Thieves of Weirdwood

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  “Two?” Wally said. “You need two of something?”

  She shook her mouth back and forth, continuing to tap her two tentacles.

  “Charades!” Arthur said. “It’s trying to play charades!”

  “She,” Wally said.

  “Right,” Arthur said. “She’s playing charades.”

  Breeth’s fanged mouth dipped up and down. Wally guessed that meant yes.

  Arthur rubbed his hands together and studied what Breeth was doing. “Okay, two syllables.”

  Breeth nodded. Then she held up one tentacle.

  “First syllable.”

  Breeth rolled onto her side, flopping her tentacles to the floor.

  “Dead,” Arthur said. “You’re dead. Yeah, we knew that already. You’re a ghost.”

  Breeth shook her head. Remaining on her side, her toothy mouth made a vibrating sound.

  “Snoring!” Arthur said. “Sleep!”

  One of the tentacles wiggled back and forth as if to say “sort of.” Then she pointed toward the ceiling.

  “Oh, um—” Arthur said. “Ceiling? No, sky. Sleepy sky!”

  Breeth continued snoring, and Wally snapped his fingers. “Oh! Night!”

  Breeth nodded enthusiastically as she rolled upright. She held up two tentacles.

  “Second syllable,” Arthur said.

  Breeth froze a moment like she was thinking. Then she bundled four tentacles together and walked them around the floor.

  “Uh…” Arthur said.

  “Slime?” Ludwig guessed. “No, no, suction cups!”

  “Ludwig,” Sekhmet said, “you’re terrible at this. Stop being so literal.”

  Ludwig blushed, and Sekhmet took out Huamei’s claw. “How about instead of distracting us, you do us a favor?”

  Ludwig’s pink cheeks paled. “Is zat…?”

  “Yes,” Sekhmet said. “I need you to fashion it into a quill. And keep it hidden. If anyone finds out we have this, the dragons will attack Weirdwood.”

  Ludwig swallowed, took the claw, and excused himself.

  Wally watched Breeth’s four tentacles walk back and forth. “Is it an animal?”

  Breeth nodded enthusiastically.

  “Cow!” Arthur said. “Sheep! Pig! Dog! Goat! Llama!”

  The tentacles flopped to the ground, exasperated.

  Wally gave Arthur a look. “Do you really think she’s trying to say Night Llama?”

  “I don’t hear you guessing,” Arthur said.

  “Horse?” Sekhmet guessed.

  Breeth nodded fervently and pinched two tentacles together as if to say “You’re this close.” While continuing to walk her imaginary tentacle animal around the floor, she pointed two tentacles at Arthur and Wally and shook her head. Then she pointed to herself and nodded.

  “Girl!” Sekhmet said. “Girl horse! Mare!”

  “Nightmare!” Wally and Arthur cried out at the same time.

  Breeth threw all of her tentacles into the air as if they had just scored a goal.

  “Oh,” Wally said, smile fading. “It’s a nightmare being in there?”

  Breeth shook her head, then pointed a tentacle into her mouth.

  “You…” Wally tried, “are a nightmare?”

  She nodded fervently.

  “Aw, you don’t look that bad,” Arthur said. “Right, Cooper?”

  “I don’t think that’s what she’s trying to say,” Wally said. He thought a moment. “Oh! You’re Moore’s nightmare.”

  Breeth made a gurgling shriek of success as every one of her tentacles wrapped around him in a big, slimy hug.

  “Of course!” Arthur said. “This monster came straight from Alfred Moore’s nightmares! She’s a twisted version of Garnett’s adventures!”

  “We can attack him with the very thing he’s been hurting other people with,” Sekhmet said. “Give him a taste of his own medicine. Scare him into submission.”

  Wally rested his hand on Breeth’s side. “Are you sure? You might die again.”

  Her tentacles went limp, but she nodded.

  Wally understood why she would make this sacrifice: Moore could tell them the identity of her killer. Besides, it was probably no fun living life as a tentacle monster.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Sekhmet said. “Moore will try to kill anything that enters that monster hospital. She wouldn’t make it through the portcullis.”

  Everyone paused. The only sound was Breeth’s dripping teeth.

  “What if we save his life instead?” Wally asked.

