Podkin One-Ear

by Kieran Larwood

  ‘Go on, Pook. Roll again.’

  The little rabbit snatched the dice up and flung them. For one horrible moment, Podkin was sure there would be fox paws showing, but the crowd cheered again. A pair of twos and a three.

  ‘Eleven,’ said the brown rabbit. He was starting to look less amused. ‘Roll again, why don’t you? It’s easy to get higher than that.’

  ‘Stop there!’ someone from the crowd called out. Other voices joined in: ‘They’ll never beat that!’ ‘Eleven’s amazing!’ ‘The Goddess herself only rolled 9!’ Podkin began to pull Pook back, but he had grabbed the dice again. He threw them in the air, chortling with joy.

  ‘Pook!’ Podkin yelled. He watched the dice spinning in slow motion, tumbling to the muddy floor and bouncing up and down again. Surely, this time, there would be a fox’s paw showing. Instead, there were three fives.

  ‘Cheat!’ The black and white rabbit yelled. ‘You must be cheating!’

  The crowd behind Podkin booed and shouted at the black and white rabbit, and he quickly backed down. He folded his arms and shot evil looks at Podkin across the circle.

  ‘Have another go, little one,’ the brown rabbit cooed at Pook, trying to make him lose his score. ‘One more roll. It’s such fun, isn’t it?’

  Podkin tightened his grip on Pook, but the little rabbit didn’t even move to touch the dice. Instead, he wrapped his arms about his podgy legs and stared at the scruffy rabbits, as if daring them to go next.

  The child’s a born gambler, Podkin thought, amazed.

  Seeing Pook’s turn was over, the other rabbits tried their luck. The brown rabbit rolled a fox paw first time, as did the black and white. The third scruffy rabbit managed a second roll before he threw three fox paws together. There were cheers and whoops from all the onlookers. ‘Pay up!’ they called. ‘Pay them their due!’

  With sulky faces, the scruffy rabbits each handed over a copper coin. The money chinked heavily in Podkin’s outstretched paws. By some miracle, he had turned one coin into five, when by rights he should be walking away with nothing.

  ‘Shiny!’ Pook said.

  INTERLUDE

  The bard stops talking and pauses for a moment to tug his beard. He gives his audience a thoughtful look. ‘I suppose I should say a few words to you about gambling, and how it’s a very stupid thing to do.’

  ‘Podkin the Great did it,’ says the inquisitive rabbit. ‘And he was a hero.’

  ‘And the Goddess herself,’ added the sensible rabbit. ‘And she is a goddess. Obviously.’

  ‘My Uncle Colm does it all the time,’ says another rabbit. ‘He won a whole keg of mead once.’

  ‘My daddy won a spear and a shield and a cloak and some trousers. In fact, everything the other rabbit was wearing.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ The bard waves his hands to stop the chattering. ‘I’m sure lots of people have won lots of things, including the Goddess herself. But for everything they won, I bet … I mean, I’m sure … they lost even more. Pook won because he had a touch of magic about him when it came to casting bones. Not many other rabbits have that blessing. Whatever tales of glory you’ve heard, gambling is for idiots.’

  A cheer comes from the corner of the room where the guards are playing dice. The doorman has come off duty and seems to be winning.

  The bard shrugs. ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘We get the picture,’ says the sensible rabbit. ‘Don’t gamble. Now what did Podkin do with the money?’

  The bard smiles and continues.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sellswords

  If you recall me saying, Podkin didn’t know much about money and what it was worth. He was a chieftain’s son, and everything he’d ever wanted had been his without having to pay for it. A spoilt brat, some might say. But now that he’d had a sour taste of real life, those five copper coins clutched in his paw seemed like all the treasure in the world.

  He tucked them inside his cloak and swiftly pulled Pook away from the dingy corner, back into the market throng. The last thing he wanted was those scruffy rabbits trying to steal their money back, so he spent a while dodging to and fro, hiding behind stalls, roots and crumbling pillars. Once they were good and lost he stopped to think.

