The Luck Uglies

by Paul Durham

  Rye bit her lip.

  “We will be safe here at least until tomorrow night,” Harmless said. “By then most of the soldiers will be preparing for the Clugburrow. That’s our chance to get you out.” He read the concern on her face. “Saving the village is not the easy choice,” he said, and paused. “There’s no shame in changing your mind.”

  Rye swallowed hard and nodded. “Tell me what I need to do.”

  Harmless smiled just a little. “First you need to know where you are going. The gate to the deepest darkest dungeon is guarded at all times. Tomorrow night, Truitt will get you into the Spoke by way of an alternative passage. The Earl and his soldiers will be too preoccupied preparing for the Clugburrow to stop you. For those who are not”—for a just a moment, Rye saw a predatory glint flash in Harmless’s unswollen eye—“well, I’ll have had a day of rest. I’m sure I can keep their attention away from you for a little while.”

  Rye wondered if, in fact, Harmless was looking forward to that part.

  “Once you are in the Spoke, you will have no one to guide you. You’ll need a map.”

  “Where do I get one?”

  Harmless had a twinkle in his eye. “If you don’t mind, go and gather the bone dust from that poor fellow in the corner.”

  “You’re joking,” Rye said. The skeletal remains of the cell’s former inhabitant sat in a pile of decomposed clothing. Rye thought she might gag.

  “Go on, he won’t mind,” Harmless said. “Grab his trousers too.”

  After Rye had torn the fabric into a makeshift canvas, found a long slender bone for her quill, and collected a pile of chalky dust of origins she cared not imagine, Harmless lowered himself so that he hung upside down again, his back facing her. He untucked his shirt and let it fall to his shoulders. Laid over the long, faded scars on his back was a circular pattern of tattoos that looked like the spokes of a ship’s wheel. Rye looked closely. It wasn’t just a design. It was a map.

  “Here is everything you’ll need to find your way.”

  Rye gritted her teeth and began to copy the map onto the trousers using her disgusting quill.

  “If we are waiting until tomorrow anyway, why can’t you come with me?” Rye said as she worked. “We can do this together.”

  “We can’t be in three places at once,” Harmless said. “The road to saving the village ends here. This is where I must be.”

  “I can’t be in three places either,” Rye said.

  “No, but you’re fast. Resourceful. And you have friends if you need them,” Harmless said. “Two friends you would trust with your life?”

  Rye looked Harmless in the eye. It was a serious question that begged a serious answer.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I would.”

  “Then I shall trust them with mine,” Harmless said. “Now draw with care, Riley, and I will explain everything you need to know.”

  Rye hurried to copy the map in as much detail as she could, all the while listening intently to Harmless’s plan. It covered three stops: the door to Beyond the Shale, the arched bridge that spanned the River Drowning, and the Dead Fish Inn—in that order.

  First, she must enter the Spoke and take it to the door to Beyond the Shale. She was to use the puzzle piece Harmless had given her to unlock the door, but he said this step could be tricky. Luck Ugly puzzle locks were designed to frustrate and bewilder, and the Luck Ugly locksmith who had made this particular puzzle lock was the most devious of his kind. Harmless warned her that once the door was opened, she would need to get away as fast as she could. The forest Beyond the Shale was unpredictable. It might attack ferociously or beckon to her with promises—its effect was different on everyone, but its intentions would not be pure.

  Second, she was to take the Spoke to the bridge over the River Drowning. He pointed to her map and a tunnel that ended at the bottom of an abandoned well. There she was to light the Luck Cauldrons atop the bridge. Harmless described them for her and said that any torch or spark should do the trick.

  Finally, she was to return to the Dead Fish Inn, where she should tell her mother and the Flood family what she had done and everything Harmless had planned. There she was to stay, with Abby and Lottie, and let the night run its course.

  Harmless told her that if she did all those things, in that order, there just might be a village left in the morning. It sounded overwhelming at first, but Harmless’s voice was so calm and confident that, by the time he had finished, Rye was convinced that maybe, just maybe, they might be able to pull it off.

