On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness Page 14

  Janner thought about the horned hounds and shuddered.

  Tink asked if Podo had seen any toothy cows. “No, lad, and thank the Maker I didn’t. But a cave blat attacked me. Tall as a tree if it was an inch,” Podo declared, “and claws like knives. But ol’ Danny the carthorse kicked it square in the jaw, and the blat yelped and scurried off.”

  Tink asked how something as tall as a tree could “scurry,” but Podo continued as if he didn’t hear.1

  “The going was rougher the farther I went. At first it was only a few wee gullies and ol’ Danny could get down ’em without much trouble, but after a while I was thinking twice before I spurred ’im down there. Deep they were, and I’ve only got one leg, y’know,” he said with a frustrated swipe at his stump. “And then I heard a noise,” he said in a whisper. They leaned in close, even Nia.

  “We were—” Leeli began, but Podo shushed her.

  “Hold on, honey; ye gotta build suspense, see.” He paused for effect, and Leeli tried not to laugh.

  “Oh, get on with it,” Nia said.

  “Can I tell the story here?” Podo asked, offended.

  “Well I don’t know,” Nia said. “Can you?”

  “I can if I don’t have any more interruptions,” Podo growled, mumbling something about people these days not knowing a good story if it stung them in the rump. “So anyway, I heard someone singing—but it weren’t our Leeli here. Now that’s enough to scare an old fella half to death, hearing a song in the belly of a dark wood when the only thing he’s heard for the last hour is the snort of a horse and his own toots.”

  Nia rolled her eyes and put her face in her hands.

  “So I start looking all around, thinking I must’ve heard wrong, when it comes again: a voice singing. All of a sudden, Nugget here barks a fury, and I look at ’im and he’s barking up a tree. At first I think, Now ain’t the time to be fussing over thwaps! But right then a quill diggle the size of a goat comes out of nowhere and starts baring its fangs and circling. Its quills were raised, and it started screaming like a hawk, and I thought, Well, it’s a good thing I brought my fork from the house, otherwise I wouldn’t have anything to fight with at all. So I knew I didn’t have much time before the diggle’s quills came flying, and I threw my fork as hard as I could—” He stopped, looking down dramatically.

  “And?” Janner asked, taking the bait.

  Podo looked back up, relishing the suspense. “And I missed,” he said with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “The fool thing stuck in the ground about a foot in front of the critter. ‘Brilliant,’ says I, wonderin’ what to do next. That critter hissed and jumped back and turned to sling its quills. But just before it did, I saw the last thing I ever expected.”

  Podo enjoyed a long, noisy sip of cider while the Igibys waited on the edge of their seats. “Swinging on a vine from somewhere come that crazy fella from town, Peet the Sock Man.” Janner noticed Nia’s and Podo’s eyes meet at the mention of Peet, as if they’d had a whole conversation in that one moment. But Podo continued so smoothly that Janner wondered if he hadn’t imagined it.

  “He saved me,” Leeli piped in, speaking fast. “He fought Slarb and took me to his house in the forest. It was wonderful, even though he smelled like a rotten onion berry.”

  “So back to the quill diggle,” Podo said impatiently. “Peet the Sock Man swung down with a staff and smacked that diggle so hard it turned inside out, and while it was scurrying away, he took a stone out of a pouch and threw it at least a mile and hit it square in the head.”

  Janner’s jaw dropped. “It was Peet!” he said. “It was Peet who threw the rocks at the Fangs that attacked Leeli before, wasn’t it?” They all looked at him.

  “Well, it might have been,” Nia said, “but no one saw him, so we can’t know for sure, can we?”

  “Well, no, but who else—”

  “What happened next, Papa?” Nia said curtly.

  Podo cleared his throat. “So, as I was saying, we were standing right underneath a tree house way up in the top of a glipwood tree and sure enough, there was little Leeli, safe and sound, wavin’ down at ol’ Podo like she was on holiday.”

  “So the Sock Man didn’t try to hurt you?” Tink asked. “He always gives me the weirds.”

