by Jean Rabe
“Get him, Papa!” the child squealed.
Papa?
Fenzig risked a glance over his shoulder and saw a big man trundle out of the house, cursing and gesturing wildly. The man jumped off the porch and started after Fenzig, a none-too-pleased look on his bearded face. Fenzig churned his little legs even faster.
Never steal in broad daylight, he lectured himself. You know better than that, Fenzighan Wiznagrik. One mistake after another. Maybe one mistake too many. Only steal when there are plenty of shadows. Steal in the dark. Gods! I hope I’m faster than he is. If he catches me . . . .
“Stop, thief!” the man shouted. “Stop or I’ll kill you!”
Well, that answers the question of what he’ll do to me, Fenzig whimpered silently. He pumped his short legs harder, until his side ached from the exertion, and still he heard the pounding of the man’s feet behind him, pounding in time with his small heart. He’s gaining on me, the gnome thought. In another moment he’s going to . . . .
Then the gnome’s mouth dropped open in pleasant surprise as Mistake cantered around the side of the barn toward him. Whether instinctively drawn by the gnome’s hopeless situation or because of the approach of the fragrant pie, Fenzig couldn’t say—and didn’t care. Pony and gnome ran toward each other, and when he was close enough, Fenzig jumped up and set the pie between the saddlebags. Still clutching the clothes under his arm, he grabbed the reins, leaped to thrust his foot into the stirrup, and heaved himself into the saddle.
“I’ll kill you!” the farmer yelled loudly.
“Impressive vocabulary,” Fenzig muttered. “Don’t you know any other words?”
“Come back here!”
“Right,” Fenzig cursed. “You think I’d be dumb enough to do that?”
He stuffed the damp clothes in front of him, stretched behind him to grab the pie, and cradled it to his chest. “Move, Mistake!” he barked.
The pony complied, taking off at a brisk trot and showering the approaching farmer with dirt.
I amaze myself sometimes, Fenzig thought as he nudged Mistake in the ribs to get just a little more speed from the pony. “Thanks for your help,” he added aloud to the pony.
Mistake assumed an easy canter, and Fenzig concentrated on keeping the pie and the clothes from tumbling onto the road. It was a difficult balancing act, but he wasn’t about to give up his hard-won prizes.
“Let’s put a little distance between us and the house,” the gnome said. “Then I’ll share some of this luscious desert with you. I think you’ve earned a few bites.”
The farm fell out of sight as the road started to twist by the Haunted Woods. Fenzig began whistling a complex, perky tune while he thought about eating the pie and trying on his newfound clothes. The melody was one he had learned as a young child, and it worked well with the rhythmic clopping of Mistake’s hooves.
But suddenly the tune didn’t fit well with the pounding of the horse’s hooves behind him.
Now what? Fenzig wondered. Curious, he glanced over his shoulder and bit his lower lip in consternation. The farmer was on a big black plow horse, which was rapidly gaining on the much smaller pony. The farmer obviously wasn’t about to give up and let the gnome go.
“Hurry!” Fenzig snapped. He kicked his heels into his pony’s sides, and Mistake took off at a fast gallop. Dirt churned up, some of it flying in the slight breeze and nesting in the gnome’s eyes.
Can my situation possibly get worse? He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his eyes. They stung horribly.
“I…will…kill…you…gnome!”
We’re not going to make it, Fenzig thought, as he risked another look back and saw that the farmer was holding his horse’s reins in one hand and a sharp-tined pitchfork in the other. He’s going to catch me. He’s going to skewer me. It’s just a pie and some old clothes. I didn’t steal anything valuable. I didn’t take any coins. Nothing to kill me over. Nothing . . . .
“Of course!” Thinking quickly, Fenzig steered Mistake into the trees. The pony moved swiftly, but managed to carefully pick its way through the underbrush so it wouldn’t stumble. Within moments, the gnome and his mount were surrounded by forest. The farmer’s cries of “I’ll kill you!” and “Come back here, wee-one,” were muffled by the surrounding vegetation.
