The Luck Uglies

by Paul Durham

  She extended her free hand in front of her and pressed on through the darkness, reaching for something—anything—that might give her a clue of what to do. She searched in a circular pattern, not knowing whether she was going to feel the cold hands of a specter, the grasp of some hidden dungeon wirry or, worse, nothing at all. Instead, on her fourth or fifth pass she felt rough fibers. It was a rope, hanging down from somewhere above, tied with heavy knots to make for an easier climb.

  Rye pulled herself up through the hatch to the upper dungeon. The rope was tied to the metal grating, as if somone had been expecting her—or maybe someone else. Once she’d cleared the rope, Rye got as far away as possible from the entrance to the pit before stopping to rest. Shady twitched anxiously, rustling the cage on her back.

  Rye ran as fast as she could toward Harmless’s cell. The cell door was open and three guards lay outside, motionless on the ground. Any weapons they’d once carried were gone. She stepped past them and looked inside. Harmless’s shackles dangled empty. He was nowhere to be found.

  She followed her map out of the dungeon to the long central corridor. Where the Keep had buzzed with footsteps and conversation earlier in the night, it was now quiet. She rushed down the hall. The castle looked like it had been under siege. Longchance’s paintings hung crookedly on the walls or broken on the floor. Shards of armor and weapons littered the steps. She hoped that Malydia’s nanny had made it somewhere safe.

  Rye approached the Great Hall. Ahead, Rye heard running, like the gallop of a small horse. It was coming her way. She stopped when she saw the huge, gray watchdog rushing toward her, its teeth bared and tongue flying loose. Rye had no time to defend herself as it met her, but the dog simply continued past, running at full speed and whimpering as it went.

  Rye looked toward the doors to the Great Hall. There was whimpering coming from in there, too.

  Rye stepped inside. The whimpering came not from a dog but a person. It was Malydia. She sat on the floor facing Rye, her back pressed against the overturned dining table she had clearly been using as shelter. Malydia’s black dress was torn. She had lost her shoes and her hair was matted to her face. Behind her, the Great Hall had been destroyed. Chairs were broken and tables smashed. Rye knew that any remaining soldiers were in piles, buried beneath the debris.

  Something was moving, though. Something impossible to miss. It was Iron Wart, the monstrous Bog Noblin that had separated Constable Boil from his arm in one bite. He lurched through the Great Hall, knocking aside all obstacles. He must have picked up Malydia’s scent.

  As Iron Wart drew closer to Malydia’s hiding spot, Malydia caught Rye’s eye.

  “Help me,” Malydia mouthed.

  Rye waved her toward the door. “Run,” Rye mouthed back.

  Malydia shook her head.

  Rye waved more urgently now, as Iron Wart drew near. He was practically over the table.

  Again, Malydia shook her head. Her white knuckles clutched Rye’s choker, which she now wore around her own neck.

  Rye noticed that the choker wasn’t glowing.

  “Malydia!” Rye yelled now, as loud as she could. “Run, you foolish, stubborn—”

  Iron Wart reached down and clutched Malydia by her hair. He dragged her from the floor and Malydia screamed.

  Rye rushed forward and set down Shady’s cage. She really hoped she was right about all this. She opened the cage and set Shady free to do what he was born to do.

  26

  The Gloaming Beast

  Rye held her breath as Shady slowly stalked out from the cage.

  Harmless had told her of the Gloaming Beasts one morning in Miser’s End Cemetery.

  “They walk among humans nearly invisible, blending into everyday life. However, to the informed eye, clues of the Gloaming Beast are everywhere. You just need to know how to look.”

  Running after Shady from Mud Puddle Lane to Market Street that night, she’d had plenty of time to assemble the clues in her mind.

  “Their own claws are laced with toxins that are poisonous to Bog Noblins. To all other creatures, the effect isn’t much more than a mild itch.”

  Rye looked at her own wrists and arms, etched with Shady’s faded scratch marks. They had always itched more than they hurt.

  “They are mostly docile, although fiercely independent creatures.”

  Shady was very loveable, but he spent long hours in quiet places tucked away from the rest of the family, and he seemed eager to escape from the house at every opportunity.