  “No!” Leeli said. “He fought that Fang all by himself and took me to his tree house. He has lots of books and a rope ladder, and he just needs some friends. Mama, can we bring him some food? All he eats is animals from the forest. He kept the diggle and said he was going to eat it later—and it wasn’t really inside out, by the way—but I just thought that maybe we could help him—”

  “We’ll see,” Nia said, with a wave of her hand. “Enough talk about this Sock Man character. I’m glad he saved you, dear, but it’s plain that he’s not right in the head. Now it’s time you children get ready for bed. You need rest.”

  Nia peeked her head through the door to the children’s bedroom. She listened for a moment and heard the deep breathing of sleep coming from all three. Only Nugget stirred. Snuggled tightly beside Leeli, he raised his head, cocked it to one side, and wagged his tail slowly for Nia. Nodding to Nugget, she smiled and pulled the door closed.

  Podo was nearly asleep in his chair with his leg propped up on the footstool. He had unstrapped his peg leg and the wooden stump lay on the floor beside him.

  “Fire’s getting low, lass,” he said with a yawn.

  Nia sat down on the couch and yawned too. She stared at the flames and thought long before speaking.

  “He can’t come near them, Papa.”

  “Eh?” he said, scratching his head and stifling another yawn.

  “Peet.”

  “Ah.” Podo roused a little and stared into the fire as well. They were silent for a long time again.

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll have a talk with the children,” Nia said. “I’ll forbid them to ever speak with him again.” She sighed and let her hair down from the bun. “These last few days have been the longest I’ve lived through since we came here, Papa, and I pray to the Maker that the danger passes soon. If my maggotloaf is good, and if we can last until that Fang, Sloop—”

  “Slarb.”

  “—is transferred to another village, I think we’ll be all right. At least we’ll be together. And we’ll be alive.”2

  “Aw, but this ain’t life, lass!” Podo said. “Not as it’s meant to be. Do you see the way the people’s heads bow? Do you see the fear that leaks out of ’em and sits on this town like a fog on the sea? Bah! They’ve forgotten what it is to live anymore. But yer Podo hasn’t.” He smiled at the fire and closed his eyes. “Today when I was ridin’ through the wood I remembered what it was like to have the wind in me hair and the world unrollin’ before me eyes.” Podo looked hard at Nia. “If Esben was still kickin’, he’d have a thing or two to say about these Fangs breathin’ their venom down our necks. He’d have somethin’ to say about that Carriage rattlin’ up these hills to carry off the youngsters—”

  “Enough, Papa. He’s not here. And that recklessness is exactly what got him killed.”

  “No, lass,” Podo said. “The Fangs is what got ’im killed.”

  “But if he had run, if he had come with us and laid low, then he’d be here now—” Nia cut herself short. She was on the verge of tears. “He’d be here now,” she repeated to herself.

  Podo put one of his weathered old hands on her arm.

  “It’s all right, lass. And don’t you worry about having any long talk with the bitties about ol’ Peet the Sock Man. You know as well as I do that for young lads, a warning is about the same as an invitation. They’ll not be able to stop thinkin’ about ’im if you do that. I say just let it go.” His voice grew dangerous. “And I’ll take care of ol’ Peet. Don’t you worry about him coming near the children again. I’d say he’s done quite enough.”

  Nia said nothing as she stared sadly at the dying fire, struggling to burn.

  30

  The Untimely Death of V
op

  As Nia and Podo bade one another good night, Slarb limped back to the jail with a swollen face and a large bleeding wound on his leg. He had woken in the forest clearing with an awful headache and a ratbadger chewing on his leg. Slarb had snatched it up, sunk his fangs into its neck with a growl, and tossed the limp creature into the woods. Several seconds had passed before he even remembered what he had been doing there in the forest. But as he staggered back toward town, Slarb imagined himself eating the Igiby children one by one, along with their little dog.

  The clop of hoofbeats coming toward him interrupted the reverie. Slarb dropped into the high grass just in time to spy Podo Helmer trot by in the direction from which he had just come. When he saw Nugget beside the horse, Slarb nearly sprang from his cover. By now, his hatred for the indestructible little dog equaled his hatred for the children who had humiliated him so.

  But the humiliation for Slarb the Fang was just beginning.