  What should he do with his winnings? Give it all to Quince and Shape? The thought made him sick. Maybe he could give them a few coins and keep the rest hidden? But then they might search him …

  He could buy Pook and himself something to eat, then take them the rest? Then he thought of poor Paz, shut up in that cage on her own, cold and scared and lonely. Spending money on themselves would just be selfish.

  Looking around for inspiration, he saw that they were standing near the sellsword enclosure. The group of mercenaries were identical to the ones on show the last time they were here, and the agent was still sprawled by the gate, calling out his business with as much enthusiasm as a bored snail.

  ‘Hired swords. Hired swords,’ he mumbled. ‘The fiercest fighters in the whole of the Five Realms. The greatest warriors in … whatever. Some of them fought somebody else once upon a time, and apparently they were quite good. Better than average, at least …’

  Business must be slow with that kind of patter, Podkin thought. They’d be glad of any coin. With his five coppers, he might be able to hire the lot. Then he could take them back to Mister Shape’s burrow and watch them make matching fur coats out of him and Quince.

  Before he really knew what he was doing, he had marched up to the agent and prodded him in the belly.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Podkin said, in his best regal voice. ‘Would you be the rabbit to see about hiring some mercenaries?’

  The agent looked him up and down for a moment, and then roared with laughter. He didn’t stop until tears were running down his face.

  ‘That’s very funny, kid, but go and play your games somewhere else. I’m trying to do business here.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it,’ said Podkin, with a sniff. ‘I want to hire your men. All of them.’ He pulled the coins from his cloak and held them out to the agent.

  ‘Five coins? Five whole copper coins?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Podkin. ‘Consider this your lucky day.’

  ‘Ha!’ The agent was about to laugh again, then began to look irritated instead. ‘Five poxy coppers? Do you know what that’s worth? It’d get you half a mouldy carrot and a jug of ditchwater if you were lucky. It’s not enough for a single one of my men! Goddess above, I don’t know whether to laugh at you or clip your ears. Sorry … ear.’

  ‘Not a single one?’ Podkin’s lovely visions of rescuing Paz and watching Shape and Quince get flattened vanished in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Well, I say that …’ the agent scratched his head. ‘It’d get you him.’ He pointed to the corner where the grey-furred, blank-eyed rabbit sat on his tattered blanket. ‘For an afternoon.’

  Podkin stared. A blind soldier rabbit for an afternoon. It was hardly the help and protection that Brigid promised they’d find. Could it even be enough to free Paz and give them the chance to escape Boneroot? Probably not, but what other choice did he have?

  ‘I’ll take him,’ he said, handing over the money.

  *

  ‘Crom,’ the grey rabbit said. ‘My name is Crom.’

  ‘And have you been a soldier long?’ They were standing just outside the sellsword enclosure, with Podkin craning his neck to look up at his new employee. Pook was trying to climb one of his legs. The grey rabbit, Crom, just stared straight ahead with those blank white eyes.

  ‘Yes. Very long.’

  His fur was criss-crossed with old scars, and his armour was dented and scratched. He looked like he’d seen a good deal of fighting, for sure, although Podkin wasn’t sure how you could fight when you couldn’t even see. ‘But what about … your eyes?’

  ‘I fought for a long time before this happened,’ said Crom. ‘And I can fight now. Just … differently.’ Podkin nodded, still not convinced. The grey rabbit didn’
t seem bothered. He cleared his throat. ‘May I ask you a question?’

  ‘Um, yes?’ Podkin said.

  ‘Why is it you want to hire a sellsword, anyway? I can tell you’re only a child. You shouldn’t even be in a lowdown place like this.’

  ‘Some rabbits have my sister,’ Podkin said. ‘They’ve got her shut in a cage, so that I’d come out here and steal stuff for them. I need you to set her free, so that we can get out of this place.’

  ‘Shape and Quince?’ Crom said.

  ‘Yes! Do you know them?’

  ‘I’ve heard of them,’ said the grey rabbit. He shrugged. ‘I hear a lot of things.’

  ‘Do you think you can beat them?’ Podkin asked. ‘I mean – Mister Shape is pretty big.’

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ said Crom, patting the sword at his side. It looked well-used and sharp. Bigger and scarier than Starclaw, although it didn’t look as if it was magic.

