The Grimjinx Rebellion

by Brian Farrey

  We all shivered and spit, a thief ritual to ward off bad luck. The assassin-monks were a mysterious order, known almost as well for their devotion to cataloging every known language in the Provinces as they were for their abilities as assassins. You didn’t exactly walk up and introduce yourself. They were hard to find. No two accounts could agree on where Blackvesper Abbey was located. In fact, the par-Goblins had a saying: You don’t find the assassin-monks, the assassin-monks find you. Not exactly welcoming.

  “I have an important question,” I said. “Why does my life depend on delivering this message?”

  “Huh,” Maloch said. “I thought it meant your life depended on leaving the Provinces.”

  “I can see how you’d read it that way,” Ma said. “She could have been clearer. I’ve warned her about imprecise language—”

  “Can we focus, please?” I said. “My life depends on something happening or not happening. Which is it?”

  Da closed the journal. “Well, you can ask Aubrin yourself when we get her out of the Creche. Which is what we’re here to discuss. Let’s hear your thoughts.”

  Everyone spoke fast. We threw around ideas, good and bad. We were so busy talking, we hardly noticed a knock at the door. When one of the guards opened it, Callie charged into the house, clutching a scroll. “I’ve got an idea how—”

  She froze when she saw the Dowager, the Castellan, and the guards. My family and Maloch silenced Callie with big, wide-eyed smiles. Callie’s gaze fell on the candle and, without hesitation, she smeared a bit of freshly melted wax on her earlobe.

  “What are you doing with a garblewax candle?” Callie asked.

  “A what?” I replied innocently.

  She pointed at the candle. “I’m a mage, Jaxter. I know a garblewax candle when I see one. It magically masks your conversation. Anyone with wax on their ears can hear what you’re saying, while everyone else”—she pointed to the Dowager and Jorn—“hears something completely different.”

  “Sorry, Callie,” the Dowager called over from the living room. “What was that about eating cargabeast steak for breakfast?”

  Callie raised her eyebrows at us to say See what I mean?, then smiled sweetly at the Dowager. “Nothing!” She sat next to me at the table. “Only mages can legally possess garblewax.”

  “You do remember whose house you’re in, right?” Da asked.

  Callie shrugged it off. “I know how to get Aubrin.”

  We stared uncomfortably at Callie. Technically, she worked for the Palatinate. Sharing our plans with her wasn’t a good idea.

  She waved her hand. “Oh, please. You’re planning to break Aubrin out of the Creche. I know you too well. I’m here to help.”

  We remained quiet for a long time. Finally, Ma said, “We appreciate the offer, Callie. But I think, under the circumstances—”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Callie insisted.

  Maloch grunted. “No chance, Strom. You’re one of them.”

  “I’m an honorary Grimjinx,” Callie said, looking at Da to back her up.

  “That she is,” Da said. Callie had been given the title after she helped us destroy the fateskein tapestry. It wasn’t a title we bestowed lightly on non-family.

  Callie nodded once. “I’ve been reading up on the Creche in Talian’s library—”

  “Unless you’ve got a map that shows how to sneak in—” Maloch said.

  “You don’t need one. You can walk right in the front door and no one will think twice about it.”

  It didn’t seem possible. With the Palatinate running the Creche, it had to be highly secure.

  Callie leaned in. “Did you know there’s not a single adult there? Just the seers and a staff of caretakers . . . and they’re all kids.”

  Ma perked up, suddenly curious. “Now why is that, do you suppose?”

  “It’s because adults tend to make the seers nervous,” Callie said. “When they’re surrounded by people their own age, the seers are much more productive and find it easier to master their skills. At least, that’s what it said in A History of Seers.”

  “How is that in any way helpful?” Maloch asked.

  Callie ignored him. “They don’t use just any kids. The workers there are all criminals. They’re sent to the Creche as a punishment.”

  I saw where Callie was going. “Bangers! So Maloch and I pose as prisoners—”

  Callie nodded. “I’m coming too. The Creche has magical defenses. You’ll need a mage to help.”

  Da wasn’t convinced. “How will you explain it to Talian?”

