Ignition to keep it going, and that won’t be easy.”

  “It’s hard to change what it is, sir. Silver is the purest metal I could find, but the Oroborus only wants to work with the Jackal’s fire. I can keep trying, though,” she said meekly.

  Spines paused to scratch his stubbly chin before replying. The Jackal used very dark sorcery to create the magic rings. It made sense that they responded best to his evil power. “Well, it’s the best we can do for now. Hopefully it will be enough to get Edward out of the Foundry and onto the train to Los Angeles.”

  “Los Angeles!” Artemis exclaimed. The fat toad’s eyes rolled with fright. “But, sir, the place is crawling with Groundlings. They’ll find us for sure!”

  Spines nodded and adjusted his small, leather gloves. He knew how dangerous the Jackal’s servants were and could understand why Artemis was afraid. However, at this point, it was either stay in Oregon and be found by Whiplash Scruggs or escape to his secret hideout in California.

  “We need to stick to the plan. It’s the perfect place to hide. The Jackal wouldn’t expect Edward to be hidden right where his army is thickest,” Spines said, giving the toad a crooked smile. “Besides, if all goes well we won’t be there very long. By tomorrow evening we’ll be back in the Woodbine.”

  “But Melchior, what about the contract you signed with the Jackal? You know how he is. If we go back, he’ll send his whole army after us!” Artemis croaked. He glanced worriedly around the tiny room, as if expecting the Jackal’s evil forces to show up at any second.

  Spines waved his hand dismissively. “We’ve already gone through this. You knew that this day would come eventually.” He checked his rusty pocket watch. “We’re going to leave at midnight. That should give us enough time to pack.” He licked his yellow teeth and glanced at Artemis. The toad stared back at him, his fearful expression made ridiculous by the big globs of cherry tart smeared around his lips.

  “And wipe that mess off your face, Artemis. It’s going to be shocking enough for Edward when he sees us for the first time as it is.”

  Chapter Five

  CARDS

  “My hands. Look at my hands, Sticks!” Grudge moaned, staring at his swollen fingers and palms. Scruggs’s terrible whip had scored deep red welts with painful accuracy.

  “Hang on, I’ll t-tuh-try to find s-something you can w-wrap them up with,” Edward said. He pulled against the heavy iron chain that Scruggs had fastened to his leg, gritting his teeth against the burning itch on his back as he stretched out trying to reach an old tarpaulin. The other end of the chain was secured to one of the cellar’s cement posts, allowing him a circle of movement of only about five or six feet.

  Now that Edward and Grudge had experienced Whiplash Scruggs’s disciplinary measures together, they’d forged a kind of truce. All of their prior disagreements seemed petty compared to the situation they were currently in.

  Edward stretched his skinny frame as far as he could. Almost! His back prickled uncomfortably as his fingers just brushed the edge of the old tarp. He tried again to reach it, the manacle around his foot biting painfully into his flesh as he stretched, pulling as hard as he could. He could see the edge of the tarp just at the end of his fingertips. If he could just grab the edge of it . . .

  Got it!

  “Hurry up, Sticks. I think they’re bleeding!” Grudge complained.

  Edward gave the lightweight cover a couple of furious tugs. It came loose in a shower of dust, sending a box of nails that was resting on top of it clattering to the floor.

  Edward returned to where Grudge was chained, tearing the moldy tarp into long, thin strips as he went. They weren’t the cleanest bandages, but they would have to do.

  “Hold out y-your hands,” Edward said.

  Grudge extended his red palms and Edward tried to wrap them the best he could. It was slow going because every time he wrapped a strip of cloth around Grudge’s hands, Grudge would howl with pain an
d jerk them away. Secretly, Edward was surprised that the bully was acting like such a baby. He knew that his palms hurt, but they could have been much worse. Most of the redness on Grudge’s palms was due to welts and not blood.

  When he’d finished the bandaging, Grudge sagged back against his cement pillar, looking like a wounded soldier.

  “Thanks, Bean Pole.”

  “N-no problem,” Edward replied awkwardly. He hardly noticed the insulting nickname. He glanced down at the manacles on his foot, feeling frustrated. He couldn’t figure out why the chains were necessary. The only way out of the cellar was through a small, dirty window set high up on the wall. Unless Scruggs expected them to fly, there seemed to be no possible way to escape.