“Shhh!” Fenzig cautioned Mistake. “He can’t see us where we are, but let’s go in a little deeper, just in case he tries to follow us.” The gnome slipped from the pony’s back, holding the reins in one hand and the pie in the other. Carefully, slowly, he led Mistake. “I know this forest isn’t really haunted,” he told the pony. “It’s just named the Haunted Woods because a wagonful of travelers disappeared in it about a dozen or so years ago. Brigands most likely were to blame, or so the word was around town. And the thieves’ guilds spread enough rumors about dead creatures that prowl this place. The farmer will think about the dead and will stay away. Humans can be pretty gullible sometimes.”
The gnome had skirted the edges of enough thieves’ guilds to know that some of their members often hid out in these woods. The Burlengren Watch wasn’t about to come in here after them–the guilds had circulated enough fear-filled stories to give even the burliest of warriors pause. Too, the occasional disappearance of people expected in town helped. The locals figured whatever lived in these woods got them.
If Fenzig ran into brigands or thieves, he was certain he could talk his way out of any trouble. He was one of them, after all. And he didn’t have anything valuable to steal. Except Mistake. He swallowed hard. If the thieves took his pony, he’d never make it to Duke Rehmir’s in time.
A thrashing noise intruded on Fenzig’s thoughts. The gnome suspected the farmer was whacking the foliage with his pitchfork. But the farmer didn’t come in quite deep enough, and he never saw the gnome and pony hiding behind a tall, thick bush. After several long minutes, the man cursed loudly and gave up.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Fenzig spied a small pond. “C’mon,” he whispered, still wary that the farmer might be within earshot. He led the pony toward the cool, inviting water. “Time for a snack.”
Sitting with his back propped up against an old elm, Fenzig dug into the pie with his fingers, letting the sticky fruit juice run down his hand and chin. He’d finished a little more than half of it when he glanced up and saw Mistake looking sadly at him. “Want some?” He held out the plate, and the pony perked up and quickly gobbled down the rest. Then the gnome wiped his hands and face with one of the silk napkins he’d taken from King Erlgrane’s dinner table.
“You’re okay for a pony,” Fenzig said as he got to his feet and started taking off his filthy clothes. “Even though you’re white, I’m going to keep you and take good care of you. And if we get out of this, I’m going to change your name to something much more noble. What would you like? Ivory? Fleetfoot? Fortune? How about King Erlgrane?” He added the last selection with a hint of sarcasm.
Fenzig stuffed his dirty clothes under a bush, deciding they were hopelessly ruined and not worth washing. Then he spread the stolen garments over low-hanging tree limbs to help them dry. He inspected them more closely. One of the shirts he had grabbed by accident was man-sized. The gnome wondered if it would make a good nightshirt. It was practically new, and it was made of expensive material, not the kind of thing a farmer would normally wear. There were tiny green leaves embroidered about the cuffs and the collar. Someone had put a lot of care into making it.
“I’ll bet this was his best shirt,” Fenzig said glumly. “Probably wore it to socials, parties, perhaps even funerals. No wonder he charged after me. This probably cost him more than the rest of all his clothes put together, or maybe it was a present from his mother and had a lot of sentimental value. Maybe his wife made it for him. It would mean a lot to me if I had something like this. I probably shouldn’t keep it.”
The gnome wasn’t usually saddened by a successful theft and had never had second thoughts over one before. He usually felt elated, proud
that he was able to accomplish another heist and happy to have gained some booty without getting caught. Of course, he’d never actually seen the reaction of a victim before. He was usually well away before they discovered their belongings missing.
“Just one mistake after another,” he mumbled, wondering for an instant if all his victims were always that upset. “Well, maybe I can rectify this one mistake.” Fenzig vowed to take good care of the shirt and to return it after he gave King Erlgrane the emeralds he was going to steal. “I’d return it right now if I didn’t think the farmer’d skewer me. Or if I didn’t think it would lose me too much time.”
Washing himself quickly and thoroughly in the cool pond, the gnome was determined to make himself presentable. The pony drank its fill while Fenzig dried himself in the sun and decided what to wear. “Gray pants, green shirt,” he told the pony. “Though the pant legs are a might too long, and I’m a might too tired. Let’s take a quick nap and then be on our way. You could do with a little rest, I’m sure. You ran pretty hard from that farmer.”
