Fangor sullenly tucked into the collar of Tully’s robe instead, his eyes above the fold of the clothing so he could see the wide, white landscape receding behind them. Fangor wished he had never decided to take a nap in Tully’s hair. That’s where he had gone wrong. He should have stayed in the city, where it was safe. This adventure was not good. The place was riddled with bees—well, just one bee, now. And a stupid Dull Bee. But bees were awful, no matter how many there were.
As Fangor eyed the landscape, he saw what he thought looked like a plume of smoke over the low white hills in the distance. He scrabbled around in Tully’s collar to get a better view.
“Stop that!” said Tully.
“I see sumpfin,” said Fangor. “Do you see it?”
Tully turned his head, and he too saw the trail of smoke, so pale that it was almost invisible against the bleak sky. Aarvord saw it as well.
“There’s something alive over there,” said Aarvord. “Has to be.”
“Alive, yes, but what is it?” said Tully. He pulled the small telescope out to take a closer look. The telescope revealed the smoke in more vivid detail, but nothing else. Tully shared the telescope with Aarvord, who also saw nothing additional, except that he could make out the grey shape of a hill.
“It may not be safe, but we have to try,” said Aarvord. “It’s all we’ve got.”
They turned and headed off on the new course. The snow here seemed deeper and looser. It came up to Tully’s knees, and he struggled to plow his way through it. Aarvord tucked his head down into the cold wind and marched along, his eyeballs on their short stalks craning up to keep his sights on the smoke. Copernicus, inside Tully’s clothing, barely moved at all. Tully reached in and touched him now and again to make sure he was still breathing.
Fangor complained loudly that, as he had discovered the smoke, he had a right to see where they were going. They ignored him.
“Nobody gives me any credit,” he groused, and sank deep within Tully’s collar to stay warmer. “I know how to find my way anywhere. Never been lost!”
It grew colder still, and the day seemed to be waning as they walked. Aarvord stopped and turned back to Tully.
“We could make fire,” he suggested. “But there’s nothing to be burnt.” He looked meaningfully at the bucket and flicked his thumb and second finger together; a spark flew off and was doused in the snow. (Fantastic Grouts had this ability as well—their fingers could go hard as flint at a moment’s notice.)
Tully pulled the bucket closer to his body and scowled. “It’s mine,” he protested.
“And so are our lives,” said Aarvord.
“But it will burn quickly, and then we’ll be cold again,” said Tully stubbornly.
“We are cold now!” shouted Aarvord, and Fangor flinched inside Tully’s collar. “The Kepper-Root will trap the heat it gives, and will give us strength.”
Tully stared at Aarvord, then slowly began to remove the treasures from his bucket. He stuffed them, one by one, inside his clothes. When the bucket was empty, he handed it to Aarvord, who flicked his fingers to make fire. They all huddled around it, hoping, and Aarvord lit it again and again until it finally caught.
The heat it gave off was far from fierce, but it was enough. The smell of the burning wood was pleasant and reminded one of forest glades and happy times. They stood around with their robes open and finally, when the flames began to die and the bucket was only crumbling cinders, they lashed the robes tight and caught the heat inside them. It was enough to revive Copernicus, who stirred a bit. Tully felt glad for the warmth that now stole over him. But he was sorry for the loss of his bucket. The sweet scent of the burning wood had reminded him of Hindrance.
Tully and Aarvord began to move again, silently, knowing that the cold would settle again and the robes could hold the heat only for so long. The plume of smoke was still visible, but thinner, even though they had drawn closer. Tully thought that they would never reach the hill with the smoke…never be truly warm or safe again. Perhaps he could just lie down in the snow with those few things from home. He could dream of yesterday when his Wents were still with him.
Soon it would be dark.
As they trudged along after many minutes, the snow grew suddenly looser and Tully stepped forward to find the ground giving way beneath his feet. His feet scrabbled for purchase, but there was nothing there: He fell through the snow, and kept falling. Whether Aarvord was falling with him or not, he could not say. Everything was a blur of cold, white flakes that he inhaled through mouth and nostrils, and still he kept plunging downward. He tried to hug his robe tightly around him, so as not to lose Copernicus and his treasures, but he felt he was tumbling end over end in a wild surf of snow, and no longer knew which way was up. Then it ended.
