by Paul Durham
“I’ve read most of them,” Malydia said self-importantly, following Rye in.
“What’s this one about?” Rye asked, marveling at the texture of a book bound in the hide of an exotic reptile.
“Well, a lot of them, anyway,” Malydia added with a frown.
The guard stayed by the door looking anxious, as if there couldn’t be anything worse than being stuck in a room full of books. Malydia probably thought she was playing a cruel trick by bringing Rye into the library. After all, only Daughters of Longchance were permitted to read under the Laws. But, thanks to her mother and Quinn, Rye had certainly learned enough to read the titles on the covers and spines. She spotted books of maps and books of fairy tales, and books about nature and its creatures. She tried not to allow her eyes to reveal that she knew what they said.
After further perusing the shelves, she came upon something familiar. On a high shelf, in a cluttered corner, was a thick, leather-bound tome. It was in much better condition than the copy that was tucked under Quinn’s bed at this very moment, but without a doubt it was the banned book: Tam’s Tome of Drowning Mouth Fibs, Volume II. Rye noticed the gaps on either side of the shelf, spaces where Volumes I and III should have been. Her eyes must have lingered for a moment too long.
“That’s an interesting one,” a voice said in her ear.
Rye whipped around and found Malydia hovering behind her. “My father’s spent hours with it himself. When he finally puts it down, he’ll stomp off to his chamber and sulk over his wine.”
Rye just returned her stare, as if she didn’t know what Malydia could possibly be talking about.
“The author . . . Tam is it? He apparently has some truly awful things to say . . . about my father . . . my family. Lies, my father would tell you, all of it. He’s searched the hills for him—even Beyond the Shale—but with no luck. I’m sure he’ll cut off Tam’s fingers should he ever find him—bury his quill in his neck. And yet it almost seems like Tam is a ghost or . . . something worse.”
Malydia crossed her arms and leaned in close.
“I’ve told him . . . these stories date back over a hundred years. If Tam’s not dead already, he must be a withered old husk. Why not let time and the worms have their way with him?”
Malydia brushed past Rye and reached an arm as high as she could, her long fingers adorned with fine silver rings, their nails chewed down to jagged nubs.
“The prattlers say another copy has found its way into the village.” Malydia shook her head as she pulled Tam’s Tome from the shelf. “He’d no doubt be going door to door, emptying the village cupboards, if not for the more immediate . . . priorities.”
Rye swallowed. She happened to know the illicit copy of Tam’s Tome wasn’t in a cupboard.
Malydia’s eyes flashed and a tight smile crossed her lips. She placed the book on a table and placed her hands on either side of its closed cover.
“I’ve read it, you know,” she said, her voice hushed. “Do you know what I think?”
Rye shook her head.
“I’m not so sure it’s lies at all. I know my father . . . and what he’s capable of. And I think that certain little clovers of truth could be very dangerous if fed to the sheep of Drowning.”
Rye took little comfort in Malydia’s smirk.
“So tell me, Riley, what do you think? Fibs, truth, or lies?”
Malydia’s conspiratorial tone set Rye on edge. She’d never met anyone quite so puzzling. Rye just returned a blank look and said nothing. For once, she was going to win the who-could-stay-quiet-the-longest game.
Malydia must have mistaken Rye’s mask for stupidity. Eventually she sat back and gave Rye a condescending smile.
“Of course, you wouldn’t know,” she said. “You can’t read.” It almost sounded like a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I imagine it must be difficult to be ignorant,” she said, tapping her fingers on the table.
Rye frowned but held her tongue as her ears began to burn.
“Then again, my nanny can’t read or write and she’s made a decent enough life for herself.” Malydia pondered. “You’ll be here for a while. Maybe she can teach you to launder my dresses or file down the calluses on my feet.”