These woods are safe enough, the gnome convinced himself. After all, judging by the position of the sun, it’s perhaps noon or a little past. The road is not far away, just beyond that big willow over there. If we sleep for an hour, we’ll be rested enough to travel until a little past sunset I know this homing spell will keep moving. But I can spare an hour. Just one..
That decided, Fenzig quickly plunged into a deep slumber.
He awoke to the persistent hoot of an owl and the incessant chirping of crickets.
Fenzig rubbed his eyes and slowly opened them. At first he thought he was only dreaming about opening his eyes, because if he’d really opened them, the world wouldn’t be pitch-black–not if he’d only slept an hour. He felt his face and discovered that indeed his eyes were open, and that indeed he was awake.
He shook his head and heard the owl hoot again. “No!” he shouted angrily, startling the owl, which must have been on a branch somewhere above his head. It flew off into the darkness.
Fenzig slammed his fist into the ground. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he made out the shapes of trees and of his pony nearby. Faint starlight filtered down through the leafy canopy overhead, and there were chirping and buzzing insects everywhere. Though Fenzig never cared for the dark, his gnomish eyes let him see reasonably well in it.
I meant to sleep only an hour, the exasperated gnome scolded himself. Instead I’ve slept the whole day away. I wonder what time it is? I wonder where the line is on my arm? It was too dark for him to see the wizard’s mark.
Grumbling, he rose and stretched. Although he was angry at himself and worried that his nap had cost him precious hours, he had to admit that for the first time in three days he felt rested.
“Mistake, let’s get out of here,” he said. The pony pricked up its ears and started toward the gnome.
Fenzig folded the farmer’s precious shirt, then gathered the other remaining pilfered garments—a tunic, a shirt, and a pair of pants. Good for two changes of clothes, he decided.
He turned to put them in one of the pony’s saddlebags, but stopped when he heard a sharp crack. Then a snap.
The crickets quieted, and Fenzig shivered.
He wasn’t alone in the Haunted Woods.
5
Fenzig’s Mistake
Maybe it’s just a raccoon or a ground squirrel making the noise, Fenzig thought. No use getting worried over nothing. Maybe it’s one of those thieves from the city, just wandering around. No. A good thief wouldn’t make so much noise. It’s probably a small deer.
But after a few more twigs snapped, the gnome grabbed the short sword, just in case the animal out there wasn’t so small or if—gulp—it was something other than an animal. He belted on the scabbard, pulled the blade from it, and gasped as the metal of the sword glowed pale blue, illuminating his surroundings.
Who needs a torch with this thing? I knew the sword was magical, King Erlgrane said it was, he mused. But it didn’t light up like this inside the castle. Of course, it wasn’t dark inside the castle. Well, it was dark in my cell, but I never bothered to look at the sword then. Wonder if I’ll get to keep it after I steal the emeralds? Erlgrane might forget all about the sword after he has the gems. He seems to want those emeralds very badly. He’ll be thinking only about the gems, not about me or the sword or the pony or . . . .
A low growl stopped his musings. Mistake whinnied nervously and pawed at the ground.
“Whatever you are, go away!” Fenzig spat, praying that it wasn’t a ghost, that the woods weren’t truly haunted, and that this was somehow all a bad dream. He lowered his voice and tried to sound large. “Leave us alone and I won’t have to kill you.” He waved the blade for effect, then quickly stepped back toward the elm as a catlike creature poked its head out from behind a bush.
The gnome breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing that what he faced was natural, not supernatural. Judging by its head, it was a big cat, probably a panther. And although Fenzig knew panthers were dangerous, or so the tales around his village claimed, he suspected it wouldn’t attack someone with a glowing sword. He gritted his teeth, bravely flourished the blade again, then gulped as the creature slowly emerged all the way out of the bushes.
The creature looked mostly like a panther. It had a graceful, lanky frame and sleek blue-black fur that practically shimmered. Its pointed panther ears–two pairs of them–were laid back against its head, its cat-yellow eyes were fixed on the gnome, and it wriggled its whiskers and sniffed the air. What it also had—and what a panther didn’t—was an extra pair of legs, giving it six, and two long, snakelike tails that undulated almost hypnotically in the still night air. At the end of each tail was a leaf-shaped appendage.
