Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains

by Laurel Snyder

  “Pooh to you,” whispered Lucy, but she dropped the subject.

  Then Wynston suggested that they ring the town fire alarm and create a huge ruckus to draw the mayor out of the jail. But it didn’t seem likely that the wet town of Torrent had many fires, so it didn’t seem likely that they’d have a fire alarm. Not to mention that the villagers of Torrent didn’t exactly seem the ruckus-y type.

  Finally Lucy sighed, which caused Rosebud to amble over in concern. Lucy leaned against the wall, stroking Rosebud’s nose and fiddling with her lead rope. Meanwhile, Wynston clambered onto the cow’s back and peeked into the back-room window, slipping slightly on her rain-soaked hide. “Hey, Lucy,” he said. “Hey, Luce—climb up here. You aren’t going to believe this.”

  “What is it now?” Lucy looked up, worried. “Are they poking him with a fork this time?”

  “Not even close. No forks in sight, but Cat’s loose back there. He’s out of the cage, and nobody’s in the room with him.”

  Lucy looked up at the window. “What did you just say?”

  “It’s true, he’s bent the bars on the cage and gotten out. Only, they’ve closed the door to the front room, so he’s stuck back there.”

  Lucy climbed up beside Wynston. The added weight made Rosebud grunt, but Lucy didn’t notice. She stood gingerly on her toes, looked around the jail room, and saw that Cat was indeed loose, licking himself neatly beside the cage. Cat glanced up at Lucy and Wynston, then resumed his bath. “Some wild beast!” she exclaimed. “You can see why everyone’s so terrified. Just look at that ferocious animal! He might eat the whole village in one mouthful.”

  As if in response, Cat chirped out a friendly “Owrfuf!”

  Wynston said, “Shhhhhhhhh!” to Cat, and then he turned back to Lucy. “So now what?”

  At first Lucy thought to climb in and back out again with Cat. She even hoisted herself up into the window, but the drop to the room was nearly six feet. While she was willing to risk the fall, she didn’t think it was likely she could make the climb back out. “Let me think,” she said, pausing on the sill.

  Wynston peered in too, studied the drop to the jail-room floor, and whistled. “That’s a long way down,” he said. “But it’s an even harder jump up. I just don’t see how it can be done.” Wynston sat down on the cow with his face in his hands. Rosebud shifted awkwardly, and Wynston apologized.

  Lucy thought hard, but there didn’t seem to be many options. “I suppose,” she said from her perch, “I suppose that if I can get in, I can pass Cat out to you. Then maybe I can pull that table over to the window and climb out myself.” She looked into the cell and thought about whether the table would be too heavy. “I think I can do it.”

  Wynston fiddled with the fur on Rosebud’s back. “And what do I do if you get stuck in there?”

  “You run as fast as you can back home. You take Rosebud and Cat, and you follow the path to the boat. You’ll have to manage to get around those rocks on the other side of the lake, but once you’re on the downriver slope of the Current Current, you’re home free.”

  “But if you came up one side of the mountain by the river, how do we know where we’ll end up if we go down the other side?”

  “Oh, no,” said Lucy. “It’s not like that. It’s the strangest river. It runs up one side, and down the other, but then the two streams are connected in a kind of circle around the base of the mountain. Almost like a moat. We took a little bridge that crossed over it, when we were walking. Very civilized.” Lucy made a face. “Haven’t you ever looked at the map on the wall of the Great Hall?”

  “Not really,” Wynston had to admit. “But I believe you…. So, then what?”

  “Then you run like the wind. It’s not far from the base of the mountain back to Thistle, if you get off the river-ring at the right place. I think.” Lucy gulped a little, hoping she was right. “And there’s no other boat tied to the dock right now, so I don’t think it will be possible for the mayor to chase you home.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t leave you here!”

  “I hope you won’t have to, but at least that way Cat will be safe. And what if they do catch me? They won’t dare put a girl out in the woods at night, and if they do, it won’t kill me. And then I’ll find my way home—somehow.” Lucy decided it was better if Wynston didn’t know about the finer details of Torrential punishment—the bones or the puddle.