  “They hunt them for sport. For the sheer joy of it.”

  She had never seen Shady as agitated as the night when Leatherleaf had approached Mud Puddle Lane. And what of the night of the Black Moon? Harmless had said that Leatherleaf had been injured in a fight with a Gloaming Beast. When Shady escaped, had he not headed straight for the bog? It occurred to Rye that maybe, just maybe, it was Shady who had rescued her from Leatherleaf, not Harmless or her mother.

  That was why Abby had repeatedly told her that they were safest in their very own beds. She knew the secret of the murderous beast that slept at the O’Chanters’ feet each night.

  The fur on Shady’s thick tail now flared as he spotted Iron Wart. He tilted his head and looked at Rye, as if he could not believe his good fortune. His ears were pinned back and she could see his sharp white teeth. Was he smiling?

  Abby had always told Rye that it was too dangerous for Shady to go outside. It now occurred to Rye that her mother never mentioned whom it was too dangerous for. Perhaps she meant the O’Chanters themselves, if Shady were to leave them.

  Shady’s yellow eyes shone and he began to move slowly and silently into the Great Hall. His tail twitched with anticipation.

  Malydia’s shrieks echoed off the wall as Iron Wart held her close to his face and looked hungrily at her feet. He stopped and sniffed at the air.

  “Diffryndown!” a voice commanded.

  Rye whipped her head around to see Harmless in the doorway. So did Shady. Harmless was armed with an assortment of weapons he must have collected throughout the Keep. He raised a hand to Shady, and repeated his command. He spoke a language that Rye had never heard before. Shady reluctantly stopped and lowered himself into a crouch, ready to pounce.

  “Riley, you’re safe!” Harmless said with great relief. “I saw the fires and smoke in the village. Did you open the door to Beyond the Shale?”

  “Yes, although I’m afraid there was a detour along the way.”

  “No matter,” Harmless said, eyeing Iron Wart like a wolf. “I suppose I should be upset that you returned despite my instructions . . . but I’m in no position to object. And I see you have brought Diffryndown—Shady, as you know him. Your timing is impeccable. I feared Iron Wart would give me quite a run on my own. It will be good to have my old friend’s company.”

  Iron Wart now caught sight of Harmless and pitched Malydia aside. She landed in a pile of broken chairs and fallen tapestries.

  “Is Shady a . . . Gloaming Beast?” Rye asked. When she looked back toward him, Shady had silently skulked through the shadows and taken up a position under Longchance’s broken throne. His yellow eyes never left Iron Wart.

  “He is indeed,” Harmless said. “And a most impressive one at that. Still, Iron Wart is the strongest member of the Clugburrow. It will take both Shady’s and my best efforts to end our troubles here tonight. And I’m afraid we are both a bit out of practice.”

  Iron Wart raised his knobbly, bolted chin toward the rafters and let out a blood-curdling roar.

  “Ahh, Iron Wart has come to play,” Harmless said. He smiled a smile of mischief and bad intentions. He drew two swords and shouted another command. Rye saw Shady dart out from under the throne and take a position behind Iron Wart. Her cat began to circle the Bog Noblin, stalking its prey.

  Harmless dropped to one knee and whispered in Rye’s ear. “Go now. To the courtyard.”

  “But—” Rye began to protest.

  “Please, Riley.
Go. Your father and your beloved pet are about to do things you should never have to see.”

  Harmless kissed her on the top of her head and stood.

  “You have done all that I could ever ask of you and more. Now wait for me at the gates of the Keep. Dawn is near. If I’m not out by sunrise, it means I am never coming. Return to the Dead Fish Inn without me. Now, on the count of three, we all run to our fates.”

  Rye nodded. Harmless took a step forward and began the count.

  “One, two . . .”

  Harmless charged, stepping on the overturned table to launch himself through the air, swords flashing in the torchlight. Shady was even faster, a black flash like the shadow of a shark cutting through the sea. He sprinted forward and leaped in the air—a cannonball of claws, fur, and teeth. Iron Wart roared again and flailed his arms to protect himself from their attack.