Fenzig stared slack-jawed at the creature as it drew back its upper lip and snarled, revealing a double row of glistening white, pointed teeth. Saliva dripped from its lower lip and landed hissing, like acid, on the ground.
Fenzig trembled. He’d never seen the like of this creature before, but he knew what it was. The gnome hunters in his hometown, who’d cut short their expeditions whenever they spotted one of these, gave pretty vivid descriptions. Those descriptions matched what Fenzig was staring at. And the gnome hunters had given the beast a name.
“A craven cat,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t like to eat me or Mistake,” he informed the creature, hoping it might understand him, “but in my pony’s pack I have some dried beef that you might like. I can even salt it for you. Stay right there, and I’ll get it. Stay. Stay.”
The beast growled, but didn’t move. It watched intently as the gnome groped around in the saddlebags, finally coming up with a fistful of meat. Fenzig hurled the dried beef at the animal, which immediately fell to devouring it. At the same time, the gnome gripped the short sword more tightly and grabbed Mistake’s reins with his free hand. He started creeping backward, away from the feasting animal.
However, he hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when the craven cat finished its meal and looked up for more. It growled menacingly and padded forward, its tentacle-tails waving and striking the ferns.
Terrific, Fenzig thought. I gave you all the meat I had. I’ve got some dried fruit left, but you don’t look like the fruit-eating type. You look like the pony- and gnome-eating type. Why can’t you just go back to whatever nightmare spawned you?
“Why don’t you leave us alone? I don’t have any more. Go bother somebody else.” Fenzig continued to chatter nervously as he backed up, and the beast continued to follow. It matched him step for step, six sinewy legs in time with the gnome’s short, stubby ones. It looked like it was difficult for the cat to walk so slowly.
“You’re not going to go away, are you?”
The catlike beast snarled and bared its fangs in answer. A strand of saliva spilled over its lower lip and hit the ground, hissing. The grass there shriveled and died in a heartbeat.
The gnome gulped. “No. You’re not going away on y
our own. I guess I’ll have to make you.” With a show of bravery that surprised him, Fenzig dropped Mistake’s reins and dashed toward the creature, waving the glowing sword and yelling. The gnome knew he didn’t understand the proper techniques of wielding a blade, but he’d watched enough staged fights in the marketplace to get a general idea of how it was done. Gritting his teeth and returning the animal’s snarl, he swept the magical short sword in wide arcs that caused the pale blue light to dance and shimmer in the air and reflect wildly off the cat’s slick coat.
The beast turned and bolted on its six legs, jumping over a low bush and melting quickly into the darkness.
“Well, guess I showed it, right Mistake?” Fenzig said, puffing out his nervous chest with pride and returning to the pony. “Now, how about you and I get out of the woods and back on the road. Traveling at night is certainly better than sitting here and being bait for . . . more?”
His path toward the road was blocked by three of the snarling, catlike creatures—only this time their tentacle-tails were curled forward over their backs, snaking toward him, the leaflike appendages at the ends snapping hungrily and revealing more rows of teeth.
“Now where did you come from?” Fenzig started brandishing his sword again, as he had to frighten off the first one. But these fellows didn’t seem as easily cowed.
Strength in numbers, the gnome mused. Maybe I should hop on Mistake and ride right through them. Or maybe I could . . .
Another snarl sounded from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, the gnome saw still more of the beasts. He counted noses—five behind him, plus three in front—and one in the front group was pretty big. The hunters in his hometown ran from only one, he recalled, and there are eight here. The odds were definitely against him.
The largest beast growled fiercely, flexing its half-dozen paws and clawing at the ground. Its tentacle-tails coiled like snakes about to strike; then its eyes met Fenzig’s and held his gaze for the space of a horror-filled moment. The great beast sniffed the air, and a rumble erupted from deep in its throat—a resonant sound that cut through the clearing and was quickly echoed by the rest of the pack. The sound grew, seemed deafening.