  After Rye had repeated the instructions back to him three times, Harmless tilted his head toward Truitt and said kindly, “Truitt, could you give us just a moment?”

  “Of course,” Truitt said. Letting the touch of his fingertips guide him, he stepped outside the cell.

  “Riley,” Harmless said, “the steps we’ve discussed are very important. You must complete them in order, as quickly as possible, for everything to work the way we hope. Your timing must be precise.”

  “I understand,” Rye said.

  “I did not want to speak of this in front of Truitt, but you must know—the Luck Cauldrons are a signal. A call as old as the Luck Uglies themselves. Once lit, any Luck Ugly who sees them is bound by duty to answer.”

  Rye swallowed hard. So it was true. The Luck Uglies were really coming. Or were they?

  “But Longchance said you were the last one. Are there any Luck Uglies left to answer?”

  “The cauldrons haven’t been lit in more than ten years. The Luck Uglies have been flung far and wide but, yes, there are still some out there—nearby. That’s where I’ve been since I left the Dead Fish. That’s why I wasn’t at Grim Green.”

  “Why didn’t the Clugburrow finish us all when they had the chance?”

  “Fortunately for us, the Clugburrow are a superstitious lot,” Harmless said. “To them, a blackbird that flies by night brings bad luck. The ugliest kind.” He smiled. “Remarkable birds, the rooks. Be kind to them. They always repay their debts.”

  Rye was dumbstruck. “You sent the flocks? How?” Harmless’s skills seemed to defy logic.

  “Practice,” Harmless said with a smirk. “But never mind that now. The Clugburrow won’t be fooled again.”

  “I hope the others will answer the call.”

  “I believe they will. Once a Luck Ugly, always a Luck Ugly. Until the day you take your last breath.”

  Harmless smiled wryly. “That said, time can do strange things to men. They may come, but I can’t guess what other troubles the call might bring with it. That, however, is a problem for another day.”

  Rye nodded.

  “Stay in the Spoke as much as you can. Once you make it to the Dead Fish Inn, do not leave there. And do not, under any circumstances, return here to the Keep.”

  “Harmless, what about you?” She was sure there was more to the plan he wasn’t telling her.

  “I’ve been doing this sort of thing for many years. Whenever I feel I’ve grown weary of it for good, my ears—well, ear these days—start to burn. I come to my senses and realize I have one more in me.”

  “I mean,” Rye said, moving closer, “what happens here at the Keep?”

  “The worst monster dwells within these walls. When he seals himself off from the threat outside, I’m the twist of fate who’ll be waiting.”

  Rye would have asked what Harmless meant, but deep down, she already knew the answer. Instead, she asked, “Will I see you again?”

  “One way or another, we will have breakfast together again on the morning of my birthday. Three days from now. At our favorite spot.” Harmless reached out and touched Rye’s cheek with his palm. “You are an extra-ordinary young lady, Riley O’Chanter. It has been my greatest pleasure getting to know you these past few weeks.”

  Rye hugged Harmless around the shoulders. He hugged her back.

  “Now go,” he said. “The guards will be coming. And there’s a village in need of your help.”

  22r />
  A Lady’s Last Resort

  Rye and Truitt made their way back toward the tower, carefully avoiding the team of guards patrolling the Keep’s halls.

  “Truitt,” Rye whispered, “what is that key you traded?”

  “It’s called the Everything Key,” Truitt said. “It opens every lock in the Keep.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Malydia gave it to me,” Truitt said, and must have heard the surprise in Rye’s breath. “I told you she’s not all bad.”

  “I know she’s your sister,” Rye said, shaking her head, “but she doesn’t strike me as the generous sort.”

  Truitt paused at the echo of footsteps in the distance, then moved forward again once they’d passed. “Malydia used to wear the Everything Key around her neck,” Truitt said. “To this day I have no idea how she came by it, but she gave it to me as a gift.”

  “Why?”

  “Malydia knows that my life is not an easy one. She wanted to be sure that I could get into the stockrooms and pantries if I needed to. It was only later that I discovered it opens other doors in Drowning. I use it to take care of the link boys and girls who live in the streets and sewers. Link rats, you call them.”