The blood rushed to Rye’s face faster than she’d ever felt it. Her urge to lash out at Malydia was uncontrollable, even though she knew it would likely get her skewered by the Earl. Malydia raised an eyebrow and actually took a step back. Rye couldn’t tell if the older girl was regarding her with surprise or a newfound respect. The look passed quickly.
“I have other things to tend to around the Keep,” Malydia said, her tone dismissive. “Stay here if you want; you can always look at the pictures.”
Malydia pulled the folds of her dress from under her heels and disappeared from the library, the nanny close behind. Tam’s Tome sat alone on the table.
Rye glanced over at the guard. He seemed entirely uninterested in what she was or wasn’t reading. As she cracked open the book, she wanted to read but found herself reluctant. Her afternoons with Folly and Quinn rushed back to her. She thought of the three of them crowded around the book, reading Tam’s Tome aloud in the back of her cottage, a home she might never see again. She thought about her mother and sister. She thought about her father, whom she had only recently come to know.
The stories in Tam’s Tome weren’t just tall tales anymore. In part, they were the stories of her family, the blacked-out portions of her own past that she never knew. Rye didn’t want to read them alone as some shut-in in a library. She wanted to hear them firsthand from the people who had lived them.
“I’m ready to return to my chamber now,” Rye said to the guard.
He led Rye up a winding staircase to the tower where Malydia’s room and the guest quarters were located. He opened the door to the guest chamber and Rye went in first.
Malydia was sitting on the bed. Spread out in front of her was the leather bag and its contents—the iron anklet, the tiny skull, the stick figure, and the string with the yellow tooth. She must have taken them from Rye’s cloak.
Malydia looked up as Rye came in. “What are these?” Malydia said.
“Are you going through my things?” Rye said. She could feel the anger coursing through her veins again. Her ears were on fire.
“I could smell them,” Malydia said. “They stink like skunk cabbage.”
Rye remembered how much she disliked Malydia the moment she’d met her at the Willow’s Wares. Nothing had changed.
“Ick,” Malydia said, picking up the string. “Is this a tooth? What is all this? More junk from your mother’s shop?”
“Yes,” Rye said. “That’s exactly what it is.”
Malydia threw the tooth on the bed in disgust. She wiped her hands on the blanket and stepped closer to Rye.
“And that necklace you wear,” Malydia said, craning her head to see if she might catch a glimpse of it. “Is that from the shop too?”
“Yes,” Rye said.
“Does it protect you in some way?”
“No, just another beaded trinket.”
“Is that so?” Malydia’s whisper sounded like the hiss of a serpent. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Rye’s neck. “Your mother said it was one of a kind.”
“My mother’s an excellent salesperson. She makes fools believe that her garbage is their gold.”
Malydia narrowed her mismatched eyes.
“I saw it glowing last night,” Malydia said.
“Glowing?” Rye said with a laugh. She pulled down her collar so Malydia could see the choker. “I like the stones too, but I can assure you they do nothing extraordinary.”
Malydia examined the runes. Indeed, they were not glowing.
“Is it comfortable?” Malydia asked. “I mean, you must take it off when you sleep.”
“No,” Rye said. “I wear it all the time.”
“I see,” Malydia hissed again. She stepped away. “Well, speaking of sleep, I think I shall rest my eyes. I’ll
be back to collect you for supper.”
Malydia turned on her heel and walked out of the guest chamber. Rye could hear her footsteps echo down the corridor. The guard shut the door, but she didn’t hear him walk away. She was certain he was posted outside.
Rye went for the windows. Even if she squeezed through them, the tower’s smooth walls would ensure a fatal drop. Thin plumes of black smoke drifted into the sky from Grim Green, where Rye could see the shapes of people sifting through the remains of the disastrous Long Moon Festival. She could see the far-off rooftops of the village. The Clugburrow had promised to return tomorrow night. If Malydia was to be believed, Longchance was prepared to see the village burn. She was terrified for her mother and Lottie. Folly and Quinn too. What would happen to them in the village when Iron Wart and the other Bog Noblins returned? Harmless had disappeared into the woods again. For another ten years? Forever this time?