*
When Tully woke, his first sensation was that he was deeply, pleasantly warm. The second realization was that he ached all over, and that some of his scales seemed to be bent or broken. Fortunately, he would not need them again, because this warmth must certainly mean that he was near death. He had heard of creatures dying of cold and growing comfortable with their fates at the end, when everything grew warm.
But, when he opened his eyes, he could see that he was not under a mountain of snow. Rather, he was in a round, sheltered room, and there was—and now he was certain this could not be—a glowing, crackling fire in a hearth a few feet from where he lay. He blinked and when he opened his eyes again Copernicus was extending a forked tongue right toward the tip of his nose. The snake drew his tongue in and gave a gasping hiss.
“I thought you were asleep, still, yesss?” said Copernicus. The snake seemed completely restored to the bloom of health. His own scales glowed in the firelight. He was grinning.
“This place is delightfully warm,” said Copernicus. “I haven’t felt so good since I shed my skin this morning.” He wriggled closer to the fire and stretched himself out. Tully lifted himself onto one elbow with a low groan. His right ear throbbed and hummed, and he realized the bee inside was waking up. Tully’s scales glittered with a red light from the fire.
“Asleep?” muttered Tully. “More like unconscious, I’d guess. Where are we? And where is Aarvord?”
“I haven’t seen him,” said Copernicus, whipping around with a worried look. “But he must have fallen low, just as we did. At leassst, I hope this is trues.”
A guttural voice barked out “True. Not ‘trues.’ No S, you silly serpent.” Aarvord was at the door to their chamber, his goggle eyes looking as if they’d been slightly knocked askew. His Kepper-Root robe was hanging open, the belt undone. He had a thick bruise across his midriff, purple against his greenish skin. But beyond that, he seemed none the worse for having plunged through the snow.
“Aarvord!” said Tully, sitting up, and then bent double as a stab of pain shot through his back. He hoped it was merely bruised. He dug inside his clothing and recovered the small puzzle box that Hindrance had given him. Although he seemed to have fallen directly on it, the box was unmarred.
Just then, a small squeak was heard from above, and they craned their necks to look up at the ceiling. Fangor was clinging to a roof beam above and small flecks of snow fell from a gaping hole where the boards had rotted and broken through. Fangor let out a small cry of despair and fell, landing inches from Copernicus’ jaws. Luckily, lice bounced with ease. Fangor jumped up and twitched the snow from his legs, giving Copernicus a wary look.
“I thought I was a goner,” said the Louse. “I popped out of your collar halfway down, and I had to pick and claw my way through the snow. Horrible! Terrible! I didn’t know if I was going up or down. Where are we? What is this?”
“We don’t know,” said Tully. “We haven’t had time to find out.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Aarvord. “While you were, shall we say, resting, I took the liberty of exploring a bit.”
“And?” said Copernicus.
“We are in luck, my friends,” said Aarvord. “I don’
t know who lives here but whoever does lives in the finest style imaginable. I’ve never seen such luxury. This fire is only a small glimpse…there are rooms filled with food—”
“Where?” said Tully hoarsely. He hadn’t eaten since that morning at Hen-Hen’s and felt desperately, painfully hungry.
“Just this way,” said Aarvord. “Can you walk?”
Tully realized later, much later, that Aarvord hadn’t sounded like his normal self at all. The normal Aarvord would have brought him a steaming platter of food, would have extended one of his many marvelous appendages to help heal his bruises or stitch up his wounds, and would not have asked him to walk to get his own meal. But Tully was so hungry that he didn’t notice any of this oddness. He pulled himself awkwardly to a sitting and then a standing position, feeling the bee inside his ear buzz frantically. It crawled out and down his neck, and up along the sleeve of his robe. Tully watched it go, mesmerized. This thing that had been half-dead had been brought back to life by his own heat and energy. It was a good thing, what he had done. He felt dizzy. The bee settled on his hand and fanned its wings, as if it was celebrating its return to warmth and life.
