The Luck Uglies

by Paul Durham

  Malydia looked horrified. The nanny lowered her eyes and stifled a giggle.

  “How vile,” Malydia said.

  “In some cultures, that’s how you say thank you after a good meal,” Rye said. “I’m surprised you haven’t read that in one of your books.”

  Malydia just shook her head and threw her napkin on the table.

  After supper Malydia marched to her room in silence, and the guard and the nanny escorted Rye down the hall to the guest chamber. The nanny turned down her bed while the guard waited in the hall.

  “Don’t let the dark fool you,” she whispered without looking at Rye, as if she were just thinking out loud. “The Keep can be a restless place at night. If you sleep at all, I’d do it with one eye open—the Lady of the Keep has a way of gettin’ what she wants.”

  “Thank you,” Rye said. “But—”

  The nanny had said all she was willing. As soon as she closed the door, Rye peeked through the keyhole. As she expected, the guard had set up watch on a stool right outside.

  Rye felt her choker around her neck. Somehow, she did not expect that she had seen the last of Malydia for the night. She didn’t intend to stick around long anyway. She was going to find Harmless.

  Rye wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood over her head. She curled up carefully in a dark corner where she could keep an eye on the door.

  Rye stayed awake for as long as she could. It wasn’t difficult at first. The floor was cold and uncomfortable, and outside she could hear the wail of Leatherleaf, caged somewhere on the Keep’s grounds. From time to time, she got up to check the keyhole. The guard was still awake each time, tapping a boot, scratching his back with a dagger or, once, digging around with a finger lodged halfway up his nose.

  It had been an hour or more when her eyelids began to sink as the round, glowing moon rose in the night sky. Exhaustion was winning its battle, and eventually she nodded off to sleep, her cheek pressed against the hard stone floor. She dreamed of a slithering serpent—a creature she now recognized as a hagfish. She sat with it in the bogs peacefully for a long while, but just as she reached to touch it, the nasty creature snapped open its mouth to bite her. Before she could pull her arm away something grabbed her by the neck. An enormous, orange-bearded Bog Noblin sprung from the muck, dragging Rye and the hagfish down with him under the bog.

  Rye woke up coughing, the imagined feel of peat in her throat so realistic that it made her choke.

  She opened her eyes, and there were the mismatched brown and blue eyes staring back at her, just inches from her face.

  Rye lurched, but a gentle finger moved to her lips and the nightime visitor said, “Shhhh.”

  Rye blinked several times to make sure she was seeing clearly.

  “Truitt?” she whispered. “Is that really you?”

  21

  Cold, Dark Places

  Truitt would not let Rye speak until they were well past Malydia’s room and on their way down the tower’s darkened staircase. Rye held the back of Truitt’s shirt as he led the way, navigating only with his fingertips against the Keep’s walls as if each crack and groove told the next direction.

  “Truitt,” Rye said, “what are you doing here?”

  “Quietly. Please.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someone asked that I find you.”

  Rye’s heart jumped at the prospect. Then she grew wary.

  “We should be careful. The Earl’s daughter—she may come looking for me in my room.”

  “I doubt she’ll leave her chamber until morning. The Keep’s halls frighten even her after dark.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Rye said, unconvinced. “I’d be glad if I never saw that terrible girl again.”

  “Malydia’s not all bad,” Truitt said. “She’s just been living with the Earl for too long. It’s made her heart black around the edges. It still beats warm inside, though.”

  “You know her well?” Rye asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” Truitt said, and then paused. “I mean, as well as anyone can under the circumstances—she’s my twin sister.”

  Truitt paused and turned back to Rye with his brown and blue eyes. “You may have noticed the resemblance.”

  Rye’s jaw dropped. She was glad at that moment that Truitt couldn’t see her. If he could, he might be offended by the look of disgust on her face.

  “Longchance is your father?” Rye said, stopping in her tracks.

  “No,” Truitt said firmly. “He’s no father to me.”

  He must have felt the tension in Rye’s grip on his shirt.