  Wynston tried to think of another solution, or at least a convincing objection to Lucy’s plan. He hated to think of leaving Lucy if she got stuck in the jail, but there was no point in arguing with her once her mind was truly made up.

  “I really hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, looking up at where she wobbled precariously.

  “I hope so too,” she replied. Then she peered in at Cat, who had finished his bath and was staring up at them. Cat’s nose twitched, and he held out his paws toward the window. Lucy angled her legs in through the window. “I’m coming!” called Lucy. She briefly looked down at Wynston, waved goodbye, and then shut her eyes.

  “Wait!” Wynston cried, but as he held up his hand to grab her skirt, Lucy wedged herself through the narrow space and was gone in a breath. Wynston stood back up on his tiptoes, balancing on Rosebud’s sturdy back, and looked down at Lucy, who now resembled a pile of damp laundry on the floor.

  “I’m okay!” she called out weakly. “I’m just fine.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position and rubbed her knees.

  …Lucy wedged herself through the narrow space and was gone in a breath.

  Wynston watched as Cat ran over to Lucy. The furry beast crawled into her lap and made a funny clicking sound. Lucy snuggled her face down onto Cat’s head for a minute and made kissy noises. Wynston, frightened, whispered, “Hurry up, Goosey!”

  “All right already!” Lucy looked around. “Hey, Wynston, I have an idea. Throw me down my bag, just the bag!”

  Wynston pulled out the knitting needles and blanket, which he tossed onto the wet grass beside Rosebud. Then he gently dropped the bag down through the small window. “Look out below!” Lucy looked up, caught the bag, and held it open next to her on the floor of the cell. Cat crawled obediently inside.

  “Now the rope!” she called out softly.

  Wynston looked around for a length of rope, but the only one he saw was tied firmly around Rosebud’s neck. “You mean Rosebud’s rope?”

  “No, the rope that’s tied to the bucket at the well in Thistle.” Lucy sighed. “Of course I mean Rosebud’s rope.”

  Sheepishly, Wynston tossed the end of Rosebud’s lead into the jail. It dangled a few inches over Lucy’s head. “No need to get snarky at a time like this,” he said.

  Lucy ignored Wynston, reached up on her tippy toes, and tied the rope around the handle of the big shoulder bag. She watched closely as Wynston hauled Cat through the window. He leaned down, hung the bag over Rosebud’s neck, and waited to see what Lucy would do next. Cat poked his head out and nuzzled Rosebud.

  Lucy looked around her. The room held only the metal cage, the heavy wooden table, a set of manacles bolted to the stone wall, and what looked to be raisins but were likelier petrified rat droppings. She shuddered at the thought of spending a night in the bare room and took a moment to cross her fingers. Then, quickly, she carried the cage over to the spot beneath the window.

  But when she tried to stand on the cage, it buckled beneath her weight. “No wonder Cat managed to get loose. I guess they don’t often have wild beasts in Torrent. This cage probably hasn’t been used in centuries.”

  “C’mon, Luce!” Wynston called softly from above. “Take forever, why don’t you.”

  “Oh, hush!” Lucy walked over to the table and pushed, but the table wouldn’t budge. She tried again, but it didn’t move an inch.

  “Want me to come down? Maybe we could move it together and then both climb out.”

  “Nuh-uh. Stay where you are and keep an eye out for the chief,” said Lucy. “I think I can get
it.” She held her breath, closed her eyes, and heaved with all her might. She felt the table shake for a minute, and then it moved an inch. She pushed harder, and it moved about a foot. But as it did, it gave a horrible, terrible, awful screech. Lucy froze when she heard a noise far worse than the screech. From the next room, she heard a voice.

  “Where there’s noise, there’s trouble, that’s what I always say!” announced the voice.

  Lucy ran back to the window. “Wynston!” she called. “Someone’s coming. Run for it!”

  “Wait,” said Wynston. “Grab hold!” Then the rope fell back down and floated in the air above Lucy’s face.

  “Don’t be stupid. You can’t possibly pull me up.”

  “Just shut up and grab hold!” Wynston insisted.

