The Ranger took the empty wooden bowl from Charlie.
“And what of you? What brings you to these parts, traveling in such esteemed company?”
Charlie thought for a moment and then pulled the photo of Billy from his pocket. He handed it to Ignacio and told him all about his cousin, how he wondered where he went and how he had to see him again.
“I need to find him, to talk to him,” Charlie said. “So we’re going to the woods past the desert.”
Ignacio raised an eyebrow. “Are you, now? Well, that is quite a journey. I wonder how our old Ranger friend got talked into that—”
“The Prime Minister, he asked him to go. After his meetings, you know, for the Council,” Charlie replied, hoping Franklin wouldn’t be mad that he had shared this information.
“Asked? Ha, should have known that the Prime Minister would somehow be involved,” the Ranger said, looking down at the picture. “Well, searching for a lost friend is a noble errand for such a young soul.” Ignacio smiled and handed the photograph back to Charlie. “Noble indeed, and these days that alone should be celebrated.”
— chapter 25 —
Heaps of Trouble
FRANKLIN AND THE Ranger decided that it would be best for Charlie to rest for a few days before their journey continued. They had examined the wound and agreed that it was healing nicely, although Charlie told them it itched horribly.
“That means it’s getting better, so let it itch,” Ignacio told him.
Franklin and Ignacio spent most of their time huddled over their maps and charts, while Charlie stayed on his blanket by the fire, buried in his book or writing letters back home of their progress. When they weren’t discussing logistics, Franklin, Rohmetall, and the Ranger took turns staying at the cabin with Charlie, patrolling the area and hunting for small game nearby. By the second day, Charlie already felt stronger. So after their patrol that morning, they allowed him to move around outside the cabin, just as long as he stayed within shouting range, which, for Franklin and an old Ranger like Ignacio, was farther than one might expect.
“Not too far, now,” Franklin warned. “You will need to get your things together later. I’m afraid we must leave tomorrow if we have any hope of reaching the plains in time for our summit.”
He gave Charlie his brass telescope and let him wander over to the river to sit on the rocks in the sun with Ringo and his book. From there, Charlie could see that the river dropped into a series of waterfalls, and after a while he thought he would stretch his legs, so he followed them to the rim of a great canyon. The canyon continued on the other side, but below the ledge, the river widened and opened to a spit of gravel beach. Back against the trees at the edge of the gravel, there was an odd collection of corrugated rust-streaked metal buildings. A narrow pier stretched out from the main building, and at the end of the pier, there was a small, broken shack.
Through the telescope, Charlie followed a long, heavy chain that was attached to the building and stretched down the length of the dock. The chain moved, periodically forcing Charlie to refocus the lens. When the image cleared again, he saw a little girl stepping out from the shadows; the chain was fastened to a thick iron cuff on her ankle.
The little girl’s hair was unruly, curly red, and tucked as best it could be under a soiled bonnet. She was dressed in layers of tattered clothes and was working hard, pulling a large net to the river’s edge, where she gathered it around her, then waded into the swift water. Charlie lowered the telescope and moved closer to the rim of the canyon. The height was dizzying. He looked through the lens again but had trouble locating the girl. He took a step to refocus, and another before he realized he was too close to the edge; his foot was slipping. Charlie dropped the telescope and stumbled sideways, trying to catch himself. He saw Ringo. The dog looked puzzled. Then Charlie felt nothing but air.
The icy water stole Charlie’s breath when he landed. He fought the current with all his strength, but Charlie knew that the river had him. He thought of Billy, and looking up, he saw a strange, shimmering light that seemed to take on an almost human shape. Was it Billy? He reached for the light, pushing off the bottom and swimming up, his arm extended as far as the riptide would allow. But as he approached the surface, both Billy and the light were gone. His lungs burning, Charlie knew he was out of air. Sinking now, he reached again for the surface, then saw a net spread out above him like a veil. His shoulder throbbing, Charlie wrapped his arm in its web, and the net pulled him up, bursting to the surface, and he was dragged toward the shore.
He tried to stand in the shallow water but stumbled at first before collapsing on the sand, and then lay there, breathing heavily and staring into the eye of one of the many discarded fish heads that littered the beach.
“You need to leave here.”
Charlie could see the little girl in the raggedy clothes and soiled bonnet standing over him.
“Leave, or there will be trouble,” the girl continued. She was small with delicate features browned by the sun. Her ice-blue eyes, almost translucent, seemed to stare right through him. Charlie sat up, still breathing heavily.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” the girl asked. “I had hoped to land a fish.”
“Well, thank you anyway,” Charlie said, looking back at the crumbling building behind him. It was quiet except for the river and the loose, bent sheets of metal that methodically banged the sides in the wind. He followed the girl’s chain with his eyes back to the dock and the rusting steel shack. “You live here? Over there on the dock?”
“What business of that is yours?” the girl said, pulling in the net.
“I guess it isn’t.” Charlie’s breathing had calmed. “But the chain . . .”
“Again, not your concern.”
“I guess it’s not. Well, my name is Charlie—”
“My name is Abigail, Abigail Rose. Now you must leave,” the girl interrupted. “And please don’t come back here or there will be heaps of trouble for me.”