  The Fangs of Dang, it was widely known, were rarely injured. They certainly weren’t in much danger from the Skreeans, who had no weapons and who seemed to have very little courage. The only time a Fang was ever hurt was when a fellow soldier inflicted the wound during a scuffle over a gold bracelet or a bowl of booger gruel.1

  Slarb limped up the steps to the jail, hoping to find a bandage for his wound. The other Fangs stopped what they were doing and gaped as he passed. Slarb’s face was horribly swollen, he was covered with dirt, and his leg was bleeding steadily from the ratbadger bite. The Fangs burst out laughing and asked him what had happened.

  Slarb the Fang sat in the front room of the jail and dressed his wound beneath an onslaught of scorn from fellow Fangs. He could only bear the derision for so long, however. He finished applying the bandage to his leg, and without warning he lashed out at the closest Fang, a brute named Vop.

  They tumbled and snarled and broke every piece of what little furniture there was in the front room of the jail. They rolled on the floor, punching and scratching and biting one another while the others watched and cheered for Vop.

  With a yell, Vop flipped Slarb over his head and slammed him into the wall at the target where the many throwing daggers were stuck. Several daggers clattered to the floor.

  Slarb pulled himself to his feet, insane with anger, and grabbed one of the daggers. He flung one at Vop, who was receiving congratulations from the watching soldiers for winning the scuffle. With a sickening crunch, the knife buried itself in Vop’s back. The Fangs stopped laughing and watched in shock as he fell lifeless to the floor.

  Slarb stood alone, breathing hard with a smirk on his face.

  The Fangs disliked Slarb already. Now he had stabbed one of them in the back.

  “He killed ol’ Vop, he did,” said one, looking down at Vop with surprise.

  “Vop was a fine Fang to have around for a good chuckle,” said another.

  “An’ he didn’t exactly ssstart the tussle either,” said Brak, who narrowed his eyes at Slarb. “It was Slarb what started it, and ol’ Slarb there went an’ got ’im when he weren’t lookin’.”

  “I’ve knowed Vop sssince we come over from Dang,” said one, sniffing. “We burned lots of villages down together, me an’ him. Tossed me first kid ssscreamin’ into the Carriage with him, I did.”

  “Commander Gnorm took a ssspecial liking to ol’ Vop. Said he was like the nephew he never had,” said another, sliding his sword from its sheath.

  The more they glared at Slarb, the more he stared at the door. The gang of angry Fangs took a collective step toward him, hands outstretched, weapons drawn, as Slarb sprang for the door. But it was too late. The Fangs groped, but Slarb wriggled, screamed, and in a moment was shocked to find himself bounding down the steps of the jail amidst a hail of insults and curses.

  Slarb ran and ran, out of Glipwood and up the long road toward Torrboro, though he didn’t know where he was going. He no longer felt the ratbadger wound on his leg or the bulge on the side of his head where Peet the Sock Man had kicked him. He knew that Commander Gnorm would order his execution when he returned to find Vop stabbed in the back. But Slarb no longer cared about that either.

  The cold, white moon shone on him with disdain as Slarb ran, grinning madly, his twisted mind thinking of nothing at all.

  Except, that is, for his hatred of the Igibys.

  31

  Khrak’s Medallion

  Over a breakfast of bacon and fried totatoes the next morning, Janner had a feeling for the first time in a week that everything was going to be all right. The breakfast was good, the sun was shining, no one was hurt, and he had three new books to read. Hopefully, Slarb had gotten the message that interfering with the Igiby children wasn’t a good idea. In the past few days, as far as Janner knew, Slarb had been knocked unconscious by a rock, clouted by Commander Gnorm, and nearly strangled by Peet the Sock Man. He may even have been eaten whole by some hungry beast of the forest.

  Still, Podo and Nia had decided everyone should stay close to the house for a few days until the dust settled. It had been an eventful week, and neither Podo, Nia, nor Leeli even knew about Janner and Tink’s encounter with the horned hounds and the weapons in the cellar of Anklejelly Manor.

  Podo was pleased to have collected and delivered five more garden thwaps for his old rival, Buzzard Willie. It was as if the pirate had found a new purpose in collecting and redepositing thwaps in his old age. Though he had repented of his wild days at sea, he cackled with glee while he snuck around to Willie’s garden to set loose the thwaps.