  Lucy heard footsteps in the doorway and did as she was told. She grabbed tight. “I’m ready!” she whispered loudly. Then she heard the terrible sound of a sweet young milk cow being poked with a knitting needle, and suddenly Lucy was jerked up and through the window. She flew, scraping her face and arms on the wall as she went, and then she banged both elbows on the windowsill as she hurtled out into the rain. One minute she was sailing through the air, and then, THUNK! She was on the damp, soft grass. “Run!” she yelled, and she ran. Wynston raced along close behind her, and Rosebud, still yelping in pain, kept a few steps ahead.

  They made for the trees, leaving behind one knitting needle, a rather damp blanket, and a mightily confused mayor. As they neared the path through the forest, Lucy heard shouts coming from the jail. “In here!” she called as she made for the path beneath the knitted canopy of the forest.

  With everyone running as fast as they could, there wasn’t much time for paying attention. So when Lucy felt a pull at her neck and cried out, Wynston and Rosebud ran on ahead. They left her, without meaning to, tangled in a hawthorn vine, pricked and scared. She could hear the sound of someone behind her on the little path. She struggled against the branches, but the more she pulled, the worse the tangle got.

  She wrestled with the vine at her neck, but only succeeded in getting the hawthorn snaggled in her hair. Voices were getting louder, and feet were thundering closer.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, snappit!” She wrenched her hair free, leaving a good bit behind. Wincing in pain, she stepped off the path and a few feet into the wood, trailing bits of vine and bramble with her. She ducked behind a big old oak tree when she saw the mayor, the chief, and a small herd of Torrentians coming down the path. But there was no time to waste, and so she moved, as quickly but quietly as she could, through the forest. She was just a few feet from the path and a few feet ahead of the crowd, within sight of the paving stones but under cover of vines and branches.

  The path was longer than she remembered, and Lucy could hear the sound of heavy feet on it, but she crept along fast, picking her way through the trees, her clothes askew and her hair full of brambles and knots.

  Behind her, though, something interesting was happening. The vine that had become tangled in Lucy’s hair was connected firmly to one of the vines holding the knitted canopy together. And as Lucy made her way, she began to pull the stitches loose with her. The canopy was unraveling like a sweater. As it unraveled, the branches gave way and began to sway and snap back into their usual positions. Behind Lucy, tree limbs flew and tore into place, and the roof quickly disappeared. Nuts and twigs rained down onto the Torrentians, and they were very much afraid and confused. They watched as order became disarray and Lucy, only a few feet ahead and a few feet off the path, ran for all she was worth. The crowd moved more slowly than one little girl desperate to join her friends.

  Nuts and twigs rained down onto the Torrentians…

  When Lucy burst out of the forest, Wynston was standing on the little dock, looking strangely puzzled. Lucy couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in the boat, why they all weren’t in the boat—and then suddenly, horribly, the truth struck her!

  Lucy realized something very bad, something even worse than very bad. She remembered that the boat had been just perfect for a Cat-size dog, a young cow, and a girl named Lucy. But it was far from perfect now. Lucy stared at the tiny vessel as she moved toward it. She stared at the rocks across the water. She stared back at the path, and then Lucy stared at Wynston, who noticed her and threw up his arms as if to say Now what?

  There was no more time for delay. “Get in!” she yelled as Wynston clambered, holding the Cat bag, into the boat bottom.

  “But—” said Wynston as he reached to untie the boat. “But, Lucy?”

  “I know,” she said as she made her way down the rickety planks of the dock. “I know, but I don’t know what to do.”

  Just then the crowd, led by the chief, burst into view. Lucy was standing with Rosebud at the very edge of the dock, which was small and shaky. The boat had drifted a few feet away from her. The Torrentians were closing in, but more carefully this time. Several pieces of wood had already splintered off the dock, and the rest promised to do the same.

  “Move with care, people,” the mayor was saying. “Easy does it. That’s what I always say.”

  Lucy grabbed Rosebud’s neck and began to push her toward the water. There was now a good ten feet of open water between the dock and the boat. She couldn’t think how to get the cow from the dock into the boat, especially now that it was drifting.

  “Lucy, what are you doing?” called Wynston from the boat.

  “I’m staying here, and you’re taking Cat and Rosebud. Back to Thistle. As fast as you can!”