Only when she returned to the bed did she realize how fast her heart was racing. She carefully placed the items in the leather bag. Instead of returning it to her cloak, she tucked it inside her oversize boot. It wasn’t comfortable, but it fit. For the first time in a long time, Rye had no idea what else to do. She buried her head in the pillow and shut her eyes tight. It was clear she was no guest here. She was a prisoner.
Her somber thoughts were interrupted by the throaty kaw of a rook.
20
A Blackbird Calls
Rye sat up and listened closely. The bird had to be atop the tower’s turret. Its coarse song was soon followed by loud voices and yelling in the courtyard below. Rye went to the window. Through the glass, she saw that several soldiers had assembled in the courtyard. She opened it so she could hear more clearly.
The gates of the Keep were flung wide open. From the tower she watched a solitary horse make its way up the rocky path toward the Keep. It came at a slow trot. More soldiers appeared in the courtyard as the horse and its rider approached. As it drew near, Rye could see that the horseman was draped in a black cloak and hood.
The soldiers let the horse and rider pass through the gates and into the courtyard; they surrounded them in a half circle at a safe distance only when the horse drew to a stop. The horseman dismounted, his black cape billowing as he leaped to the ground.
The soldiers stood alert, following the horseman’s every move. Several flinched as the horseman slapped the horse on its rump. The animal reared up and whinnied, then galloped at full speed out the gates and down the path from whence it came.
A few soldiers slid behind the horseless rider, blocking his path to the gate. He was now surrounded by a full circle of soldiers that filled the courtyard.
Finally, the doors to the Keep opened and Earl Longchance appeared, dressed in wrinkled sleeping robes in the middle of the day, his long, ornamental sword at his side. He sucked on an orange slice wedged between his teeth. It was the first Rye had seen of him since the previous evening. He stood at the top of the Keep’s steps, well behind the circle of soldiers.
“We scour the village looking for you for weeks to no avail,” Longchance said, “and yet here you arrive at my door.” He clucked his tongue. “Fate is a strange mistress.”
The rider lifted both hands to his hood and pulled it back from his head. Rye’s heart jumped.
“Harmless,” she whispered.
“These towers are lined with archers,” Longchance said. “I warn you, any companions you may be hiding will be greeted by the kiss of their arrows.”
Rye scanned the perimeter of the Keep’s walls. They were indeed populated by soldiers with longbows, their quivers filled. Their eyes were focused on Grim Green and beyond.
“I bring no companions and no tricks,” Harmless said. “What I bring is an opportunity. You have put yourself and this village in grave danger.”
“Is that so?” Longchance scoffed. “It seems we’ve done quite well so far without your interference. Or have you not seen the beast we captured?”
“He’s a juvenile,” Harmless said, “and an injured one at that.”
“Since you know him so well, perhaps I’ll allow you to share his cage,” Longchance said.
“You and I both know that the Bog Noblins who appeared last night are the real threat,” Harmless continued. “Iron Wart, Dread Root, and Muckmire. They are the fiercest of their clan. Even if you could defeat them, the village would be destroyed in the process.”
“Thank you for your expert opinion,” Longchance said without sincerity. “I will gladly pay you for it by way of fifty lashes with a bullwhip.”
“The Clugburrow do not yet know you’ve forsaken our protection. Surely even you must realize it’s the only reason they didn’t simply take the juvenile from you last night? That was not sport you witnessed on the Green, it was a test. They have been cautious, but they will understand soon enough. What I offer to you, Morningwig, is one last opportunity to preserve the peace that was once brokered between us. Honor your father’s bargain. And we will again save this village.”
“We?” Longchance spat with a laugh. “Who are ‘we’? You and a handful of other criminals who have nothing better to do than reminisce over grog at that illegal tavern by the river? Everyone knows you are the last of your kind. The Luck Uglies are ghosts. Bugaboos conjured up to haunt children at night. When did you start believing your own lies?”