  “How long do you think he’ll keep us down here?” Grudge asked.

  “Who n-nuh-knows?” Edward replied glumly. “B-before this, I th-thu-thought the worst thing that would have happened to us for f-fighting was a simple detention.”

  “Hey, what happened when he came after you with those weird scissors of his?” Grudge asked, leaning forward curiously. “The way you acted when he snipped them shut was like you were being tortured or something.”

  “Yeah, it f-felt like it,” stuttered Edward, recalling the encounter a few hours earlier. He had no idea why the scissors had done that to him, either. But he was sure that Scruggs knew exactly what he was doing. By the way he’d talked, it seemed that he knew more about Edward’s itch than he himself did.

  The painful itch still burned from the encounter, but not as much now that Whiplash Scruggs was gone. Out of habit, Edward reached into his pocket for his playing cards.

  As he began building a new house, he felt the familiar calm settle inside of him. He began to model the house after the cellar they were in, hoping that in doing so he could think of a way to escape.

  “I’ll tell you this much. If my parents ever found out about this, they would give Warburton an earful,” Grudge moaned. “We’ve got to get out of here, Sticks. I don’t want to be here when he comes back.”

  “I know. I’m working on it,” Edward replied, absorbed in his project. The card walls were up, scaled perfectly to their surroundings. He glanced up from the cards to the dirty window high above them. Now, if there were just some way to get up there.

  He began to build a bridge out of the playing cards, connecting them to the card house cellar walls. As the structure began to take shape, Edward’s mind drifted to the inventory in the cellar, picturing each item in acute detail. Sawhorse, drill bits, a table with a broken leg, two barrels of hex nuts, a gearbox . . .

  He put the cards that would act as trestle supports in place.

  A candlestick, three pulleys, six-and-a-half feet of rope, three pairs of mechanic’s overalls with holes in the knees, a broom, two hammers, a coat hanger . . .

  He examined his bridge. It resembled a suspension bridge like the kind he’d seen stretching over the Columbia River. Only two cards were left to make it perfect.

  I can use the hanger to pick the locks on our chains. Then I can use the sawhorse as new legs for the broken table. Then, if I put barrels on top of the table, could I reach the window? He did some rapid mental calculations.No! I’m still five feet three inches short.

  Images of the items in the cellar fitting together in different ways flashed through his mind. He saw the exact measurements of each item, estimating precisely how close he was to the window.

  Tie the hammer to the end of the rope and use it as a grappling hook. While standing on the barrels on top of the table, I could throw it around the third support beam in the ceiling and then climb up to the window. That should work!

  He pictured the items put together in his mind. It all fit.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, placing the final two cards on the bridge. He flashed a smile at Grudge, who looked back at him with a puzzled expression.

  “Got what?” asked Grudge.

  “A way to get out of here. Now, the first thing we need is that coat hanger next to your right foot.”

  Grudge handed him the wire hanger and Edward began to assemble his makeshift grappling hook. As he worked, he tried not to think of what would happen if they didn’t escape. He had the feeling that whatever Scruggs had planned for him with his horrible scissors would be far worse than the sting of his whip.

  His itch burned painfully at the thought. Just a few minutes more, Edward thought. And then we’ll be away from him and this awful place forever.

  Chapter Six

  ESCAPE

  Edward’s foot almost slipped as he stood on the barrel that he and Grudge had placed on top of the rickety table.

  “Make sure that sawhorse doesn’t move, will you?” Edward said nervously. He glanced down at the spot where the sawhorse had been positioned to replace the missing table leg.

  “I’m trying to hold it steady, but the legs are wobbly,” Grudge replied. The big boy was holding tightly to the edge of the table while Edward climbed on top of the barrel. Edward had picked the locks on their chains with an old wire hanger, so they could at least move around the room now.

  They’d worked as quickly as possible to implement Edward’s escape plan, neither of them knowing when Whiplash Scruggs might return. In spite of his fear and loathing, Edward forced himself to stay on task. He was terrified at the thought of Scruggs finding them halfway through with the construction of an escape route. He was sure that the teacher could do more with that whip of his than just the welts he’d made on Grudge’s palms.