“Are you all right, friend?” asked Tully, not sure if the little creature could even understand the universal language.
“Hurry,” shouted Aarvord impatiently. “The food!”
“No need to shout so,” said Copernicus. “Who knows who lives here?”
Tully and Copernicus followed Aarvord down a passageway, lit by flickering torches in wall sconces. Fangor bounced along behind them, keeping up a wary chatter: “Sumpfin not right. Smells funny. Smells like Shrikes and snakes,” and so on. Copernicus hissed at him to be quiet.
The walls were of a strange, clear stone polished so fine that they could see their reflections in it. Tully thought that he looked like a ghost in the wall’s reflection. He reached out to touch the image and pulled his hand back; the walls were icy cold. But they were evidently made of sterner stuff than ice, for they did not melt under the heat of the torches.
The passageway opened out into a long chamber, the walls made of the same icy stone. There, as Aarvord had promised, was a marvelous feast laid out upon a long, stone table. Tully gasped aloud. There were foods here that had been made by Wents! No one else could fashion such intricate and perfect breads and cakes. Pitchers of golden lemon-water were at both ends of the table with huge glass goblets from which to drink. There were also cheeses and fruits, piled high in glass bowls. There were no meats—most creatures shunned it, and Tully and his friends were no exception. Bonedogs, Tithys Roaches, and other lowly creatures feasted on meat, but since most creatures were sentient it was considered an unspeakable thing to do. Things that were known to be stupid, such as Dull Bees, did not count—Aarvord ate them without remorse.
“It’s fantastic, eh?” said Aarvord. “A feast made for us.”
“But,” said Copernicus, slithering up a table leg and sniffing at a platter of bread, “Surely it wasn’t made for us? And whoever it was made for must be coming soon to eat it.”
“And why does it look like Wents made it?” asked Tully. “Are there Wents here?”
“That I can’t tell. But whoever put this food out is a civilized creature,” said Aarvord. “If you’re worried, don’t eat.”
No one was willing to go this far. They could see no real argument, so they all began to eat. Fangor gnawed a small tunnel deep into a Went-cake. Copernicus slithered down the length of the table, biting small samples of this and that. Tully bit deeply into a plum and felt the juice run sticky down his jaw. It tasted magnificent; he had never had anything so delicious.
The only one of the group that did not eat was the bee. It stayed on Tully’s hand, twitching and waggling its wings in a disconcerted manner. Tully didn’t think much of the bee’s lack of appetite; after all, bees sipped nectar, and there were no flowers here. But no, that wasn’t true—just as he had the thought, his eye fell on a small glass vase in the very center of the table. It was filled with a handful of wan, faded pansies, which were the only things in the room that seemed devoid of interest. No wonder he had not noticed them before. He stepped forward to bring the bee to the flowers, but as he bent close to them the bee scrambled back up his arm, as if afraid. Tully bent closer until his nose was level with the flowers. They had no scent at all.
Then he thought he heard a barely audible whirring noise and a click, and the black pattern within the flowers shrunk and expanded like winking eyes. A shock ran through him. He felt that something intelligent had not just viewed him, but had recorded what it saw. Or what they saw.
“Aarvord,” said Tully, quietly, but when he turned he saw that his friend was no longer in the room with them. He had vanished. Copernicus looked up with a scrap of fruit dangling from his jaws.
“The flowers,” said Tully, backing away. The bee was now buzzing frantically in his ear. Tully realized, a bit late, that the bee had likely been trying to speak to him with its waggling movements. He just had not understood its language. It had sense, after all.
But it was too late. Before they could move, cracks parted in the ceiling and thin, green tendrils snaked down and wrapped around them with whipping, sinuous movements. As one vine twined around his arm with a ferocious tightness Tully noticed that it was covered with beautiful purple blossoms. In the center of each was a malevolent eye.
Copernicus was hoisted high by another vine and he twisted in an effort to free himself. It looked like another snake had wrapped him in a loving embrace. Where Copernicus ended and the vine began was difficult to tell. The snake, stunned, dropped the fruit from his mouth and it fell to the table.