  Rye now felt ashamed for ever using the term.

  “Malydia knows what I use the key for and doesn’t stop me. Say what you want about her, but if not for Malydia, most of those children would have starved.”

  “So why sneak through these halls after dark?” Rye asked. “Can’t you just live here with her?”

  Truitt stopped and turned to Rye.

  “When I was just an infant, my father threw me into a sewer. He considered me broken—because my eyes didn’t work. He blamed his imperfect son on my mother, and I won’t speak of what he did to her.”

  His eyes might not see, but they still conveyed emotion. Rye thought of Lady Emma. She sang part of the illicit rhyme in her head:

  Emma bore a child and tongue too loose, then she was of no further use.

  Truitt was Longchance’s dark secret—a secret no mother would be willing to keep. Rye swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe any father could be so evil.

  Rye was quiet for the remainder of the way. Truitt paused as they approached Malydia’s room. He heard no sound and waved Rye forward. Farther ahead, Rye’s guard was snoring loudly on his stool, his chin slumped on his chest.

  “Truitt,” Rye whispered. “You’re risking much by helping us, but it seems you have little to gain.”

  Truitt sighed.

  “Rye, I don’t wish to live in the tunnels and sewers forever. And when it is time for me to come back into the light, I want there to be a village left to come out to.”

  It occurred to Rye that Truitt reminded her a lot of Harmless. His words always seemed deeper than their plain meaning. Rye’s feelings were easier to express.

  “Thank you, Truitt.”

  Truitt bowed his head.

  “I will see you in the Chamber of the Lost Lady tomorrow night,” he said, and disappeared down the stairs.

  Rye made it back to her bed but found herself staring into the dark night. The fat moon was sinking in the sky and would soon be replaced by dawn. She was too anxious to fall asleep, and she kept running over Harmless’s plan in her head. The steps were simple enough, but the number of things that might go wrong seemed limitless.

  Rye finally began to drift off, only to be awakened by Leatherleaf. He was out there, in his cage, wailing as loud as she had ever heard him.

  Rye woke late the next day and was surprised to find that the guard was no longer outside her door. However, outside her window, the courtyard of the Keep was filled with more soldiers than she had seen during her entire stay. They gathered weapons and barked orders.

  Rye scouted the hallway. The nanny was knocking on Malydia’s door. The door opened and Malydia’s unpleasant face emerged.

  “Earl Longchance is using the Great Hall, my Lady,” the nanny said, eyes to the floor, and offered a plate to Malydia.

  Malydia looked it over and accepted it.

  As the nanny turned to leave, Malydia gave her an awkward smile. The nanny seemed stunned by the simple gesture. Then Malydia saw that Rye was watching and scowled, slamming the door shut.

  The nanny continued down the hall to the guest chamber. Rye raised her eyebrows and the nanny did the same.

  “I guess even Malydia can be pleasant with enough effort,” Rye said.

  “It seems so,” the nanny said with a giggle, and offered a similar plate to Rye.

  “Thank you,” Rye said. “What’s going on in the Great Hall?”

  “Earl Longchance and his advisors are planning for the night.”

  “Of course,” Rye said. “Will you make plans for yourself?”

  “I’m afraid there’s little hope for me.” The nanny shook her head. “My fate lies with the House of Longchance.”

  “Must it?” Rye asked. She hoped her enthusiasm didn’t betray her secrets. “What of the Luck Uglies? What if they return?”

  The nanny smiled sadly. “I don’t suspect the Luck Uglies care about my well-being any more than the Earl. I’ve been around long enough to remember that the Luck Uglies don’t look out for anyone but themselves.”

  Rye’s face fell.

  “But,” the nanny added, “it’s always nice to hope.”

  “Yes,” Rye said, dispirited. It was easy to forget that the Luck Uglies—and her father—had a history she was only beginning to discover.

  “Be well, Miss,” Rye said.