  “I hate to break this to you, Cooper,” Arthur said, “but we’re trying to defeat the evil Mirror author, not rescue him.”

  “I mean pretend to save his life,” Wally said. “He doesn’t trust us right now. But what if we were to make him believe he was in mortal danger from the tentacle monster and then swoop in and rescue him at the last moment?”

  “He might kill us anyway,” Sekhmet said. “If his greatest fear shows up, he’ll throw everything he can at it.”

  A grin crept across Wally’s face. “Puppets.”

  Arthur’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m not following you.”

  About time, Wally thought.

  Usually he was the one left in the dark while Arthur rattled off some nonsense that didn’t have any bearing on reality. Of course, it had been Graham who’d slyly given Wally the solution in the Mirror City. Wally was starting to embrace his brother’s way of looking at the world.

  “We can’t set foot in Moore’s hospital without getting destroyed by some horrible creation,” Wally said. “So what if we send in someone he won’t destroy?”

  “Who?” Arthur said.

  “Garnett Lacroix.”

  Arthur’s eyes went wide.

  Wally continued. “We can use Huamei’s claw to revive Garnett Lacroix by adding to his story like Huamei tried to do with the porcelain doll. Breeth can get him past Monster Greyridge’s defenses and then attack Moore. The Gentleman Thief will save his creator from the tentacle monster and then convince Moore to hand over the Quill.”

  “Cooper,” Arthur said, “you’re a genius.”

  Wally blushed. “We’ll need a writer who knows those stories inside and out.”

  Arthur searched Wally’s eyes. “Valerie Lucas? But she’s dead.”

  “I’m talking about you!”

  “Me?”

  “Of course! You’ve quoted nearly every single line of those books to me! All you have to do is ask yourself ‘What would Garnett do?’ and then write it down like Alfred Moore—er, Valerie Lucas would.”

  “But … what would he do in this situation?”

  Wally tapped his lips. “Could you give Garnett sword hands and impenetrable skin or something?”

  Arthur scoffed, insulted. “I wouldn’t believe it if I wrote it.” He held his head. “I don’t even know how to bring Garnett back from the dead! All of his blood is gone!”

  Wally smirked. This was the first time he’d ever heard Arthur admit all the things he couldn’t do. He patted his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  Sekhmet cleared her throat. “Did either of you want to ask the expert on magic whether this plan will actually work?”

  Wally and Arthur stared at her.

  “If you write with a dragon claw,” Sekhmet told Arthur, “then your soul will be drawn into the body of Garnett Lacroix.”

  “Oh,” Arthur said, swallowing.

  “Wait,” Wally said. “That didn’t happen to Moore when he wrote his monsters.”

  “Moore doesn’t have a soul,” Sekhmet said. “He’s a figment.” She placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “If Garnett dies, then your spirit will become lost forever.”

  “Better and better,” Arthur said, rubbing his face.

  “Still,” Sekhmet said, “I haven’t heard a better solution. The Manor is spread so thin between the dragons, the Fae-born, and the fight with the Order that Amelia is considering sealing off Mirror
Kingsport, trapping the imagination of its citizens, and letting Kingsport fall into Daymare.”

  “Daymare?” Wally said, heart sinking.

  “Melding with the Mirror City,” Sekhmet said. “All of Kingsport’s worst fears will come true. Like a living nightmare no one can wake up from.”

  Wally and Arthur went quiet.

  “Then we do it,” Arthur said. “For Kingsport.”

  “There’s more,” Sekhmet said. “You can’t stay here. Amelia knows this Manor almost as well as Lady Weirdwood, and she’s way less forgiving. If she finds you with a dragon claw, she’ll lock you up. She might even turn you over to Huamei’s mom. And it would be foolish to send you back to the Mirror. Too many risks. In order to write without interruption, you’re going to have to return to Real Kingsport.”

  “Where more of Moore’s monsters are going to attack me,” Arthur said.

  “I’ll come with and defend you,” Sekhmet said, flipping a sword over her hand. “Wally, you and Ludwig can head into the Mirror to help once Garnett is revived.”

  “How are we going to get Garnett and Breeth up to Greyridge?” Wally said. “She’s huge, and the building’s flying in circles hundreds of feet up in the air.”