  “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “I’ll try to explain as we go.”

  Rye’s grip relaxed and Truitt pressed on. He paused to listen carefully as they reached the bottom of the stairs. After a moment he kept going, leading them down the corridor.

  “I don’t understand,” Rye whispered as they walked. “Do you live here in the Keep?”

  “No. This is a terrible place. I come here only to speak with Malydia. My home is underground in the tunnels beneath the village.”

  “You know of the Spoke?” Rye said.

  Truitt cocked his head. “I’ve heard them called that by those who speak of the tunnels, although few do. Most would think it a dreadful place to live. But, obviously, I don’t mind the dark, and it’s not as lonely as you might think. I live there with an old man who took me in and cared for me and others like me when I was an infant. He’s sick now, and I look after him as best I can. If I have a father at all, it would be him.”

  They came to an intersection between the corridor they were traveling down and a narrower one. Truitt stopped and pressed them against the wall.

  “Rye, I smell something,” Truitt said. “Lean out—carefully—and tell me what you can see.”

  “Truitt, you should know that bad things tend to happen when I try to be careful.”

  “It will be fine. Just look.”

  Rye leaned her head around the corner of the wall, peeking out from under her cloak and hood. There, sleeping in the middle of the floor, was the most enormous gray dog she had ever seen. It was larger than a wolf and it wore a heavy leather collar but no leash. Its paws rested on a half-chewed bone of disturbingly large size. Rye leaned back.

  “You’re smelling a calf’s leg or a damp dog. Either way, it’s bad news.”

  “So we take the long way,” Truitt said, and they slunk off in the other direction.

  This stretch of corridor was darker and narrower. Judging by the texture of the stone floors and walls, it seemed to lead to an older part of the Keep.

  “Rye,” Truitt said, as they reached the top of a passageway so steep that it seemed to disappear beneath the earth itself. “We’re about to enter the dungeons of Longchance Keep. I don’t know if you scare easily—something tells me not—but things have occurred here that have left their impression on these passageways forever. Take a torch from the wall. Its light may give you some comfort. And don’t let go of my shirt.”

  Rye took his advice. Truitt started forward.

  “Truitt,” Rye said, her hope rising. “It was a man who sent for me?”

  Truitt nodded. “I don’t know his name. But he knows yours.”

  Rye had never been in a dungeon before, and it was every bit as awful as she expected. Interconnected stone passages and cells formed a labyrinth of catacombs meandering beneath the earth. It was cold and damp, and the smell of decay rose from puddles of stagnant water. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

  “I thought there’d be more people here,” Rye whispered once they’d stopped.

  “The Earl set all the prisoners free,” Truitt said. “He figured it would be cheaper to let the Bog Noblins have at them in the village than to keep feeding them here.”

  Truitt removed a long, bone-white key from a shabby pocket and unlocked a metal door as quietly as he could. Rye raised an eyebrow with interest.

  “Except for him,” he said, and pushed
it open. “He’s the only one left. Excuse me, but I think it’s best if I wait out here.”

  Rye peeked inside. There, chained upside down by his boots in the middle of the cell, was a man. The long hair hanging from his head grazed the floor. His arms dangled. It looked like a most uncomfortable position, but the man didn’t seem to be in any torture. He swung ever so slightly. Like a bat.

  He craned his neck and shoulders when he heard Rye step inside the cell and rotated his body to face her.

  “Riley,” Harmless said, “is that you?”

  Rye pulled the hood from her head and stepped closer. Harmless flashed a warm, upside down smile and immediately grimaced. His cheeks were red and purple and one eye was nearly swollen shut.

  “It’s me, Harmless. Are you in much pain?” Rye wanted to reach out to touch his face but feared she might hurt him.

  “Well, remember I told you I’d broken nearly every bone in my body? It turns out I’ve found another. There’s a tiny little bone in your ear right about here,” he said, pointing to the one ear he still had.

  “I’m sorry,” Rye said. “That sounds terrible.”