Charlie stood. His wet clothes clung to his goose-pimpled skin.
“Okay. I’ll go.” Charlie shivered.
He left the little girl on the beach and found his way to the rocky crags that led back to the Ranger’s cabin. At the top of the canyon, he found the telescope and his book, but Ringo was gone. As he gathered his things, he decided that he would take one more look, just to check on the girl, he told himself. When the telescope came into focus, Charlie could see that there was an old man in a long black tunic on the beach now, and that he was walking toward Abigail and her empty net. The man was shouting and waving a heavy stick, then Charlie lost them in the shadows of the dock.
What did she say? Charlie thought, looking back toward the cabin. Heaps of trouble? He couldn’t help but think that her troubles might be his fault—he had to do something. He knew he should take the time to run for Franklin or the Ranger, but the old man had a stick. It might be too late—he had to be brave. Billy would want him to be brave, Old Joe too, and maybe, he thought, even Franklin. He hoped that Ringo might alert them at the cabin, and then, against his better judgment, he ran back down the trail to the beach and to the girl.
There was no sign of the old man or the girl when Charlie dropped down to the sandy gravel. He ran, forgetting to count his steps along the water’s edge, and ducked behind a rowboat beneath the dock. He then followed the pier to the base of the building, where he climbed up to the long chain that held Abigail prisoner. It now led into the shack, snaking under the dingy tarp that served as a door.
The other end of the chain was welded to a metal plate, which was attached to the building with heavy rusted bolts. Examining the plate, Charlie could see wet, rotten wood under the tin siding. Using the blade of his sword, he was able to pry the plate loose, and he had to jump back to keep it from crushing his toes when it fell.
With the chain free from the building,
Charlie ran down the length of the dock, sword in his hand. The shack was small, the size of a playhouse, and as he approached, he heard sobbing.
“Abigail . . . ,” Charlie whispered, throwing back the canvas.
The little girl sat wrapped in a tattered blanket next to an apple crate in the corner. There was a tin bowl, a dented cup, and a small lantern on the crate, but otherwise the dirty room was empty.
“Charlie?” Abigail looked up, bewildered by his sudden appearance.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Charlie knelt down next to her.
“I told you, you mustn’t come back. You have to leave.”
“We both do, come on . . .”
Abigail tugged at the chain.
“I’ve taken care of that, but we have to go,” Charlie said.
“The chain?” Abigail stood up.
“Yes, now, come on.”
“Where will we go? He’ll find us,” she said.
“I have friends. You’ll have nothing to worry about when we find them—trust me.”
Charlie opened the tarp as Abigail gathered her cup and bowl and wrapped them in her blanket. She turned back to the light, and Charlie saw that her eye was red and swelling.
“That old man hit you?” Charlie said.
Abigail turned away from the light. “I didn’t catch no fish.”
“We have to go,” he said firmly, feeling his anger rise at the sight of the small girl’s growing bruises.
Charlie reached out to take Abigail’s hand, but she pulled it away quickly. Her fingers, much like the Prime Minister’s, felt like icicles.
“I’m coming,” Abigail said.
Charlie picked up an armload of chain. “I don’t know what to do with this. I guess we’ll just have to drag it.”
They moved quickly down the dock, dragging Abigail’s heavy chain behind them as quietly as they could. There was still no sign of the man with the stick, so they dropped the length of chain and metal plate to the beach and jumped down after it. The chain was easier to manage in the sand, but as they stepped out from under the shadow of the dock, Charlie saw the old man staggering toward them, waving his stick.
“Heaps of trouble,” Abigail repeated.
Charlie looked back toward the dock.
“The rowboat.”
Charlie and Abigail turned, dragging the chain behind them, and found the boat under the dock. They piled the chain in the bow, and together they lifted the plate and dropped it in with a clang. Abigail pulled herself aboard and Charlie pushed the rowboat until it was floating, feeling the stitches in his shoulder strain.
He was standing in knee-deep water when the old man brought the stick down. It caught him by surprise, glancing off his good shoulder, but Charlie did not freeze from his fears this time. He reached for his sword, drew the blade, and blocked the next blow, then slashed out at the man. The old man stepped back, swinging the stick again. Charlie countered and cut the stick in half.
The old man threw down the two pieces in disgust. He looked sad and defeated standing at the shore under the dock.
“I keep her chained but not so she don’t run off,” the old man called as he tried to gather his breath. “I keep her chained to stop the creatures from running off with her—I swear!”
“Stay back!” Charlie said, holding the blade out in front of him and backing toward the boat.
“Lookee here, I’m the one that found her off wanderin’ in the woods there. What was I supposed to do, leave her? I’ve taken care of that girl. Gave her a place to live, tried to feed her, although I admit she don’t seem to eat much . . .”
The old man took another step toward Charlie.
“I said stay back!”
“Ya can’t just take her!” the old man pleaded. “Who’s gonna catch the fish?”
“I’m not taking her,” Charlie shouted. “This is a rescue!”