  “He’s leaving for the Palatinate Palace tomorrow,” Callie said. “All the mages in the Provinces are planning a special celebration for the High Laird during the Jubilee. I’m to stay with my uncle until Talian returns. But I’ll just tell my uncle that Talian changed his mind and is taking me with him. So all we really need now is to forge some documents that say we’ve been sentenced to work in the Creche. . . .”

  Callie batted her eyes at Ma, the family’s forgery expert. “Oh, I think that’s entirely possible,” Ma said.

  We finalized our plans. Callie would meet us tomorrow morning at the Vengekeep portcullis. Ma and Da would take us to the Creche, then go ahead to Vesta to arrange passage away from the Provinces. By the time we got Aubrin out of the Creche and met up with my folks at Vesta’s Bellraven Inn (a secret safehouse for thieves), the Jubilee would be in full swing. People would be so busy celebrating that we could be halfway out to sea before anyone realized we were gone.

  Callie went home. Ma and Da went upstairs to bed. Maloch muttered something about taking a last walk around Vengekeep and left. I sat alone at the table, while the Dowager wrapped up her meeting. When Jorn finally left, I took a deep breath. This was it.

  Time to say good-bye.

  The Dowager heaved a loud sigh as soon as the front door was between her and the Castellan. “You’ve lived in town with that man for twelve years?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I can barely stand twelve hours with him.”

  I laughed and took a seat at her side. “You get used to the smell. Besides, you only have to wait until the end of the Jubilee.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “Then we’ll be back at Redvalor.”

  My stomach lurched. I tried to speak but nothing came out. Tell her the truth, I thought. Tell her that unless she breaks the law and sets Aubrin free, you can never go back to Redvalor.

  But I couldn’t. The Dowager would never ask me to turn on my family. I couldn’t ask her to turn on hers. So I went with the story we created.

  “Listen,” I said, “we’re taking a trip to visit Nanni in Angel Cove.”

  “Will you be back in time for the Jubilee?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, maybe a little too quickly.

  “Oh, good,” the Dowager said. “As soon as the Jubilee’s over, we’re going on vacation. I’m thinking a trip to the Firebrand Falls. Or maybe . . .”

  She listed several exotic destinations throughout the Provinces. I smiled, but it was killing me inside. When she finished, she rose.

  “We should get some sleep,” the Dowager announced. “You’ve got a long trip ahead of you and I have another day . . . with the Castellan.”

  As we moved to go up the stairs, Luda fell in behind us. “I’ll miss you, Luda,” I said, perhaps the biggest lie of the night. “But I’ll see you when I get back.”

  The Dowager chuckled. “Don’t be silly, Jaxter. Luda’s going with you on your trip. You’ll be in even more danger on the open road.”

  I hadn’t planned on that.

  “Right,” I said, casting a quick look at the Satyran. I could have sworn she raised her eyebrow just enough to say, And you thought you could get rid of me easily.

  “Good night, Jaxter,” the Dowager said. She stepped into her room and closed the door. I watched her disappear from sight, knowing it would be the last time I’d ever see her.

  Heading to my own room, I bumped into Luda. Her I’d have to see again. At least one
more time.

  The next morning, Ma, Da, and Maloch packed our covered wagon while I ran to the market to get food for our trip. Or, at least, that’s what I told Luda. I wove my way through the streets of Vengekeep, and my Satyran shadow never strayed more than an arm’s length away.

  As we neared the market, I threw myself to the cobblestone pavement and screamed in agony. “The pain! The pain!”

  Luda looked stymied. She wasn’t very good with an opponent she couldn’t bludgeon. “What happened?”

  “It’s my ankle,” I whined. “I need you to bring the healers here.”

  “I will carry you,” she said, bending over to scoop me up.

  I swatted away her outstretched hands. “Are you naff-nut?” I asked. “Don’t you know anything about human bodies? This is a serious, life-threatening wound. If you move an injured ankle . . . my head could fall off!”

  Not one of my better lies. But I was pressed for time.

  Luda looked from my ankle to my head and back to my ankle, as if trying to decide how one could possibly be related to the other. I cried out again, hoping to speed her along. She glanced around at the passersby.