  “No, Lucy!” shouted Wynston, with no time to spare. “No.” There was steel in his voice, a tone Lucy had never heard before. “Do you know what they’ll do if they catch you now? Now that you’ve broken the law? Jump in and swim to the boat!”

  “But that isn’t right!”

  “No, it isn’t. But I’m not even sure we can get Rosebud into the boat anyway.”

  “We have to at least try. This isn’t fair!”

  “Sometimes things aren’t fair. Swim!”

  “No!” cried Lucy.

  “Yes!”

  “But I got us into this mess.”

  “Yes, you did,” said Wynston, “but now you need to get us out, fast!”

  Lucy shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. And Rosebud will understand. There’s no more time for fuss. Jump!”

  Lucy looked at him, and then down at Rosebud, whose eyes looked bigger and sadder than they’d ever seemed before. She wrapped her arms around the young cow’s neck and whispered into the warm flesh, “I’m so, so sorry, girl.”

  Rosebud made a low sound in her throat and turned her head to look at Lucy once more. It broke Lucy’s heart.

  “Wynston!” she called. “If I do this, you need to swear we’ll come back. You need to promise we’ll come back as fast as ever we can, and fetch her.”

  “Lucy…”

  “No! You need to swear, or I’m not coming.”

  “Lucy, it’s a long way up the mountain, and my father…”

  “Forget your father and his rules for once. Forget you’re a prince, and swear it! You’re my best friend, and I love you.” Lucy choked on this difficult word. “I love you, and if you love me, you’ll swear.” She stood and stared at Wynston, who stared back for what felt like forever. The crowd was finally reaching the dock, and there was no time left to haggle.

  “I swear it!” he finally called. “I swear to you, Lucy. We’ll come back right away.”

  At that, Lucy untangled her arms from Rosebud, gave the cow a quick kiss on the neck, and whispered a heartfelt promise in the young cow’s soft ear. “I’ll be back, girl. I will.” Lucy dove into the water, which hit her like a bolt of cold lightning.

  Although it takes a while to tell this story, all of it happened in the blink of an eye and then, just as suddenly, it was over. The boat was in the water, Wynston and Cat were safe, Lucy was swimming, and Rosebud was standing, lonely, on the shore.

  You ar
en’t really leaving me? her soft brown cow eyes seemed to say.

  Lucy gripped the side of the boat and pulled herself up. Once she was safe, she pummeled Wynston with her fists.

  “Oh! What are we doing?” she cried.

  Rosebud was a sweet beast, and smart for a cow. Still, she was a cow. She couldn’t really begin to understand what was happening. She waited patiently for something else to happen. The boat drifted further out, and the cow craned her neck, reaching out in the only way she could. She had followed Lucy a long way, and now only wanted to follow her further. She took one step at the edge of the dock and tumbled forward, somersaulting awkwardly, to land knee-deep in the water. She mooed sadly.

  “Wynston, I changed my mind—we can’t do this!” yelled Lucy when she heard the sad sound of Rosebud calling. She grabbed the second paddle and began to stroke with all her might, so that the boat turned in a pathetic circle. But the boat wouldn’t go back to the shore. Lucy dropped the paddle, reached out her arms, and then waved, sick at heart, to Rosebud. She blew kisses as the boat began to move away.

  “Oh, Wynston, this is bad. So bad,” she said in a hollow voice.

  “I know it is, but I promise we’ll come back. We’ll come back soon, and then we’ll get her home safe…somehow.”

  “I forgot how small the boat was.”

  Wynston looked at the scene on the shore, and tears filled his eyes. He stared at Rosebud, who was now at the mercy of the herd of Torrentians.

  “She’s a good little cow, Lucy, and it’s awful, I know. But I think she’ll be okay. Just look.” Together they watched as the crowd teetered out to the water’s edge, grabbed hold of Rosebud’s rope, and began to pull on the cow. Lucy could hear the small throng of people arguing over what to do with the cow. Over the hubbub, they could hear the mayor’s voice clearly. “Settle down, folks. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I always say! Look at it this way—a free cow!”

  “But…,” Lucy said.

  “You can feel bad later if you want to, but right now you need to help me. Lucy, paddle. I mean it!”