  Rye ran out the doors of the Great Hall without looking back. She considered stopping for Malydia, but surely the girl was now in better hands than Rye could offer. Rye was uncertain of what awaited at the gates of the Keep, so she took a side passageway that led to the rear grounds. She opened a door and headed into the night. The outdoor passageways were narrow and twisty, with little room between the Keep itself and the high exterior wall. She followed one that she expected to loop back around to the main gate, but it came to a dead end in a pile of stale fruit, rotting hay, and household garbage. It was the compost heap.

  A smell made the hair on the back of Rye’s neck stand on end. It wasn’t the compost. It was the smell of the bogs. Rye turned very slowly.

  There, filling the passageway from which she’d just come, was Leatherleaf.

  He studied her intently, his bulging eyes rotating. He still wore shackles on his wrists and ankles but they now hung loose. His arms and legs looked red and swollen; he must have battled ferociously to break free from his cage. He was staring at Rye’s neck. Of course, there was nothing there.

  Leatherleaf stepped forward and leaned down so that he was nearly eye level with Rye. His watery eyes were filled with anger and confusion. He bared his teeth and spittle ran down from his chin. It splattered Rye’s face.

  Rye knew that Harmless and Shady would not be rescuing her anytime soon. Folly, Quinn, her mother—anyone who could help—were all far away.

  “Wait,” Rye said quietly and held out one hand. With the other, she reached for her boot.

  Leatherleaf snorted and lunged at her.

  “No, wait!” Rye implored, and pulled her hand back up. “I have this. It belongs to you.”

  She showed him the small leather pouch in her hand. Leatherleaf’s face contorted.

  “Look,” Rye said. She untied the pouch and emptied its contents on the ground. “It’s all still there.”

  The iron anklet, the tiny skull, the stick figure, and the yellow tooth all tumbled out onto the stones.

  Leatherleaf’s eyes grew wider as he examined them.

  “I’m sorry,” Rye said. “I never should have taken your belongings.”

  Leatherleaf looked at Rye with a flash of anger, then down at the items from the bag, then back at Rye. He reached down and snatched up something in his hand. He clutched it to his chest.

  Rye waited, not breathing, while Leatherleaf regarded her. Then he turned, took three steps down the passage, and leaped onto the Keep’s wall, catching the stones with his claws and clambering up to the top. He looked down at Rye as if to commit her face to memory, then disappeared over the other side.

  Rye heard the beast-baby wail from outside the Keep’s walls. Leatherleaf’s cry grew fainter and fainter, until it disappeared somewhere far in the distance.

  Rye finally exhaled when she could no longer hear Leatherleaf’s cries. Her legs shook and she sat down on the cold stone ground. There, in front of her, three items remained. The iron anklet, the tiny skull, and the wooden stickman. Leatherleaf had taken only his tooth.

  The night sky was beginning to brighten as Rye made her way around to the courtyard. As she emerged from a side passageway she caught sight of the front gate. There, in its shadow, was a cloaked man on one knee, his head in his hands. He seemed beaten with grief.

  “Harmless?” Rye called, running forward. “Are you all right?”

  He looked up, and his cruel, dark eyes flashed with recognition. It wasn’t Harmless. It was Longchance. His face was pale and skeletal in the early morning light.

  “You,” he spat and rose to his feet. “You and your kind brought this upon me.”

  Longchance towered as he rose. With his cloak and bedraggled hair, he looked like a Wirry Scare come to life. He stepped menacingly toward Rye and drew his long sword. He pointed it at her.

  “I have lost everything,” he bellowed, lumbering now with long strides.

  Rye scrambled away as fast as she could, darting under a horsecart filled with wine casks.

  “Come out!” Longchance screamed, raising his chin and fists to the sky. “Or I shall crawl under there and drag you out like a rat from its hole!”

  Longchance jabbed his sword under the cart. He slashed and the blade snagged Rye’s cloak but spared her skin.

  He thrust his arm underneath and his nails bit into her ankle. She felt her body being dragged across the ground.

  The large front doors of the Keep kicked open and Harmless emerged, carrying a limp body in his arms. The body was small and frail, covered in a black dress.