  “You as well, my lady,” the nanny said. She bowed her head and disappeared down the hall.

  As Rye wandered the Keep during the day, she realized why her guard had disappeared. Every exit and entrance to the Keep was heavily guarded by multiple soldiers, and the stairways to the dungeons and each tower were being patrolled. While the soldiers kept giving her unfriendly glances, it was clear that they had bigger concerns on their minds. It was also clear that, for now, nobody was getting in or out of the Keep except by order of the Earl. She hoped Truitt knew what he was doing.

  Rye spent most of the day at the window in her room, examining the sky and the distant village, trying to estimate how long it would take her to make her scramble through the Spoke. She noticed that, as the day went on, jarred dragonflies and beeswax poppets began to appear in each of the Keep’s other windows. The dragonflies, of course, were all dead. Rye recognized them as the very items that Longchance had taken from the Willow’s Wares—the talismans believed to ward off Bog Noblins. Malydia kept her distance from Rye, but once, when Rye had poked her head out of the door to the guest chamber, she caught Malydia pacing the hall while pinning a dead dragonfly to her dress.

  It was mid-afternoon and Rye was on her way back from stocking her pockets in the pantry one last time when she heard a conversation echoing in the Great Hall. One voice was clearly that of Longchance. The other was familiar, but she could not place it.

  “You’re certain that they are there?” Longchance was saying.

  “Yes,” the familiar voice said. “The woman. The young girl. The Floods are busy securing the inn for the night. There will be no way to enter once they’ve finished. That is, unless someone lets you in—from the inside.”

  “Is there a back door?” Longchance asked. “Away from the street, where they won’t see my men coming?”

  Rye’s heart jumped. They were talking about the Dead Fish Inn! It must be Longchance’s informant. The man who had poisoned her. Could it be Bramble?

  “Yes,” the familiar voice said. “I can slip away and unlock the door to the alley. The soldiers will be able to come in undetected. Inside, they’ll be so focused on preparing for the Bog Noblins they’ll be taken by complete surprise.”

  “You had better open that door,” Longchance said with menace. “If my men are left stranded in the street I shall hold you personally responsible.”

  “I’ll be there. I guarantee it will be opened.”
>
  Rye had to find out who it was. The door to the Great Hall was guarded, but she would only need a quick glimpse.

  “I shall hold you to it,” Longchance said. “If you hadn’t bungled the poison, we wouldn’t be worried about this. Foul this up and the next drink of Asp’s Tongue will be yours.”

  Rye took a deep breath and headed toward the door. When she reached the guard, she intentionally dropped a piece of bread to the floor, bent down, and peeked past his legs.

  Longchance was sprawled in his chair at the head of the table, a goblet of wine in his fist. His hair hung in his face and he had dark circles under his sunken eyes. The table was littered with gnawed orange rinds.

  Longchance reached into his pocket and tossed a small pouch across the table. It sounded like it was full of gold grommets.

  The familiar-voiced man caught the pouch and looked inside.

  “You get the rest after the soldiers are in the Dead Fish Inn,” Longchance said.

  Rye couldn’t believe her eyes. The man who caught the pouch was her friend, Jonah the barkeep.

  “Hey,” the soldier at the door said. He nudged her roughly with his boot. “Push off. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Sorry,” Rye said, and ran back to her room in a cold sweat.

  Rye’s heart and mind were each still racing when the sun began to set. Jonah changed everything. Longchance was sending soldiers to the Dead Fish Inn. By the time she got there, after unlocking the door to Beyond the Shale and lighting the cauldrons, it would be too late. Her and Folly’s families would be captured by Longchance’s soldiers—or worse. What good would a message do then? Talking to Harmless was impossible, as the dungeons were securely guarded by now. All she could do was meet Truitt at the arranged time and escape the Keep. From there, she’d have to figure it out on her own.

  The sky grew darker and Rye nervously packed up everything she intended to bring. She made sure the puzzle piece and Leatherleaf’s pouch were safely tucked inside her boots. Her hand-drawn map of the Spoke was in her pocket. She touched the choker around her neck.