Harmless didn’t say anything. Rye wondered if Longchance’s words could be true. Was Harmless really the only Luck Ugly left?
“Gray, you have made a mistake coming here. But I will extend you this courtesy. You can relive your fantasies of grandeur in the dungeons. It is dark there and I understand the silence does wonders for the imagination.”
Longchance pitched his chewed orange rind into the courtyard, where it landed inches from Harmless’s boots. He waved his soldiers forward.
“Take him alive,” he said, and retreated into the Keep with his long loping stride.
Harmless extended his arms to his sides in surrender and bowed his head. “As you wish.”
As the soldiers approached, they noticed two metal rods in each of his hands. Spiked iron balls dropped from Harmless’s palms to the ground at his feet. They were connected to the rods by lengths of chain.
The soldiers paused. One looked to another for explanation.
“Devil’s flails,” the other soldier yelled, but too late. He was instantly knocked senseless as one of the iron balls collided with his head.
The deadly weapons soared higher in flight, whirling through the air, as Harmless whipped the chains around him in circles, one high and one low. The first length of chain slashed through the legs of the soldiers, knocking half of them to the ground. The other spiked ball hurtled through the air at head height, the remaining soldiers ducking to avoid being struck. As they lowered themselves, the first ball flew past again and bounced off each of their faces.
The archers held their fire for fear of striking their comrades in the confusion, or worse, missing a sneak attack from outside the Keep’s walls.
His enemies now stunned, Harmless dropped the devil’s flails and drew his two short swords from the scabbards on his back. The soldiers who could still move clambered back to their feet. Rye watched in awe as Harmless became a moving, striking shadow in his cloak, appearing and reappearing, diving between legs, cutting down one soldier after another until they piled up in groaning heaps. As more soldiers poured into the courtyard, he fended them off two and three at a time, fighting with a grace and flair that rivaled any dancer.
Then, Harmless looked up. His gaze met Rye’s and she became aware she was leaning out the window. Rye thought she saw a twinkle of relief in her father’s eyes, and the slight curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Harmless lowered one sword just a little, enough that a soldier was able to break past his defenses and grab hold of his arm. He then lowered the other, just a bit more, and a soldier caught hold of his wrist. A mass of bodies quickly set upon him. Rye gasped and took
a step back. If she hadn’t, she would have tumbled right out the window. Harmless kept eye contact with Rye as they pulled him to the ground, until she couldn’t see him anymore beneath the bodies of the soldiers.
Rye threw her hands over her face as the soldiers spared no time in extracting their revenge, pummeling Harmless with fists, boots, and the hilts of their weapons. Once they’d exhausted themselves, they dragged him through the courtyard by his feet, right up the stone steps and through the heavy doors of the Keep, slamming them shut behind them.
Rye sat with her head in her hands for a long while. She was horrified by the terrible beating the soldiers had given Harmless in the courtyard, but Longchance had commanded that they take him alive. That meant Harmless would be somewhere in the Keep.
She removed her palms from her wet eyes. Her father had come back for her.
Rye shoveled chunks of bread and spoonfuls of stew into her mouth. Malydia watched her with a crinkled nose, barely pecking at the food on her own plate. Rye’s appetite had returned with her realization that Harmless was also somewhere within these very walls. He would have come with a plan of some sort, although she didn’t expect that being beaten half to death and captured was part of it.
Rye hadn’t said more than a few words to Malydia all meal, although that hadn’t stopped Malydia from quizzing her about Harmless—how Rye knew him, where he’d come from. Rye had absorbed much from her mother and the folks around the Dead Fish Inn over the years. When pressed about anyone’s identity, the correct answer was “Who? Don’t know him.”
The less Rye said, the darker and more sour Malydia’s mood became.
Rye sopped up the last of her stew with a piece of bread and washed it down with a gulp of fermented cider. When she swallowed, she let out an enormous belch.