The boat caught the current, so Charlie had to swim to reach it. He dropped the sword over the side and pulled himself in. Abigail was huddled near the bow and the old man was still screaming on the shore. Drifting out into the stronger current, Charlie saw that the canyon narrowed ahead. He looked in the direction of the camp and saw Ringo run down from the rocks, followed by Franklin and the Ranger.
The boat swayed in the rougher water, and a length of chain that was left draped over the side caught the current. Abigail fumbled with it, and Charlie could see that the pile behind her was shrinking. The chains disappeared over the side, one link at a time, moving faster as its weight pulled it down below the swirling surface of the water. Charlie reached for the last of the links as they whipped overboard, but the chain slipped through his fingers. Abigail looked over her shoulder at him with a blank expression on her face. Then the chain went tight, jerking her forward, and the little girl was gone.
Charlie looked over the bow and caught a glimpse of Abigail’s red hair and rags waving around her like broken wings as she sank. Without hesitation, he dove in after her and swam to the bottom. He found the length of chain and tried to lift it but couldn’t. Then he saw something, although it was much larger than Abigail. It must be Billy, he thought. Like before, in the river and in the woods, after the trolls. He reached out for him but instead felt a rough tug on the chain, and he was pulled up, bursting to the surface. Charlie gasped, filling his lungs with air.
“Let go of the chain,” Charlie heard a deep voice bellow.
Between the waves that broke over his head, Charlie could see Franklin in the water. He was hanging from the side of the rowboat with one hand, the length of chain in his other. Abigail was drenched but huddled safely in the bow. Charlie dropped the chain and swam over to Franklin.
Franklin glared at the boy. He slung him with his free hand into the boat and Charlie landed on the pile of chain next to Abigail and lay there gasping for breath. Franklin finished securing the heavy links and pulled himself aboard next, his weight almost flipping the boat, then he sat with his back to Charlie as he put the oars into their locks. In the distance, Charlie could see the Ranger and Rohmetall waiting for them on the shore. The old man was already gone.
“The current is too strong. We will meet them downriver at the crossing,” Franklin said, turning the boat around. “We called to you, Charlie. You are fortunate that we came looking for you and found the dog when we did.”
Franklin guided the boat through one series of rapids, then another, and as the waters calmed, he looked up at the high canyon walls.
“Darkness will find us soon. We will have to stay in this canyon tonight,” he said, rowing the boat to a narrow rock beach. “Charlie, quickly, a fire.”
Shivering, Charlie jumped to the shore and gathered a pile of driftwood. Franklin pulled the boat in and then carried Abigail up to the dunes between the canyon walls. He set her down in the sand and took off his drenched cloak. From his pockets he removed a small bundle wrapped in waxed canvas that held a flint and tinder.
“At least this is dry,” he said, placing the tinder in the driftwood. Then, using the blade of his knife and the flint, Franklin lit a fire.
Charlie emptied his pockets as well, but all he had was his photo with Billy and the plastic fangs.
“My pack is back at the Ranger cabin,” Charlie said, laying the photograph on a rock near the fire to dry. “I’m sorry . . .”
“We will make do. More wood,” Franklin grunted at Charlie as the flames grew.
Charlie left the warmth of the fire to search for more driftwood. He looked up and saw the sun disappearing over the deep walls of the canyon but knew that they were safe. He closed his eyes and, once again, thought about how he had a Monster to thank.
— chapter 26 —
The Burden of Abigail’s Chains
WHEN CHARLIE RETURNED to their makeshift camp, Franklin was coiling Abigail’s long chain in his hands. Charlie stacked the driftwo
od and joined Franklin as he knelt down next to the girl.
“With your permission,” Franklin said softly.
Abigail nodded and with his left hand steadying the iron on her ankle, Franklin wrapped his right hand in a length of chain and pulled. The heavy chain twisted, and then, with a metallic snap, it broke, leaving three links hanging down past her tiny foot.
“I will have to see about that iron cuff in the morning when there is light.”
“Thank you,” the girl said. “I don’t have much memory before that dock. It feels strange to be on different sands, that’s for sure.”
“There’s spring water from the walls of the canyon just there,” Charlie offered. “Wish we had some food for you, but it’s all back with the Ranger.”
“I am not thirsty, or hungry, just tired,” Abigail said. “As tired as I’ve ever been.”
So Franklin made her a pallet of his cloak and her tattered blanket, and the girl lay down to sleep in the sand with Charlie and the Monster at her side.
Franklin added a piece of driftwood to the fire and sat staring out at the river with his legs folded below his elbows. They did not speak for some time, until Franklin broke the silence.
“We should turn around after what happened today, for your safety. Same with the trolls, I could not forgive myself if something more were to happen to you,” Franklin said, and then muttered to himself, “I warned the Prime Minister, with his futile attempts at diplomacy, his charts and maps . . .” Franklin shifted, adjusting his shoulder, which seemed to have fallen from its socket. “You must listen to me, Charlie, if we are to survive in this place. What did I say before?”
“You said to stay close to the cabin,” Charlie said, unable to look at Franklin.
“And what did you do?”
“I didn’t.”
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