  “Could be worse,” Harmless said. “More important, what about you? Have you been harmed?”

  “No. They’re unpleasant, but they’ve treated me okay—for now anyway.”

  “I’m relieved. Come, give me a hand, would you?”

  Rye stepped forward and lifted Harmless by the shoulders so he could bend upward at the waist. He grabbed the chains at his ankles with his hands and pulled himself up into a more upright position.

  “Much better,” he said. “Too much hanging gives me double vision.”

  Rye looked toward the door. “How do you know Truitt?”

  “The boy? I met him down here. He found me, actually. He seems to know every corner of this Keep.”

  “He says he lives in the Spoke,” Rye said.

  “He may indeed. I hadn’t come across him in my recent travels, but there are tunnels I have not revisited. In any event, he has brought you here, and for that I am most grateful.”

  “Harmless, what was your plan in coming here?”

  “Well, first, it was to find you,” Harmless said, and Rye again saw that flash in his eye. “Second, as you probably heard, I was trying to save the village one last time.”

  Rye looked around at the cell. “So what’s your plan now?”

  “Well, I’ve found you at least. I imagine you heard Longchance in the courtyard. Given the circumstances, I suppose we let the Bog Noblins raze the dreadful place once and for all.”

  “What?” Rye choked and took a step back. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Harmless said, gesturing in a way that was meant to be reassuring, but didn’t seem so when made hanging from chains.

  “Harmless, no, you can’t.”

  “Your mother and sister will be fine,” Harmless continued. “So will your friends, as long as they stay in the Dead Fish Inn. As for us, when the Bog Noblins arrive at the Keep, that will be our opportunity to escape. . . .”

  Harmless’s voice trailed off as he looked at Rye. He reached out and touched the choker around her neck.

  “I know your mother explained to you what this does. Or some of it, anyway.” Harmless measured every word as he held her eyes with his stare. “You must not remove these runestones in the coming days. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Listen.”

  “The village—”

  “Riley, listen,” he said firmly, and she stopped. “You must guard them as if your life depends on it. Understand?”

  “I understand,” Rye said. “But what about the rest of the village?”

  “What do you mean?” Harmless said.

  “You can’t let the Bog Noblins destroy the village and everyone in it!”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, Riley. Longchance broke the Treaty long ago. What good is a treaty without consequences?”

  Rye grabbed him by the tattered and torn collar of his shirt. He lost his grip on the chains and fell upside down again.

  “Harmless,” Rye said, “Drowning is the only home I’ve ever known. You said that my grandfather burned this village to the ground twice because of his fight with the House of Longchance. You’re going to do the same?”

  “Now, Riley, there is in fact a difference—”

  Rye’s ears were as hot as her voice. She shook him by the fabric clutched in her hands. Harmless grimaced.

  “No, there isn’t. Ten years ago, the Luck Uglies—you—burned the bridges and terrorized these villagers because the Earl had wronged you. All the good you had done—completely ruined.”

  “Not all of us,” Harmless corrected in between grunts of pain. “We’re not all cut from the same cloth.”

  “You can stop this. We can escape this dungeon together right now. Didn’t you say the Spoke had a tunnel leading to the deepest, darkest dungeon of Longchance Keep? The Long Way Home?”

  “I did.”

  Rye looked around the cell. “We’ll find a way to break your chains and then we’ll look for it.”

  “You won’t find it here,” Harmless said. “This isn’t the Deepest Darkest Dungeon of Longchance Keep.”

  “What?” Rye said, looking around. “It gets worse than this?”

  “Most certainly yes. This is the upper dungeon. It’s actually rather nice as far as dungeons go. Riley, would you . . . please?”

  Harmless placed his hands over hers. They still gripped his collar, its folds pinched tight around his throat. Rye let go as soon as she realized what she was doing, examining her hands as if they didn’t belong to her.

  “Thank you,” Harmless wheezed, and sucked in a lungful of air.

  A thin gash had reopened under his eye. Rye tried to blot the droplets with a trembling finger.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes welled.

