The school effectively ceased to exist at that point, and the students banded together to try and fend for themselves. Only one of them was actually from Underton, and though she was the youngest of the students she was the one the rest looked to for guidance once they were effectively abandoned: Begonia. She had cultivated a surprising number of underworld (literally) connections for such a young girl, and she figured that the best way to use their time and hone their magical skills was to run drugs for the cartels. She was accorded a strange deference by the trolls who controlled the Spirit trade and was able to simultaneously convince the other students that it was just a bit of lucrative fun and that their magic would protect them should anything go wrong. She had also been the one to propose the cover story, should they be caught performing magic by any Highmark acquaintances, that Underton ‘brought it out’ after a while.
Tym stressed the point that magic was unheard of in Underton, and that even something as simple as gun powder was foreign and rare, which gave the students a sense of invulnerability. This faded quickly as students began to disappear. Eventually there were only four students left: Tym, Merry, Begonia, and Winchell. All four were fairly pleased to see the Woodsman when he showed up one day (or night.... it's hard to tell in the dim permanent twilight of Underton), but the pleasure was soon replaced with terror when, rather than informing them in his slow, non-inflected voice as to why he was there or where they were going, he attacked.
Despite the best efforts of Merry and Tym and Begonia, the Woodsman brought the Spirit Den down on Spirit Den himself (a troll that Tym liked much better than Spirit House) and on Winchell, killing both boy and troll. At the time Merry and Tym had been sure that Begonia was dead as well, but she found them later, looking badly hurt and remarkably filthy. She'd healed and cleaned up quickly, the healing being mostly Tym's work. Merry had never quite gotten the hang of it.
After that the three of them began to wonder if they would ever get back to Highmark, and they started to experiment with small doses of Spirit while talking long into the night about what the point of the School for the Absurdly Gifted had been. It had instilled in all of them a feeling of comradeship which had only grown since they had been abandoned in Underton, but it seemed a poor return for the cost – over half a dozen friends dead in just over a month. They wondered whether the Woodsman had betrayed them or if they had been betrayed by Lady Darbyshire herself. They assumed they would never know, and were resigned to a life of uncertainty and illegality.
The day Abe had arrived, Begonia had guided him, no doubt hoping that he could help at least Merry and possibly all three of them get back to Highmark. Tym and Merry had families, and Begonia had no one left but the two surviving students.
She took him to intercept Merry on the train, and Tym had been waiting at the drop point just beyond the tunnel. He had seen the Woodsman from his hiding place and had run off when the train was wrecked. He had later followed Abe to the stairs and simply walked out after him, keeping his distance and silently blaming Abe for the loss of his last two friends.
He'd been waiting to punch Abe ever since that day, so he'd taken the chance when he saw it.
The telling of this tale took far, far longer than the carriage ride back to Abe's house, and the driver, an indulgent man, let them talk for several more minutes before he insisted that they either disembark or tell him where else to go. Abe disembarked, his head swimming with information and dulled by the exhaustion that swept over him, a side effect, he assumed, of the healing since he was rather unwilling to admit to being exhausted for the perfectly viable reason of having had an exhausting day.
He climbed the stairs painlessly and slept well, awakening the next morning with a thousand questions for Tym and no idea how to get in touch with him.
Chapter Seventeen: The bill comes due
1.
Abe didn't have to look hard for Tym. In fact, he had an escort right to him waiting outside his front door the next morning when he set out for work. Well, when he set out with the intention of going to work. Abe couldn't see a good reason to spend his day in his uncle's office pretending to work for a man pretending to judge, and yet his sense of personal responsibility prohibited him from simply not showing up. He figured that he would go in and wait for Judge Finche to “deliberate” and then go see if he could find Tym.
Emerging from the door, however, his plans abruptly changed. The head waiter who had last night threatened to have him arrested was standing on cobblestones just outside the Crompton residence with a guardsman and a smug smile on his face just beneath his pencil-thin mustache.
“There's the man himself, officer!” The accent was affected, pronunciation more patrician than anything Abe had ever heard in a lifetime of attending parties with the most pretentious and upper-class people Highmark had to offer. He had assumed last night that the man only spoke like that at work, and yet here he was, declaiming like a man fresh off the boat from somewhere impossibly snooty. Abe felt a wave of pity wash over him for every single one of this man's coworkers and family members (he assumed based on nothing but accent that this man had no friends).
The officer looked far less enthusiastic about things than the head waiter. He was almost embarrassed as he walked toward Abe, and he kept his voice down as he spoke. “Sir,” he said, “this man claims that you left his restaurant last night with an unpaid tab.”
Abe smiled indulgently and told the officer his version of events, complete with casually dropping the names of his former employer (Ebensworth and Associates having a reputation for working hand-in-glove with the guardsmen), his current employer (the hanging judge, who was massively popular with the local constabulary), his dining companion (the nigh-legendary McCallister Roods), and his grandfather, the former mayor, who he theatrically referred to as “pop pop” even though he had never in his life called him anything other than “sir.”
Upon concluding his tale, the officer seemed prepared to arrest the head waiter “for libel or reputational assault or something,” he said.