  “If anyone kidnaps you, do not fear. I am a Satyran Grand Master at tracking. I can find you anywhere.”

  “Master tracker, right, great. Go track down a healer!”

  Luda galloped away at full pace. As soon as she was out of sight, I bolted toward the city gates where Ma, Da, and Maloch were waiting with our mang-drawn wagon. A moment later, Callie appeared with a backpack, and together, we climbed aboard.

  As Da drove the wagon under the portcullis, Callie produced a piece of paper. The edge was jagged, like it had been torn from a book.

  “From Talian’s secret library,” she said. “It details the Creche’s magical defenses. Between my spellsphere and your pouches, Jaxter, we should have no problem getting to Aubrin.”

  “Bangers, Callie,” I said. “This’ll be easy.”

  It was not easy.

  7

  Gobek and Mavra

  “Need is a fickle taskmaster.”

  —par-Goblin proverb

  “Now remember,” I said, “kids sent to work at the Creche are hardened criminals. Only the lowest of the low are punished like this. Callie, stop smiling. Look meaner. Scowl a bit. Maloch, you . . . No, never mind, you’re fine the way you are. Ready?”

  The three of us stood, staring at the Creche looming before us. A perfect sphere of shimmering gold, it was nearly the size of a mountain. Beautiful whorls, wide as rivers, covered the surface. Occasionally, streams of magical energy would race through the whorl gullies, making the entire sphere flicker.

  Nearby, Ma and Da were putting on their stateguard disguises. “Remember,” Ma said, donning her helmet, “you’ve got a week to find Aubrin and then a week to reach Vesta. We’ll be waiting there.”

  Maloch hadn’t stopped gawping at the massive structure. “Is that enough time? This place is huge. If there are only a handful of seers every generation, why is it so big?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” I said.

  Directly in front of us, a small alcove at the base of the sphere hid the only door we could find. Lowering the visors on their helmets, Ma and Da stood on either side of us. Da reached out, gripped the long rope that dangled near the door, and gave a hard tug. A muffled bell clanged.

  Several minutes later, we heard clicks and rattling from within, like locks being unhitched. Then, the round door slid to the side, just enough to reveal a small figure within.

  The creature was unlike anything I’d ever seen. He stood upright like a human, but that’s where the resemblance ended. His eyes took up most of his face, with just a tiny nose and mouth below. Stubby arms hung from the sides of his bulbous body. Broad, gelatinous legs brought him up to my chest. His greasy, mottled gray skin looked like wet clay.

  Those huge eyes glistened when he spotted us. “Is visitors!” he declared joyously with a thick accent. Then he frowned and said, “Is not allowed.” With a tug, he slammed the door shut.

  We stood there, unsure what to do. So Da rang the bell again. When the door slid open, the creature acted like he hadn’t just seen us.

  “Is visitors!” he cried again.

  “No!” Ma said, before he could slam the door shut. “We’re not visitors. We’ve been ordered to bring these prisoners to you.”

  Da held up the documents bearing both Talian’s and Castellan Jorn’s forged signatures. The creature waddled outside, grimacing with each step. He examined the papers closely.

  “Is not first of month,” the creature muttered, poking at Talian’s wax seal. “Is first of month, is time for new workers.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ma said, “but you see, these ruffians have been very bad. They’re really quite terrible. Couldn’t wait for the first of the month to get rid of them.”

  The creature shrugged. “Is making no difference to Gobek. Is always needing new workers. Is following me.”

  He turned and went inside, pushing the door wider so we could all come in. Holding tight to Tree Bag, I stepped over the threshold and caught a glimpse of a plaque that hung over the doorway.

  The plaque read: YESTERDAY IS TODAY.

  My heart skipped a beat at seeing Kolo’s last words engraved over the door. I’d never been one to believe in coincidence. This is what Kolo meant, I thought. He wanted me to come here. I had a feeling I’d find more than Aubrin in these halls.

  Iron pots filled with magical green-blue fire floated above our heads. A single corridor led us deeper into the sphere. Instead of walls made from stone or wood, the passages were formed by sheer yellow curtains that hung from above. The creature stopped in the middle of the room and groaned.