The bee, meanwhile, had left Tully and was buzzing free about the room, chased by snaking and hungry vines, which failed to trap it. It flew out the open doorway and disappeared. Tully watched it go with glee, but a sinking feeling as well. The bee—and they—had no allies. It would not be able to do much good seeking help in this snowy wasteland. And where was Aarvord?
Fangor, while tiny, had not fared so well. He eluded the vines for a time, but then one of the blossoms opened its purple maw and simply swallowed him whole. Tully heard a squeal of outrage, and then nothing. While Fangor was an annoying companion, he was one of them. Tully hoped fervently that the plants were not carnivorous.
The question of where Aarvord was was answered readily enough. In a matter of moments, he was marched into the room, flanked by two squat and ugly Shrikes. Aarvord’s head hung low, and Tully knew at once that he had betrayed them. But why? The vines tightened around Tully’s limbs as if sensing his anger.
One of the Shrikes spoke: “So, you think to eat our food for free?”
Its voice spoke of all the nightmares Tully had ever had and, more fearfully, those he had never had. Nightmares were the Shrikes’ specialty. They had a unique way of entering one’s dreams. Their voices were hard to listen to: a clacking, scraping sound—like nails jogged across metal. Tully flinched just to hear it, and one of the vines smacked him across the face as if to say, “Answer, prisoner!”
“No,” he answered. “We thought it was a gift.”
The Shrikes laughed in an ugly way.
“We offer no gifts,” one said. “Only temptations and traps.”
“Evidently,” said Copernicus, dangling in midair. “Although we met one of your kind recently who was a good deal gentler than you is.”
Aarvord picked his head up suddenly, as if he were going to correct the snake’s grammar, but then dropped it again. His shame was palpable.
“Why, Aarvord?” asked Tully.
Aarvord looked up again, and two fat tears hung from his goggle eyes.
“Justice,” he said simply.
Tully looked at him, not understanding. “Justice for what?”
“They said they would let her go,” said Aarvord, and then Tully remembered that Aarvord had a sister of that name.
“Your sister?” he asked. “But—” And his voice dro
pped off. This sister, of whom Aarvord had never spoken before yesterday, was important enough to abandon them all to the Shrikes?
“Let’s move,” said the Shrike who was squatter and uglier, if such a distinction could be made. He gestured, and the plants unsnaked and released their hold. Copernicus dropped to the table with a rubbery thump. The seemingly carnivorous plant opened its jaws and belched up Fangor, who bounced out on the table. A Shrike immediately plucked him up, shrieking, and popped him into a glass bottle, promptly screwing a lid on it.
“Fools,” Copernicus hissed instantly, and shot down the table leg and into the passageway as quick as water.
The Shrikes simply laughed, an awful sound of haw haw haw that was even worse than their speech. “We never wanted that one, anyway,” said the squat one. “We wanted you. Now, start walking.” The Shrike poked Tully in the back and he started forward. Tully turned back to look at Aarvord, but the Grout would not meet his eye. Fangor even looked out through his glass prison with great, accusing eyes.
“I don’t believe you did this,” said Tully. “You knew that there were Shrikes here, and you did not warn us to escape? You brought us to this room instead? To eat their food?”
“I know,” said Aarvord, staring at the floor. “But there is no escape. And now at least you have eaten.” Then he lifted his head and looked Tully full in the eye. “That is a gift, like other gifts,” he said pointedly.
As Tully was whisked away down a dark hallway, he wondered which gift Aarvord could mean. The last thing he saw was the whipping vines retreating into the ceiling. He also saw, coiled in the shadows and invisible to all but himself, the dark form of Copernicus. The snake was perfectly silent as they passed, but once the Shrikes has turned a corner, he moved quickly, snug to the wall, to follow them.
Chapter Five: Justice
Aarvord had not seen Justice for many years, but she looked the same—only a great deal thinner. The fat that had been the toast of many a Grout in her younger years had melted away, leaving her ribs exposed and her beloved, froggy face gaunt. But she was still a beauty.
The Hundred: Fall of the Wents Page 7