Abe calmed him and agreed to accompany the guardsman and the waiter to the restaurant in question where he would make full payment of the outstanding amount. He entertained himself along the walk by asking the guardsmen for other restaurants nearby where he might treat himself to breakfast, and between that conversation, the obvious discomfort of the head waiter, and Abe's delight at the painlessness of his own walking, it was no time at all before they reached their destination.
He was in high spirits but running late when he came out, bill paid, wondering about how he would find Tym after making an appearance at the Judge's chambers. He ran directly into Tym on the sidewalk.
Tym started to fall backwards and then stopped and floated back to his feet and stood there grinning like an idiot.
“Gracious Wharmley!” said Abe, “was that magic?”
“Might've been, sir.”
“Well,” said Abe, “do you really think you should be doing that in broad daylight?”
Tym glanced around to see if anyone noticed. It wasn't exactly a busy thoroughfare just then, but there were people here and there who seemed to be staring while pointedly trying to look like they were not staring. “It wasn't that obvious,” said Tym. “Anyone who noticed will assume it was a trick of the light or that they're drunk or something.”
Abe pulled out his pocket watch and looked pointedly at it. “It's not nine yet, Tym.”
“Well if they're drunk at this hour they certainly can't trust their eyes, then, can they?”
Abe put his watch back in his pocket. “Anyway, I was hoping to talk to you, actually, but just now I'm late to work. Any chance you could come along while I make an appearance. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes.”
“Aren't you going to wait to meet Mr. Roods, sir?”
“Are you here to meet Mr. Roods?”
Tym's consternation increased. “Aren't you?”
“I wasn't, in fact.” Abe nervously fumbled wit
h the chain of his pocket watch. He hated to be late. “Are you expecting him presently.”
Tym leaned over to one side to peer around Abe. “I believe that's him now.” He pointed past Abe and squinted, the movement inexplicably making his nose wrinkle in a porcine way that filled Abe with sympathy. Tallish, slenderish, rich and employed Abe had felt attracted to Merry and thought she was way too good for him... even if he was right he felt sure that he would have had a better shot than Tym, here, and the thought made him feel pity more than triumph.
“And the person with him is... Winchell!?”
2.
Winchell was dead. Abe remembered a lot of the conversation from last night so clearly that he had an entire list of questions he had meant to ask Tym. A literal list, written down in the morning, folded up in his pocket. It was right beside one of his knives. And he clearly remembered Tym's harrowing tale of Winchell's death.
“Are you certain?” said Abe.
Tym was trying to hide behind Abe (which was doomed from the start since Tym was nearly twice as broad as Abe) and he peered around him to watch as Roods and his small charge approached. “Certainly looks like Winchell.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“He was.”
“Then why are you hiding?”
“You don't think ghosts are frightening?”
“Fair point,” said Abe. “But I'm sure I'd be less frightened of ghosts if I could do magic.” He assessed the young man walking alongside Roods, both of whom were still a fair distance away. “And you didn't see the body, right? I mean, you don't know that he's dead...”
As Roods drew closer he lifted his dark glasses up and peered at Abe, a surprised and, Abe thought, slightly uncomfortable smile crossed his lips. “Abe,” he said, “I thought you were asleep when we agreed to meet here.”
“Just a lucky coincidence,” said Abe. “I was on my way to work after paying off your exorbitant bill here, Roods... I just happened to run into Tym.”
The other boy, this Winchell, he was hanging back in a way that seemed peculiar to Abe as well. If he had just risen from the dead to be reunited with a friend, he felt like he'd have at least said hello. But this lad had gone round the corner and was currently out of sight. Was it just someone who resembled Winchell walking near Roods?
“Well, um,” said Roods, looking at his wrist where he was most definitely not wearing a watch, “I expect you ought to be on your way then. Don't want to keep Judge 'Watchem Flinch' Finche waiting, eh...?”
Abe had the feeling that he ought to leave. He got the distinct impression that Roods had not expected him and that he was screwing up the man's plan. It definitely seemed that Roods was trying to dismiss him now, and he was sure it would have worked before he'd been to Underton. Of course, before he'd been to Underton Abe would never have found himself being used as a human shield by a portly wizard, either. “Oh, he's family, I have a bit of leeway,” Abe said. He rocked forward on his toes and peered toward the corner. “Who was that you were walking with just now, McCallister?”
Roods looked extra uncomfortable. Abe was close enough to see a sheen of moisture on the other man's brow, the first time on record anyone had ever seen McCallister Roods sweat. “Oh, you mean...?”
“Tym thought it was Winchell, but that's impossible, right? Because Winchell's dead...?”
Roods cleared his throat and took a step back. “Well, actually, bit of a surprise, but...”
The young man came out from around the corner, looking only slightly more at-ease than Roods himself. He was dressed in the standard street urchin uniform that Abe had never seen anywhere outside of a theatrical production in the past: rough and over-sized shirt, pants and vest made of a sort of tailored burlap, and a small cap. Abe was dreading the possibility that he might burst into song about what a “lovely day in th' ol' poor 'ouse” it was or about “gruel, glorious gruel” any minute.
Instead he stepped past Roods and looked to Tym. “Is that you, Tym?”
