The Monster in the Hollows Page 19

  “Your mother,” Olumphia began, her voice choked with emotion, “is in great danger.”

  Janner’s stubbornness vanished. “What do you mean?”

  “Is it the cloven?” Leeli asked. “Is it back?”

  Kalmar said nothing. He stared at the arm of his chair and scratched the claw of his forefinger against the wood grain.

  “No, it’s not the cloven. I’m talking about something even worse. Oy! I’m talking about you, Kalmar.”

  He looked up and narrowed his eyes at her. “I’d never hurt my own mother.”

  “Not directly,” Olumphia said.

  Kalmar folded his arms. “Not at all.”

  Olumphia took a deep breath and seemed unsure what to say.

  “Head Guildmadam Groundwich,” Leeli said, “I don’t mean any disrespect, but you’re wrong. Kalmar wouldn’t hurt her. Not ever.”

  “You don’t understand, guildlings. I love your mother, but she did something foolish.”

  “What are you talking about?” Janner demanded.

  “Turalay.” Olumphia’s chin quavered. “At the council. Her blood is on the great tree. She declared before the council and the seven chiefs that she vouched for you, Kalmar. Do you understand what that means?”

  “That if I break the law, we’ll both be punished,” Kal said. “But I’m no criminal. I’m not going to break any laws.”

  “Ah, child,” Olumphia said, shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. I knew when you first arrived that it would take some time for the guildlings here to get used to you. To be honest, I knew it would take me some time as well. If you weren’t my dear friend’s son I’d be as suspicious of you as the rest of them.” Kalmar gouged the arm of his chair with his claw. “Understand, Kalmar, that you’re up against nine years of hurt and anger. Even before the Great War came and the Fangs killed our sons and daughters, the Green Hollows was less than welcoming to outsiders. For good or ill, it’s in our blood.”

  “But if Kalmar doesn’t break any laws, how is Mama in danger?” Janner asked.

  “My ears are still ringing from being screamed at by the parents of these guildlings. I’ve had to listen to it every day since you arrived. They’re upset that I’ve allowed you to come to school at all. They think I’ve put their children in danger, and they’re determined to do something about it.”

  “What will they do?” Leeli asked.

  “Well, for starters they’ll tell their kids to provoke you. That’s Grigory Bunge’s game. His father wants to see you kicked out of the Guildling Hall. If you fight his boy, he’ll claim a Grey Fang tried to kill a Hollish child. If you so much as leave a scratch on that Bunge boy, the council will believe him. They’ll throw you into the dungeon for years.”

  Janner gulped as the implication unfolded in his mind. Kalmar didn’t have to steal a horse or damage city property. If the Hollowsfolk wanted to lock him away for good, all he had to do was scratch one of their children.

  “And if you’re thrown into the dungeon, lad,” Olumphia said in a strained voice, “your mother goes with you. Dear Nia will be chained in the dark, cold and alone. Do you understand? If you had attacked the Bunge boy just now, that would have been the end of it.”

  Janner and Leeli looked at their brother. Kalmar stared at Olumphia, stunned into stillness.

  “That means no fighting for you, Kalmar, except in class,” Olumphia continued. “Even then, youmust restrain yourself. No teeth. No claws. Don’t give them any reason to bring a charge against you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kalmar said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “Hush,” she said, waving a hand. “No need for that. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s these Bunge fools who ought to apologize. And you two,” she turned to Leeli and Janner, “are to keep watch at all times. Leeli, if you see Kalmar on the verge of a fight, play that whistleharp or throw yourself between them or something. Oy! Janner, you’re a Throne Warden so this is going to be hardest for you. You’re used to protecting your brother. Now I’m asking you to protect buffoons like Grigory Bungefrom him. There’s one more thing,” Olumphia said, leaning forward and tapping her fingers on the desk. She pursed her lips, which made her whiskers jut out at new angles. “I beg you not to say anything about this to your mother. At least for a while.”

  “Why? We don’t keep secrets from her,” Janner said.