  ‘We’d better go then,’ said Podkin, peeling Pook off Crom’s leg. ‘Before my time runs out.’

  *

  Somehow, they found the tunnel that Pod had emerged from earlier, and started walking back into the damp, musty darkness. Podkin led the way, glancing back now and then to see Crom walking with his arms outstretched, fingers tracing lightly along the earthen walls.

  Halfway down, Podkin started struggling with Pook, and the little rabbit began to whimper with hunger.

  ‘Give him here,’ said Crom, and he hoisted him on to his broad back. Pook clung there, nuzzled against the scarred fur and gradually nodded off to sleep. Podkin thought it was worth the five coppers not to have to carry the little rabbit any more.

  They had only gone a bit further when Crom suddenly stopped and looked behind them, his hand on his sword hilt.

  ‘What is it?’ Podkin asked.

  ‘Someone’s coming up the tunnel,’ Crom whispered.

  Podkin squinted back down towards the market. He could just about make out the silhouette of something hopping and scuttling back there. It grew closer as he watched, until he could see it was the dwarf rabbit – his fellow captive – scurrying after them as fast as he could run.

  ‘Popkin,’ she managed to gasp when she reached them. ‘What … what’s going on? Who are you taking back to the burrow?’

  ‘Podkin,’ corrected Pod. ‘And this is Crom. He’s a soldier I’ve hired to give Shape and Quince a good kicking.’

  ‘To fight Shape?’ said Mish. ‘But your sellsword is … I mean he can’t—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter that he can’t see,’ Podkin interrupted. ‘He’s still going to beat them. Aren’t you, Crom?’ There was a grunt from the darkness behind and above him. Podkin thought it sounded confident, although it didn’t really matter. He’d thought of a way to give Crom an edge – quite literally.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Mish said. ‘If it goes wrong, there’s no telling what Shape and Quince will do. My brother …’

  ‘It won’t go wrong,’ said Podkin. ‘I promise. And we’ll make sure both our siblings are freed.’

  ‘If you can do that,’ said Mish, ‘I’ll be in your debt forever.’

  *

  For the rest of the walk to the burrow, Podkin silently prayed to the Goddess that his plan would work. For the second time today he was about to gamble everything on a hunch. Either the Goddess herself was guiding him, or the stress of the past few days had driven him round the twist. He hoped it was the first option.

  The tunnel grew darker and damper. Just as the stink of mildew and mushrooms became almost overpowering, they arrived at the blanket-covered entrance.

  The three of them (four, if you included Pook) stood silently outside for a few moments, listening. Someone was snoring, and there was the crackle of a small fire. Every now and then there was a rustle of movement, and once or twice Podkin thought he heard a soft, sad sigh that might belong to Paz.

  Just as Crom was reaching out to push through the blanket, Podkin stopped him – his little hand tiny against the big warrior’s arm.

  ‘Wait,’ he whispered, as quietly as he could. ‘I want you to use this.’

  Struggling with his cloak, Podkin managed to uncover the hilt of Starclaw and pull it out of its scabbard. He felt the familiar warm tingle of the metal, and was suddenly reluctant to let a strange person touch it. It was his. His only. What if the big rabbit never gave it back?

  It’s all right, Podkin. You can trust him. It was almost as if his father was there, whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. Podkin swallowed hard and gave up the blade, knowing it was for the best. He pressed it into Crom’s calloused hand.

  The sellsword weighed it, twisted it and ran his fingers over the hilt. In his grip it looked too small and puny to do any damage. He knelt to whisper back to Podkin. ‘I have my own sword, boy. This is just a little dagger.’

  ‘Yes,’ Podkin replied. ‘But I want you to use that one. It’s very special. And besides, I’m still your boss, aren’t I? At least until the end of the afternoon.’

  Crom shrugged. He scooped Pook off his back and handed him to Podkin, then swept aside the blanket and stepped through.

  *

  There was a grunt of surprise from the burrow beyond. Podkin and Mish dashed through in time to see Quince standing in the centre of the room, his mouth hanging open. The scrawny rabbit was clutching his prodding-stick; he looked like he was just about to give Paz a jab or two through the bars of her cage.