Tym cleared his throat and moved from behind Abe with more dignity than should have been possible. The boy Winchell was twelve or thirteen at most, and was very small for his age. Tym probably would have outweighed Winchell if Winchell had another Winchell in each pocket. “I could ask you the same question, Win.”
The little boy looked saddened at the response. “What do you mean, Tym. Course it's me.”
“I saw you die, Winchell!”
Abe walked around Winchell to approach Roods, speaking quietly. “It's a fair point, Roods. Where did you find him?”
Roods touched his damp brow and said, “well, that's just it. He found me.”
Abe wasn't convinced. He turned to watch Tym, who was in the process of saying “... you remember. I mean, I know it's been a while, but...” Tym held out his hand as if to shake, but when Winchell reached for it he spread his fingers and slapped Winchell's hand. Winchell haltingly mimicked the movements and then tentatively held out his index finger. “That's it!” said Tym with forced enthusiasm. “Can't believe you forgot!”
Winchell laughed nervously. “Just needed to have my memory jogged...”
Tym suddenly stepped toward Winchell and shoved him hard toward Roods. “Abe, run!”
Roods stumbled backwards as Winchell crashed into him, but he kept his footing and reached beneath his jacket. Abe jumped back and reached into his own breast pocket where he kept his pistol but found it missing. Roods had the gun Abe was missing pointed right at him.
“Forgot you gave it me, Mr. Crompton?” Roods smiled and pulled back the hammer. “Don't know why you had to show up. Complicates things.”
Abe slowly extracted his empty hand from his jacket and showed that it was empty before holding both hands up in front of him. He glanced down at Tym, whose face was nearly as red as his hair, and said, “could someone tell me what in hell is going on here?”
Tym pointed at Winchell, who was struggling to get his bearings without knocking the gun out of Roods’ hands. “Not Winchell,” said Tym.
Roods and Winchell both said, “how do you know?” at the same exact time.
“He thought we had a secret handshake!”
“You told me we had a secret handshake!” said Winchell. Or not Winchell, apparently. He wasn't doing himself any favors by the fact that his voice had changed dramatically from the high-pitched young boy voice of before. He now sounded hollower and older and more strained, somehow. More like an uptight old man than a child.
Tym laughed, “and you believed me?” He turned to Abe, who was still standing with his hands up at gun point. “The real Winchell'd never have believed me.”
“Also wouldn't the real Winchell have known you were lying?” said Abe.
“Well, yeah,” said Tym.
“The real Winchell had a major head injury when a building fell on him,” said Winchell. “The real Winchell couldn't be expected to remember every single thing!”
Roods tilted the gun a bit as his eyes flicked briefly to Tym. “I bet the real Winchell wouldn't have referred to himself as 'the real Winchell' in third person, hmm?”
Abe rolled his eyes but kept his hands up. “I think we've established that he isn't the real Winchell.”
“Oh, fine!” said the fake Winchell. He didn't sound at all like Winchell anymore and as he stepped back and to the side he stopped looking quite so much like Winchell, too.
His hands stretched out to his sides, fingers rigid and clutching like claws or the rictus fingers of a corpse. The fingers arched unnaturally and then snapped backwards. The grotesque sound of bone snapping was joined by the popping of the fake Winchell's jaw as his mouth opened wider and wider, almost making a straight line from top teeth to bottom teeth. His back was contorting as well, twisting to the side with a series of loud pops and screeches as bone ground on bone in protest to the impossible movement.
The thing's legs swelled and split the seams of the cheap trousers, the flesh seeming to rise up and grow faster than the ana
tomy could adapt. The knee seemed to thrust up past the thigh before the thigh could grow, and the whole time a strange whine was escaping the monster's throat. It began as at an even higher pitch than fake Winchell's voice had been, but gradually it became deeper as the former Winchell grew. It slowly increased in width and height until it was as tall as Roods and somewhat wider, and then it began to take on humanoid features once more.
Familiar humanoid features.
Wooden ones.
“Run!” Tym thrust his palm out toward Roods and the pistol in his hand went flying as if his hand was hit with a bat. Abe immediately tried to ram his knee into Roods’ crotch but Roods caught the leg and pushed it away, throwing Abe off balance as the tall investigator swung his arm in a wide circle that ended with his fist in Abe's chest. Abe felt the air rush from his lungs. He actually reached out and caught Roods’ arm in an effort to keep from falling to the sidewalk, but Roods pulled free and Abe landed hard on his back.
“What part of 'run' don't you get?” said Tym. He lashed out with his palm again, knocking the still-forming Woodsman into Roods and then bending to help Abe to his feet. He must have used magic, Abe thought, since he got Abe up with only a minimal effort, and though Abe could hardly breathe he turned with Tym to get away from Roods and the Woodsman.
And behind them was a very tall woman with a gigantic bun. She was gorgeous and her features were so sharp as to look jagged. She had a very thin, very unamused look on her face. “Mr. Wharmley,” she said, and she gestured with just her finger and her thumb. The rest of her hand didn't move from her hip, and yet Tym froze completely, gasping as if being choked.
Chapter Eighteen: A savage encounter
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