  “That’s good. And this is no secret. It’s just that I’m afraid if she gets wind of these rumors she’ll light up like a bonfire and storm the city until she finds the culprits.”

  “What’s so wrong with that?” Kalmar asked.

  “The last thing your family needs is more trouble. Some of the Hollowsfolk who aren’t happy about you—Nibbick Bunge, for instance—are powerful people who happen to think that Rudric should have refused you refuge here. They think you’ll bring Gnag and his whole army upon us.”

  “But Gnag doesn’t know we’re here,” Leeli said.

  “Not yet, he doesn’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter what you or I think. It’s what the Hollowsfolk think. I know your mother as well as you do. Maybe better, even. She’s fierce when it comes to those she loves, and she’ll come after anyone who’s out to get her son. If Nia sticks her nose in their faces, which she just may do, they won’t just fight back with their fists. They’ll gather support from their friends and make things in Ban Rona even worse for you. If you think things are bad now with all this Grey Fang business, wait till they make outcasts of the whole family.”

  “I’m not lying to Mama,” Janner said.

  “You’re a fine lad,” said Olumphia with a proud smile. “Nia did well with the three of you. I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just asking you, Kalmar, to stay out of any scrapes for as long as it takes for these Hollowsfolk to realize you’re not going to start gobbling up their henpecks and hogpigs in the middle of the night. That’s all. And the less your mother knows about boys like Grigory Bunge the better. Your mother’s freedom—and maybe herlife—depends on it. Yours too.” Olumphia studied the children to be sure they understood. “Now get to lectures. You’re learning the history of the Watercraw today. One of Guildmaster Nibblestick’s favorite topics.”

  ***

  The rain stopped in time for P.T., but the field was a muddy mess. It should have made Get the Boot and Tackle Smash more fun, but now that Janner knew there were students out to provoke Kal, he was more uptight than ever. He kept close to his brother, telling him over and over to ignore the taunts, to remember his name, and to keep his claws under control.

  The Wingfeathers sat on the floor again at lunch, and they ate without speaking. The brothers dropped Leeli off at the houndry without encountering Biggin O’Sally, so they arrived at the Durgan Guild courtyard in plenty of time.

  Guildmaster Clout greeted the boys with a nod and treated them no differently than the other students, though they were all at least a head taller than Janner and two heads taller than Kalmar. Clout had them wrestling along with the others. He critiqued their moves and suggested various holds and blocks, and by the end of the day Janner began to enjoy it in spite of himself.

  Every time Kalmar was in the ring, though, Janner tensed, ready at every moment to step in if he heard any growling or saw any teeth. But he had no need to worry; Kalmar allowed himself to be outwrestled in every match, even though it meant he was hurt more than once.

  When the horn blew at the end of the day, the boys ran to get Leeli from the houndry and found her with a puppy in her arms. It was already as big as Nugget (Nugget before the water from the First Well, anyway), but it still had the soft brown and white fur, cute face, and high-pitched yip of a puppy. Thorn O’Sally sat beside her on a bench at the houndry door, tickling the pup behind the ears.

  “Hey, there,” he said. “Got your sister a pup. You’ll get one too, if you like. As soon as you’re ready.” He fished a comb from his pocket and slicked his hair back. “Leeli here already knows as much dogspeak as I do, and I’ve been here
my whole life. She’s real good, you know. Show ‘em.”

  Leeli blushed and put the puppy on the ground. Just like Biggin O’Sally, she made a series of quick, whisper-click-whistle noises with her mouth, and the puppy turned in a circle, stood on its hind legs, and barked three times.

  “Tell him to bark seven,” said Thorn.

  Leeli made another sound and the puppy barked exactly seven times. Janner and Kalmar clapped and shook their heads in amazement.

  “Aww. Did she learn dogspeak from her dog brother?” said a voice.

  Janner turned to find Grigory Bunge towering over him. He had brought a gaggle of friends, all of whom were bigger and stronger than Janner and Kalmar.

  “Let’s see if we can teach the mutt to play dead, eh, boys?” Grigory said.

  The gang howled and barked and laughed in Kalmar’s face. Janner pushed himself between them.