  “I sink I can help vith zat.”

  Ludwig stood in the doorway. He held the newly fashioned Claw Quill in one hand, and in the other, his squares of paper.

  “Your birds can get an entire tentacle monster to fly?” Sekhmet asked skeptically.

  “She vill require a boost,” Ludwig said, examining Breeth. “But once she is up in ze air, I can get ze vind under her. Like, vhat you say … a kite.”

  Sekhmet frowned at the paper cuts on her fingers. “Guess I’m folding more cranes.”

  “How will we boost Breeth?” Wally asked.

  Arthur snapped his fingers. “Underwear.”

  Wally rolled his eyes. “Tell me this doesn’t involve removing pants.”

  “Nope! We can build a sling out of stretchy underwear bands. There’s got to be underwear on Licey Lane, right? They might be a little itchy, but still.”

  “How much time do you spend thinking about underwear?” Sekhmet asked.

  Arthur’s ears turned red. “You have to get creative when you’re an author.” He thought a moment. “It will take time to build the sling. If only we had more help…”

  At that, Breeth started to gurgle and choke. Her tentacles heaved and then her toothy mouth hocked up three skeletons.

  22

  ARTHUR THE AUTHOR

  Kingsport was in darkness, the lamplighters too afraid to light the lamps. Windows were shattered. Roofs were caved in. Rubble littered the sidewalks.

  Arthur watched the skies and sewers for signs of an impending monster attack. But all was quiet. Alfred Moore must have been too busy fortifying the bat-winged Mirror mental hospital that Arthur would have to break into as Garnett Lacroix. The thought was less than comforting.

  “What’s the plan?” Sekhmet whispered.

  “Right,” Arthur said. “The plan.”

  Now that he’d finally earned Sekhmet’s respect, his tongue felt tied in knots. It wasn’t easy coming up with a way to revive your childhood hero and send him on an adventure when an unspeakable monster could be waiting around the next corner.

  But there was one place in the city where Arthur always felt safe—where the adventure always flowed through him.

  “Okay,” he said, “we’re going to head to the rooftop where I’ve read Moore’s stories for the past several years. I’ll nestle myself between my trusty chimney pots and—”

  Arthur heard the sound of drawn steel, a sizzle, a clink, and then a thunk. He turned around to find Charlie, the Rook’s bodyguard, dumping Sekhmet’s unconscious body in an alley, having just clubbed her over the head. His shirt smoldered where Sekhmet had tried to cut him, but his chain mail gleamed unbroken underneath.

  Charlie brushed off his hands. “Boss wants to see ya.”

  Arthur tried to dash away, but Charlie seized his arm and dragged him toward Paradise Lane.

  “Charlie!” Arthur said, forcing a smile. “I got that treasure the Rook wanted. Stashed it in Cobbler’s Alley.” It was the only place Arthur could think of that was so crowded with packing crates he might have a chance at escape. “If we could just head that way, I’m sure the Rook will remember this when he chooses his successor for the Black Feathers.”

  Charlie plodded silently ahead, hand clamped tight as a manacle around Arthur’s arm.

  “But if you don’t take me to the treasure,” Arthur said, “the Rook will probably demote you to the Stormcrow’s dishwasher.”

  Charlie only snorted.

  Arthur started to panic. Again, his heroic plans had been foiled in the span of a breath. Why didn’t things ever work like they did in adventure stories?

  Charlie shoved Arthur through the Stormcrow’s entrance and then patted down his pockets while Arthur frantically searched for an escape. The pub looked small and quaint compared to the maniac pub of the Mirror. There were no snarling scavengers. No smoky steins. The lamps flickered yellow. Usually, the Stormcrow would be bustling, but it seemed a tentacle had smashed through the side wall, forcing the pub to close for repairs.

  In the corner, Liza swept shattered glass. Arthur caught her eye, flashing her a desperate look, but she quickly glanced away. When it came down to it, Liza must’ve been as afraid of her father as everyone else.

  “What’s this?” Charlie asked, pulling the claw Quill out of Arthur’s pocket.

  “That,” Arthur said, thinking fast, “is petrified mammoth’s dung. If you look really closely, you can see bits of undigested corn.”