  ‘Hern’s bristly britches,’ he cursed. ‘What’s going—’

  He never got to finish the sentence, as Crom strode right up and cracked him between the ears with Starclaw’s hilt. There was a hollow clonking sound, and Quince folded up into a senseless heap on the floor.

  ‘Podkin!’ Paz jumped up and grabbed the bars of her cage. Pod had time to flash her a grin, and then there was a roaring from the far side of the burrow. Shape had been sleeping there, clutching a half-drunk bottle of mead. Now he was up, staring at Crom and roaring at the top of his voice.

  ‘You! You’re that blind rabbit nobody wants to hire! What in Hern’s name are you doing here? And why’d you knock out my partner?’

  ‘I’m acting on behalf of my client,’ said Crom. ‘And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let all these little rabbits go.’

  ‘Your client?’ Shape gave Podkin an astonished look. For a moment, Pod thought he might give in, but instead he reached for his giant club and flexed his shoulders.

  ‘I’m going to kill you, blind rabbit. Then I’m going to take your client, turn him inside out and wear him as a hat.’

  Podkin gulped. In his head, on the way here, Crom had seemed so huge and strong. Now, standing a few paces away from the hulking Mister Shape, he didn’t look half as impressive.

  ‘What have you done, Pod?’ Paz hissed from her cage.

  He cringed. ‘I think I’ve just turned myself into some very unpleasant headgear.’

  Shape charged then, roaring as he came. His spiked club, Beatrice, whistled through the air towards Crom’s head. Crom just stood there, motionless. Podkin had a vision of the club knocking off his block, as if he were a particularly realistic snow rabbit, but at the last minute he stepped to one side and raised Starclaw to parry the blow. Of course, as the club was made of wood, the magic dagger sliced through it like it was a giant cucumber.

  The severed part of the club flew off and embedded itself in the top of Paz’s cage. Suddenly off balance, Shape stumbled – a look of pure surprise on his face. He managed to keep himself upright, staring at the severed piece of club in his hands. His pause gave Crom the chance to twist himself around in a spinning movement, bringing one of his powerful legs up at the same time to kick Shape in the chest. The huge rabbit went flying backwards, crashing into the earthen wall of the burrow, smashing a hole right through and bringing half the ceiling cascading down to bury him.

  In less than a few seconds, the fight was over.

  There was a stunned silence, and then P
odkin, Mish, Paz – and even the caged Mash – started cheering and whooping. Podkin took Starclaw back from Crom and used it to cut open both the cages. Paz rushed out and hugged him hard, tears in her eyes, and then Mash hugged him as well. There was so much hugging going on, Podkin almost turned to hug Crom, but the grey rabbit was standing so silently and solemnly that he thought better of it.

  ‘I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!’ Mash shouted. ‘We’re free! We’re free!’

  ‘As I promised, I am forever in your debt,’ said Mish to Podkin, bowing so low, her little ears brushed the floor. Mash did the same, and Pod noticed they were almost identical, the only difference being the delicate black tips on the end of Mish’s ears.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ said Podkin. ‘I mean, I didn’t do anything. It was all Crom.’

  Mish and Mash bowed at the warrior rabbit as well, but he appeared not to notice. Instead, he knelt to speak to Podkin.

  ‘That dagger,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t happen to be magic, would it?’

  ‘Magic?’ Podkin stammered for a moment, realising he might have made a mistake in revealing the sacred weapon to someone five times the size of him who was able to knock out two violent criminals in the time it took to peel a carrot. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Your dagger cut through that club like it was made of air. I’ve only seen one weapon that could do that, and it was one of the sacred Twelve.’ Crom reached out a hand and gripped Podkin by the shoulder. Not a firm grip yet, but one which could squish him like a grape should it be required. ‘Tell me how you came by it, boy. Tell me the truth.’

  Podkin looked into those blank eyes, wondering what kind of story he could come up with that would explain Starclaw. In the end, he realised there was no story. He had had enough of gambling and bluffing for one day, anyway. He would tell the truth, and if he ended up getting kicked through a wall too, so be it.