  “Get out of here!” Leeli jabbed Bunge with her crutch. “Leave my brother alone!” But the boys only howled louder. “Thorn,” she said, “go get your father. Quick!”

  “He isn’t here. He’s out on a houndrick for a training run. Won’t be back for an hour.” Thorn didn’t look scared, but the way he was eyeing the bullies told Janner he knew they were in trouble. “Janner. Kalmar. There’s nine of them and just three of us. I don’t know that now’s such a good time to brawl.”

  Grigory silenced his gang with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, O’Sally. Just the dog here. And his brother if he’s fool enough to jump in.” He leaned over and put his face in Kalmar’s. “Are you angry, dog boy? You stink like you’re angry.”

  “Yes, I’m angry.” Kalmar met Grigory’s eyes. Then came a growl from deep within his throat.

  “Leeli, play something, quick,” Janner said. “Kalmar, this is what they want, remember?”

  The growl continued, and Grigory grinned wider, eager for the attack.

  “Grigory, please,” Janner said. “Leave us alone. We don’t want to fight you or your friends.”

  Then Janner heard another clicking sound—dogspeak—and out of the houndry came Thorn’s older brother, Kelvey, along with a pack of dogs.

  Leeli abandoned her whistleharp tune and whistle-clicked something to the dogs. They growled and circled the gang of boys: fifteen huge dogs, ready to pounce.

  “A word from me, and they’ll attack.” Leeli limped over to Kalmar. She made another sound and the dogs barked in unison; several of the boys jumped at that, and Leeli couldn’t help but smile. “Now leave me and my brothers alone.”

  “No need for anybody to attack anybody.” Grigory shrugged. “We’re just here for our dogs, is all.”

  “They’re in the kennel,” said Kelvey, who leaned against the houndry doorframe. “Be quick about it or my pa will have words with the Head Guildmadam.”

  Grigory shrugged and led his boys inside, and every one of them made sure to bump into Kalmar as they passed.

  “You’d better get gone,” said Kelvey. “They’ll be back out in a minute, and they’ll have their dogs too. Things could get awful, and quick.”

  Kalmar and Janner thanked Thorn and Kelvey for their help, and the Wingfeathers hurried to the courtyard, Leeli’s puppy at her heels.

  “Sooner or later that’s going to happen and we won’t have any help,” Janner said. “What do we do then?”

  32

  A Discovery in the Vale

  If Janner wasn’t sure about telling his mother about their conversation with Olumphia Groundwich, one look at her told him he should wait. For the first time in along time, Nia was in a fine mood.

  She greeted the children with a smile that made her seem ten years younger, then she drove the carriage past the Keep and pointed at Ban Rona and the distant harbor. The clouds had broken open to reveal blue sky, and sunlight painted the hills a vibrant green in contrast to the blaze of color in every treetop. Smoke rose from chimneys, ships rocked in the quay, and the sun was warm in the chilly air.

  “This city has always been so beautiful in the fall,” Nia said, taking a deep breath. “I never thought you’d see it, you know. The Maker is full of surprises.” With a sigh, she shook the reins and the horses heaved on.

  When they got home, Rudric was waiting. He sat on a huge horse, hands folded on the saddlehorn. Next to him stood another horse, saddled and stomping the grass. Bonifer, Oskar, and Podo reclined in garden chairs, dozing in the sunlight with pipes dangling from their mouths. Janner supposed there were no plans to visit the library that day; Oskar and Bonifer had been working for two days without a break, and the weather seemed to have lulled them to sleep.

  “Ready when you are,” Rudric said to Nia without even a glance at the children. He grinned at her in a way that made Janner feel a little embarrassed, though Nia didn’t seem to mind at all. She let out what Janner would have called a giggle if he didn’t know any better. Nia Wingfeather didn’t giggle. But without a word to the children, she mounted the horse and the two of them trotted down the hill.

  Leeli led her puppy inside, cooing to it about finding some food and asking what its name should be. She left Janner and Kalmar on the front lawn.

  “Come on,” Kalmar said, dropping his pack at the front steps. “I want to show you something.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Janner tossed his bag aside and ran around the house to catch up.