  The children, under Nia’s tutelage, were hard at work on their T.H.A.G.S.

  Janner was toiling over a poem Nia had instructed him to compose. The subject matter was the Sea Dragon Festival, and he sat trying to think of something to rhyme with “festival” other than “best of all.”

  Tink, barefoot and lounging in the crook of an old tree, was sketching a fazzle dove that had nested in the hollow of a nearby oak. It was his third attempt at getting it just right, and he squinted at the drawing and cocked his head this way and that.

  Just outside the back door of the cottage, Leeli practiced her whistleharp while Nugget dozed at her feet.

  Life at the Igiby cottage seemed to be returning to normal.

  “Ah, ‘Dougan’s Reel,’1 an ancient tune from the Green Hollows,” Oskar N. Reteep was pleased to inform Leeli from around the corner of the cottage. “Splendid.”

  He had come over to check on Leeli and offer profuse apologies for allowing her out of his sight. He carried her little crutch under his arm.

  “In the words of the famed shoe burglar Hanwyt Moor, ‘I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.’” He held out the crutch. “And you must be Lizard-kicker, I presume?”

  Leeli hugged Mr. Reteep around his sizable waist.

  “May I still come over and borrow books sometimes, sir?” she asked.

  “Of course! Of course, young princess! More than ever now.”

  Nia smiled and welcomed in Oskar for a cup of cider.

  Just as they were sitting down, Podo returned from his errand at Buzzard Willie’s garden, and he greeted Oskar stiffly.

  Oskar squirmed beneath Podo’s gaze.

  “Podo, you must know how sorry I am,” Oskar said, his eyes downcast. He nervously pressed a stray lock of white hair across his forehead. “Had I known…had I known that the Fang was nearby, I never would have…” He trailed off, trying to think of an author to quote.

  Podo softened and shrugged it off with a wave of his hand as he sat down at the table beside Nia. “No harm done,” he said, with what he meant to be a light punch to Oskar’s shoulder. It jarred Oskar so that his spectacles were left dangling off one ear. Podo didn’t notice.

  “The word at Shaggy’s Tavern is that Commander Gnorm is back from Torrboro and that he ain’t happy,” Podo said. “Blaggus said that he heard ’im yelling at the top of his lizard lungs about somethin’ having to do with Slarb. Said he heard that Slarb killed another Fang.”
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  Oskar rubbed his shoulder and straightened his glasses. “A dead Fang? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of those.”

  “They’re not much to look at,” Podo said. “All dust and bones.”

  Oskar raised an eyebrow.

  “Or so I’ve heard,” Podo added.

  “And Slomp?” Nia asked.

  “Slarb, dear,” corrected Oskar.

  “Well, that’s the odd bit,” Podo said. “Shaggy says he ain’t been seen since he killed the other fella. Said he ran off and never came back. I reckon if he did come back Gnorm would kill ’im as dead as the other one.” Podo looked out the window. “I have a feelin’ we might be rid of that stinker once and for good.”

  “Until we’re certain, I don’t want the children going into town alone,” Nia said.

  “Aye, we’ll lie quiet for a few days,” Podo agreed. “But there’s no sense hidin’ like cave blats for the rest of our lives, lass. Besides, now that the festival is over all but a few of ’em will be heading back to Torrboro. Things’ll be back to normal soon enough.”

  “And I assure you,” said Oskar earnestly, “the children will be safe at Books and Crannies—should you choose to trust me with their company again.” He looked at his hands.

  “Ol’ geezer, didn’t ye hear what I said? No harm done! And that’s that.” Podo leaned over with a smile and playfully whacked Oskar on the shoulder again, this time sending his glasses clattering to the floor.

  Hoping to avoid any further displays of friendship from Podo, Oskar bade them farewell. He stepped out of the cottage and found Tink leaning against the tree drawing on parchment. Oskar waved Tink over to him and whispered, “And this is for you, lad. I found it very helpful, myself.”

  He slipped Tink a small book and cleared his throat. With a sympathetic pat to Tink’s head, he strolled down the lane.