  Edward balanced on the barrel and uncoiled the rope in his right hand. It was tied to the handle of a claw hammer, creating a makeshift grappling hook.

  He eyed the heavy beam that extended across the ceiling. His eyes fell on a small hollow spot near the window. It would have to be a perfect throw.

  He swung the rope, letting the hammer move back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. This was going to be tricky.

  Feeling its weight, he let the swinging rope gain momentum. Then, with as much strength as he could manage, he let the hammer swing upward in a wide arc toward the ledge.

  KA-THUNK! The hammer crashed uselessly against the high beam. The impact was loud and both boys couldn’t help glancing nervously to the stairs that led to the cellar door. Hopefully, no one had heard that!

  Edward shuddered. This was going to be harder than he thought. Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the floorboards above. Both boys glanced at each other with frightened expressions.

  “It’s him!” Grudge whispered. “Hurry!”

  Edward quickly gathered the hammer and rope for another throw. He knew that he would have time for only one more attempt before Scruggs burst into the room. He had to make this one count.

  Come on! he thought desperately as he rocked the rope back and forth, preparing to throw. I have to make this.He grit his teeth and focused on the spot near the window. The unmistakable sound of Scruggs’s heavy boots grew closer, causing dust to rain down through the cracks in the floorboards above them.

  Edward tried to reach deep down inside of himself, searching for what he had felt when he’d wanted the bookshelf to fall on Grudge. He needed the hammer to lodge itself perfectly above the beam. He wanted it to happen more than anything else he could think of.

  He didn’t realize he was doing it at first, but his lips started moving, whispering an unfamiliar phrase. His eyes remained fixed on the spot near the window as he said softly:

  Azru Li . . . Azru Li . . . Azru Li . . .

  Somehow he knew before he’d even thrown it that the hammer would lodge itself in exactly the right place. It sailed upward in a perfect arc, the claw end embedding itself in the heavy wooden beam with a satisfying CHUNK! But as it did, warmth grew between Edward’s shoulder blades, hinting that the itch on his back was about flare with new intensity.

  “Help me onto the table!” shouted Grudge. Edward had barely time to extend his hand before the cellar door behind them creaked open. Whiplash Scrug
gs’s voice bellowed down the stairs, “What are you boys up to?”

  “N-now!” Edward shouted at Grudge who had clambered onto the barrel and had grabbed the rope. In seconds, the well-muscled boy climbed the rope and reached the window. Edward glanced fearfully at the cellar stairs. Whiplash Scruggs’s heavy, booted feet pounded down the stairs. Nothing mattered more at that moment than to get away from him. Edward’s hands shook with anticipation, waiting for Grudge to throw him the rope.

  “Hurry up, w-will you?” he shouted.

  CRASH! Grudge smashed the windowpane with his elbow and scrambled through, heedless of the broken glass. He released the rope, letting it swing back to Edward.

  “What?” Scruggs bellowed, striding into the center of the room. “Oh no you don’t!”

  Edward caught the rope and started to climb, but he wasn’t as agile as Grudge. His skinny arms shook as he edged himself up the rope, fear and adrenaline propelling him upward.

  I’ll never make it! Edward could see the edge of the windowpane just out of reach. Waves of insecurity poured over him as he struggled upward. The itch suddenly grew unbearable. He gritted his teeth, trying to push on, but he knew it was hopeless for him to even try. He was destined to fail. He was just a tall, skinny freak that could barely talk. He was bad at almost everything he’d ever tried to do. His mother was the only one that had ever loved him. His father was nowhere to be found. Then the worst of his fears, the one that bothered him the most, screamed a truth he didn’t want to hear. The reason his father had left was because he was ashamed of him. He didn’t want such a skinny stutterer for a son.

  He strained at the rope, his body unmoving. He felt his fingers start to slip.

  Please. No.

  Suddenly, the vise-like hands of Whiplash Scruggs clamped down on his ankle. The rope rocked back and forth as he glanced down.

  “You’re . . . not . . . going . . . anywhere . . . Macleod!” the burly teacher grunted as he pulled on Edward’s legs, yanking Edward down with his formidable size and strength.

  “Let go!” Edward shouted, feeling his grip on the rope slipping.