  In a flash, he went from mulling over Grigory Bunge, Rudric, Olumphia, and a host of other worries to thinking of nothing at all but the bright, wet grass and the wide openness of the afternoon. Kalmar jogged across the back lawn, past the barn and the goat pen, to the open prairie beyond. Fields and hills and wooded valleys spread out as far as Janner could see.

  Kalmar turned to be sure Janner was following, then he whooped and sped off. Janner couldn’t catch him, but he could see him up ahead, always over the next rise or around the next bend, pausing now and then to make sure Janner was coming.

  Janner vaulted a wooden fence, surprising a family of wild goats and sending them running. He followed Kalmar’s trail down a wagon path overgrown with prairie grass, passing a ramshackle skeleton of a barn where a rooster perched on a rafter.

  Just after the old barn, the land dropped away and Kalmar disappeared from view. When Janner got to the last spot he’d seen his brother, he skidded to a stop, lungs aflame. The field fell away down a grassy slope so steep it might have been a gully. Janner reminded himself that there were no gargan rockroaches in the Green Hollows, according to Pembrick’sCreaturepedia anyway. At the bottom of the hill was a pond with green algae at the edges, surrounded by weeds—but no Kalmar.

  “Kal!” Janner called between breaths. “I know you’re down there!” Janner half-expected to see him come up from under the water, soaked and covered in green goo. He scanned the vale again, more slowly this time. He was certain Kalmar had come this way. But other than the pond there was nowhere he could hide. “Kal, where are you?”

  “Right here,” said Kalmar. He sounded close, but his voice was muted.

  Janner edged his way down the slope, bracing himself for Kalmar to jump out and scare him.

  “Getting closer,” Kalmar said, taunting him.

  Janner made his way to the pond, sliding on his rump in the steepest places. He turned in a slow circle until he was facing the way he had just come. Then he saw it.

  At the bottom of the hill, overgrown with weeds, was the mouth of a cave from which a trickle of water ran, feeding the pond. The hillside sloped out over the entrance so that it was hidden from anyone not standing at the bottom. Kalmar’s head poked out among the weeds.

  Janner grinned. “How did you find this?”

  “What do you think I did while you were at the library—stick my nose in some book?” Kalmar waved Janner over. “I found it yesterday. I wanted to show you.”

  Janner crawled through the soggy weeds and ducked under the grassy overhang. He smelled wet earth and a sharp, foul odor like mildew or mold, but he couldn
’t see more than a few feet into the gloom. He waited for his eyes to adjust and soon saw that, a little way ahead, the ceiling rose enough so that he could stand. Janner wiped his muddy hands on his pants and looked around.

  “How far back does it go?” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Kalmar whispered back.

  “I don’t know,” Janner whispered, and they laughed.

  The brothers crept deeper into the cave, sidestepping the little creek, until the green tint of light at the entrance seemed uncomfortably far away.

  “I wish we had a lantern or something,” Janner said. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “I can see fine. It goes several more steps back, then turns a corner. I’m going to check it out.”

  “Wait!” Janner said, not because he was worried but because he wanted to go with him. But it was too late. Janner could hear Kalmar scraping his way ahead, calling back from time to time about how high the ceiling was, or about a pincherfish swishing through a puddle. Janner didn’t want to be a Fang, but he certainly wouldn’t mind being able to see in the dark. He leaned against the damp wall and waited for several long minutes. He didn’t mind the dark so much, but he didn’t like being alone. Kalmar had gone out of earshot, and the stench and the dripping silence were unnerving.

  “Dead end,” said Kalmar, right in front of Janner’s face.

  Janner jerked with surprise, his foot slipped, and he landed on his rump in the puddle. Kalmar doubled over with laughter, then Janner laughed too, and the cave echoed with it—perhaps for the first time since Aerwiar was made.

  When they crawled out, the sun was sinking in the west, casting a shadow on the little valley. They were wet and muddy, but neither boy noticed, nor would they have cared if they did. They had gone caving, which was far better than cleanliness.