  “Riley,” Harmless said, touching her cheek gently. “I’ll confess to you that I want to see the Earl get what is coming to him—I’d shed no tears over the destruction of this Keep. However, your point is not lost on me.”

  Harmless had caught his breath.

  “You are a very persuasive young woman, Riley O’Chanter,” Harmless said, rubbing the fresh welts on his throat. “You remind me much of your mother when she was young. Despite my better judgment, I can think of one way that we might—just might—save the village. It is fraught with uncertainty though, and I cannot do it alone. Are you prepared to help me?”

  Rye nodded enthusiastically.

  “Very well,” Harmless said. “Let’s call in our new friend. We shall need his help too.”

  Truitt joined them in the cell at Harmless’s beckoning, and offered to share his plunder from the Keep’s pantry—a stale loaf of bread he’d wrestled from a kitchen rat and a large flask of rice porridge. Rye declined. Harmless, of course, ate it all and seemed quite at ease using a spoon while hanging upside down.

  “Marvelous snack, thank you very much,” he said, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He burped when he was finished.

  “That means thank you,” Rye said.

  “Oh,” Truitt said. “You’re welcome.”

  Rye and Truitt helped Harmless up so that he could reach his chains and dangle more comfortably.

  “Truitt, are you still willing to accept the deal we discussed earlier?” Harmless asked.

  “I am,” Truitt said.

  Harmless reached around his neck with his free hand and unclasped his runestone necklace.

  “Come,” he said, and Truitt stepped toward his voice.

  Harmless pressed the necklace into Truitt’s hands. Truitt reached into his pocket and handed his bone-white key to Harmless.

  Rye’s eyes grew wide.

  “Don’t worry,” Harmless said, recognizing Rye’s concern. “The Clugburrow are well aware of who I am, with or without the runes. This key, on the other hand, will allow me to unlock my chains—an
d the necessary doors—at a time when Longchance least expects it.”

  Truitt clasped the necklace around his neck and carefully covered it under his collar.

  “Riley, I have something you will need as well,” Harmless said, and with his index finger and thumb dug deep into his mouth. He tugged and pulled, grimacing as he worked at his gums. Harmless shut his eyes tight and, with a pop, whatever he was after came loose. He reached out and handed Rye something smooth, wet, and shiny.

  “Is that . . . your tooth?” Rye said, opening her palm with hesitation.

  “No, but the gap left by a tooth long forgotten has proven to be a safe hiding place for this. I was afraid I’d swallowed it after the guards so warmly welcomed me.”

  Rye examined what looked to be a metal figurine. She squinted to make out its tiny details. It was short, stubby, and cast in the shape of a wailing banshee. Just touching it gave her a sense of dread.

  “It too is a key of sorts,” Harmless said. “A puzzle piece, actually. Although it fits a puzzle unlike one you’ve ever put together.”

  “What does it open?” Rye asked.

  “Do you remember when we escaped through the Spoke? The locked door that we passed?”

  “The door to Beyond the Shale?”

  “That’s the one,” Harmless said.

  Rye was quiet for a moment.

  “You’re going to tell me to open it, aren’t you?” Rye said, with a tremble in her voice.

  “I’m afraid it’s the only way.”

  “Can’t you just unlock your shackles with Truitt’s key now?” Rye said. “We’ll go together?”

  “If you wish,” Harmless said softly. “But dawn is almost upon us. We would probably need to fight our way out and, I’m sorry to say, I’m not at my finest. Even if we escape undetected, Longchance will quickly discover we’re gone. Rest assured: he will come after us.”

  Rye considered the odds of a girl and one unarmed, injured man—Luck Ugly or not—fighting their way out of a castle full of soldiers.

  “Defeating the Clugburrow would be difficult enough without his interference,” Harmless continued, “but if we must battle the Earl’s soldiers in the streets as well, I’m afraid the village is doomed. No, if we are intent on saving Drowning, we must bide our time. And I must stay behind.”