  Harmless laid it gently on the ground. Harmless’s hair was wet with sweat. Fresh claw marks bled from his cheeks and arms.

  “Malydia,” Longchance whispered. The name drew all the breath from his lungs. He let Rye’s leg loose and she scampered back under the cart. His sword dropped to the ground.

  Harmless looked at Longchance gravely. In three steps so fast Rye barely saw them, Harmless covered the distance between them and launched himself hard onto the Earl. Longchance fell backward and Harmless pinned him with his full weight upon his chest. Harmless drew a dagger.

  “I deliver your daughter safely to you today. She is frightened beyond imagination but I suspect she will be fine—no thanks to you,” Harmless hissed. “I know you would not do the same for me.”

  Longchance craned his eyes to see. Indeed, Malydia stirred on the steps.

  Rye peeked out from under the cart. Harmless had a look of menace on his face she’d never seen before. He bared his teeth like a wolf as he spoke.

  “You have put my family in jeopardy for the last time. To you, Earl Longchance, I show no mercy. Finally, Drowning can bid farewell to its true monster.”

  Harmless slid his dagger down from Longchance’s chin to the knobby Adam’s apple in his throat. He pressed.

  Rye gasped under the horsecart. It was loud enough that Harmless looked over and caught her eye. Rye held his gaze and something in his face began to change. Harmless looked back over his shoulder. Malydia had sat up and was rubbing her own eyes.

  Harmless studied the dagger at Longchance’s throat. He grabbed Longchance by his long braided beard, and Longchance pinched his eyes shut. With a swift stroke of the wrist, Harmless cut off the beard.

  The hair dangled from Harmless’s fist like the blackened tail of a possum. Harmless thrust it in front of Longchance’s eyes.

  “I shall keep this little weed of yours. Should you ever trouble the Luck Uglies or any of their families again, I will deliver these whiskers to the Clugburrow myself, so they can follow your scent wherever you may take it. And I will make certain they know that the Luck Uglies no longer protect the House of Longchance.”

  Longchance rubbed his sore, naked chin.

  “As cunning a warrior as you may be, Gray, you are but one man,” Longchance said venemously. “You live on borrowed time.”

  Harmless stepped off of Longchance and laughed loudly into the dawn.

  “But there you are wrong, Morningwig.” He raised his blade in the brightening sky and pointed to the walls of Longchance Keep. “Your soldiers have all deserted y
ou in your time of greatest need. But mine, once again, have answered the call.”

  Rye pulled herself out from the cart so she could see. There, perched along the walls and towers of Longchance Keep, a dozen hooded figures had appeared like ravens. Glaring from under the hoods were sharpened teeth, blackened eyes, and twisted faces. Luck Uglies. They peered down into the courtyard. One Luck Ugly was smaller than a child. It clambered up another’s leg with its long arms and perched upon its shoulder. Rye thought she saw a monkey’s tail twitch out from under its tiny cloak.

  Longchance swallowed and said no more.

  “Choose your course wisely,” Harmless said with a foreboding smile. “Whether it is from the roofs, or the sewers, or the darkest shadows of your own chambers—we will be watching.”

  Harmless pulled Rye to her feet and up into his arms. He pressed something into her hand. It was her choker.

  “Come,” he whispered. “Our loved ones at the Dead Fish must be worried sick. Shady will find us soon enough. I do hope he has not given himself a stomachache.”

  Rye closed her eyes. She rested her head on Harmless’s shoulder as they stepped through the gate of the Keep under lightening skies. The masked Luck Uglies disappeared from the towers as mysteriously as they had appeared.

  A dark furry shape darted through the courtyard, catching up with Rye and Harmless before they’d gone too far.

  Fingers of morning light spread across the Keep, illuminating the outline of a ragged black clover smudged across its stone walls.

  27

  The Luck Bag

  Rye stirred the cook pots over the fire at the O’Chanters’ cottage, staring out the window at the morning sun. Abby peeled and cored the last apples of the season. The house was quiet with Lottie still asleep, and they didn’t say much to each other—they didn’t have to. It was good to be home.