  Charlie gave the claw Quill a disgusted look but held on to it. He forced Arthur through the back door, painted with the screeching rook. The office’s cherry wood walls were high and wide. A desk sat in the middle, stacked with gold and accounts.

  The Rook sat on his feathered throne. “Hello, Arthur.”

  A few days ago, Arthur would have been elated to be invited into the Rook’s office. But that was before he knew about the opportunities that awaited him in Weirdwood Manor—opportunities that would give him a life far more adventurous and noble than the one he would lead as a Black Feather.

  Charlie held up the claw Quill. “He had this in his pocket.”

  “What do we have here?” the Rook said.

  He smiled, revealing his tattooed tongue. His yellow eyes shone as he studied the Quill’s blue veins, but he did not take it.

  Arthur stiffened when he realized he’d brought the one thing that could defeat Moore straight to the most dangerous man in Kingsport. If the Rook found out how it worked, he could level the city. Arthur had to get it back. He searched for excuses: That Quill is made of mammoth’s dung. It was dipped in blood. It’s infected with the Pox …

  But before he could come up with a reasonable excuse, the Rook stood from his desk and went to a sheet-covered figure in the corner. He pulled off the sheet, revealing a woman. Arthur couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. Her cheeks were pinched pink, but her eyes were glassy and unblinking. She stood all by herself, but she didn’t seem to be breathing. Her expression was as dull as wax.

  The Rook ran his fingers down the woman’s pale throat. “Soon, my love,” he whispered.

  My love? Arthur thought.

  He looked at the Rook and his black-swirled tongue. He saw his tattooed hands, which hadn’t reached out for the claw Quill. Huamei had said that Lady Weirdwood once bound someone from speaking spells or handling magical implements …

  Arthur could have kicked himself, it was so obvious. If he had read it in a book, he would have rolled his eyes.

  The Rook was the Fallen Warden.

  “Lock our errant thief in the cellar,” the Rook said, brushing the air with the back of his hand.

  Before Arthur could protest, Charlie grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him behind the Rook’s desk, kicking a rug aside and
hauling open a barred trapdoor, leading to the cellar.

  “The Rook is my king!” Arthur cried. “His feathers my nest! I am encompassed in the black of his eye and protected in the claws of his talons! I will serve him as the earth serves the sun, as the worm serves the rook!”

  Charlie hesitated. The Rook raised his eyebrows. He was listening.

  Arthur’s mind worked quickly, weaving together the separate threads of the Rook and the Fallen Warden. If Lady Weirdwood was able to bind the Rook, then that meant she was more powerful than he was …

  “The Wardens are onto you,” Arthur lied. “They caught Alfred Moore and locked him up in the Abyssment. They’re headed here right now.”

  The Rook’s eyes narrowed.

  “Lady Weirdwood told me to come ahead and betray you,” Arthur continued. “To lead you into a trap. I pretended to follow her orders, but I have remained loyal to the Black Feathers.” He nodded to the claw Quill in Charlie’s hand. “That’s why I stole that thing from her. To give to you. Sekhmet, that girl with the swords that Charlie knocked out, didn’t know I had it.”

  The Rook sneered. “Taught you some Wordcraft in that creaky old Manor, did they?”

  “They tried, but I resisted,” Arthur said. He held up his right hand where Moore had stabbed him and tried to think of the most violent person in Weirdwood. “I got this from Pyra when I disobeyed.”

  The Rook sneered at the claw Quill in Charlie’s hand. “Where did that come from then? Dragon bones are rarer than diamonds.”

  “That?” Arthur said, thinking fast. “That’s Moore’s Quill. You don’t recognize it because he used its magic to fashion it into something more comfortable to hold.”

  Arthur had no idea if dragon bones could change themselves, but he stood tall and unblinking as the Rook stepped close, his nose inches from Arthur’s.

  “How do I know you aren’t lying, boy?” the Rook asked.

  Arthur hesitated. He had to find the Rook’s weak spot. He glanced at the dull woman in the corner. This must have been his failed attempt at bringing his wife back to life.

  “Because I know you haven’t done anything wrong,” Arthur lied. “You aren’t a bad person. You just miss Liza’s mom. I miss mine too.”