  “Are you okay?” Callie asked.

  “Is very difficult being Gobek,” the creature said, pain pinching his voice.

  “Can we help?”

  Maloch cleared his throat and glared at Callie. We were supposed to be outlaws. Callie’s concern wasn’t helping our story.

  But Gobek didn’t seem to notice. He waved his hand and smiled. “Is nice of you, young criminal lady. Gobek is not able to help being Gobek. Is to be Gobek, is to be hurting. Is way of things.”

  Now even I was feeling bad for him. Every gesture, every step seemed to hurt. Still, he kept smiling at us.

  “Is Gobek. Is caretaker. Is welcoming you to Creche. Is being good? Is treated good. Is being bad? Is not treated good. Is simple.”

  The curtains gave way to stone walls that curved widely to the right. All the while, Gobek chattered amiably about how he hoped we would enjoy working at the Creche. Truth be told, I got the idea that working under Gobek wouldn’t be much punishment at all. He seemed rather nice. Talkative, but nice.

  The corridor opened up into an expansive library. Kids our age and slightly older scuttled around with feather dusters, cleaning the bookshelves. The caretaker took us across the room to a tall, Aviard girl with short black feathers. She was throwing logs into the fireplace and prodding the embers with a poker. Actually, the way she did it was more like stabbing. And each stab made her frown more deeply.

  “Is looking at this, Mavra,” Gobek said to the girl. “Is new workers!”

  Gobek had said they could always use new workers. The look on this girl’s face suggested otherwise. She swung the poker around furiously, narrowly missing Gobek.

  “It’s not the first of the month!” she shouted. Nearly every worker in the room jumped when she spoke. “I just trained the last batch.”

  “Is in charge of workers,” Gobek explained to us brightly, pointing at Mavra as if he hadn’t even noticed how angry the girl was. Which was hard to miss. Dead people could have seen how angry she was.

  “Is special circumstance,” Gobek continued. “Is just three more.” Before Mavra could protest again, Gobek said to us, “Gobek is leaving you in Mavra’s care. Is listening to her carefully. Is being good.” With that, he turned and waddled away.

 
Mavra’s beak clicked furiously. She growled, then she spun to face away from us.

  “So, Mavra,” I said brightly. “I know this is really inconvenient for you. Believe me, it puts us out too. But we won’t cause any trouble. My name is Tyrius, by the way. In case, you know, you ever want to say, ‘Hey, Tyrius, go sweep out the seers’ quarters—’”

  Mavra squeezed a large bellows into the fireplace. “For now, just shut up and do what you’re told. Stand in the hall, out of the way. When we’re done here, I’ll show you to the worker barracks. And stay away from the seers until I tell you it’s okay.”

  We did as we were told and waited.

  “Well,” Callie whispered, “she’s lovely.”

  “She’s the one in charge,” I said.

  “So?” Maloch asked.

  “So, it’s like my great-aunt Rodina Grimjinx always says, ‘A friend in charge means rewards large.’”

  “Ugh,” Maloch said. “It sounds like Rodina’s been talking to Holm.”

  I peered at Mavra, who darted around the library, shouting orders at the other servants like a general in the Provincial Guard. “If Mavra’s in charge, she must know everything about the Creche. We get her on our side, and we can have Aubrin out of here in a day. Two days, tops.”

  Callie wasn’t convinced. “I’m getting the idea she doesn’t make friends easily. How are you going to do this?”

  I pushed my glasses up to the bridge of my nose. “Grimjinx charm is a force to be reckoned with. You wait and see: by the end of the night, Mavra and I will be best friends.”

  8

  A Baking Accident

  “To steal a purse, first steal the heart.”

  —Ganjar Grimjinx, master thief of Yonick Province

  Apparently, I was a mite out of practice using Grimjinx charm.

  By the end of that night, Mavra and I were not best friends. In fact, days went by and the harder I tried to charm the Aviard, the more she seemed to hate me. When the week was nearly out, not only was Aubrin still nowhere to be seen but also Mavra’s talons were wrapped around my throat and she was trying to kill me.