The Monster in the Hollows Read online

  “They don’t believe me, that’s what.” Paddy pulled up a stool at the table where Podo and Lennry sat. “They said my math was bad. I said that may be true, but I didn’t think it could be bad four mornings in a row. They thought that was pretty funny.” He took a long, noisy sip of his bean brew and shook his head. “But the more I think about it, the more certain I am that I had eight hogpiglets yesterday. And the day before I had one more than that. Ten!”

  “That’s not right,” Lennry said.

  “Eh?” Paddy counted on his fingers and moved his lips.

  “You said you had eight yesterday, and the day before you had one more than that. That makes nine, not ten.”

  “Not true,” said Paddy. “Look at my fingers. One, two, three,” he counted to eight, then held out one more finger. “Eight plus one. That’s ten. Ten hogpigs.”

  “You forgot nine,” Lennry said.

  “What’s nine?” Paddy asked.

  “It’s between eight and ten.”

  Paddy furrowed his brow and nodded slowly. “Nine. You’re right. Plumb forgot about that one.” He and Lennry raised their mugs to math and sipped. “The point is, I’m missing hogpigs. The Durgan Patrol said it wasn’t their business if there wasn’t proof and I couldn’t count. But I tell you, for four days now my hogpiglets have been shrinking.”

  “They’re getting smaller?” Lennry asked, shocked.

  “No, they’re roughly the same size. Thenumber’s getting smaller. I had eleven. Now I have seven.”

  “Ah! Good. I thought the world was getting weird.”

  Podo listened to all this with vague interest until Paddy Durbin Thistlefoot leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You know what I think? I think it’s a cloven.”

  “In Ban Rona?” Lennry scoffed. “They don’t come this far west.”

  “One did this fall. Remember?”

  “Oy, that’s true. But they ran it off. If there was a cloven loose in Ban Rona, it would be doing worse than just stealing your hogpiglets. Those things can gobble a horse. My cousin lives in the Outer Vales and saw it happen once.”

  “If you’re so smart, what’s taking my hogpiglets?”

  Lennry shrugged. “Could be wolves.”

  Podo felt them glance in his direction at the wordwolves. It took him a moment to understand why. It had been a while since he had heard of any trouble with Kalmar in the Hollows, and he’d assumed they had finally stopped worrying over the boy’s fur. It wouldn’t do for these two Hollish gabbers to start any new rumors.

  “Pah,” Podo said. “Wolves run in packs. They don’t slip into pens and swaller a hogpiglet whole. Was there any sign of struggle?”

  “None,” said Paddy.

  “Footprints?” Podo asked.

  “Hard to tell in the slop.”

  “Well, then, I’d say you’ve got snickbuzzards.”

  Lennry gasped. “Snickbuzzards?”

  “What’s a snickbuzzard?” Paddy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lennry said, “but they sound mean.”

  “Aye,” Podo said. “They are. Terrible mean. Razor sharp beaks. Talons like daggers. And the worst part?”

  “Yes, yes?” Lennry and Paddy said.

  Podo sipped his bean brew and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Bellybutton.”

  “No,” said Paddy with a shiver. “Not on a bird.”

  “Aye. On a bird. Fleshy, bald belly just like my mammy used to have, and right there in the center, a bellybutton starin’ at you like a wrinkly eye. It’ll keep you up at night, I tell ye.”

  Lennry narrowed his eyes. “If it’s a snickbuzzard, why haven’t we seen one before now? And what makes you so sure that’s what’s taking Thistlefoot’s hogpiglets?”

  “Who knows? It’s a strange time in Aerwiar, ain’t it?” Podo peered out at the sky through the window. “Could be a new migration pattern or something. I was a pirate, if you recall. I know all about migration patterns and birds and such.”

  Podo knew this made no sense, but it worked. Lennry and Paddy squinted out the window as if a snickbuzzard would crash through it at any moment.

  Podo continued, “And ye said there were no tracks, right? No commotion? Whatever took them hogbabies had to swoop in and pluck it out without a sound. Only a snickbuzzard could do that.”

  “Oy,” said Paddy. “Only a snickbuzzard could do that.” He paused. “And you’re sure they have bellybuttons? Absolutely certain?”

  “Aye,” said Podo.

  “That’s weirder than shrinking hogpiglets,” Lennry said.

  “I don’t like this,” said Paddy, leaving a coin on the table and draining his bean brew. “Not one bit.”

  Podo bade his friends farewell and rode home with a kernel of worry in his gut. The hogpiglet count wasn’t the only thing shrinking lately. The number of hens in the coop at Chimney Hill had been decreasing too.

  35

  A Lesson in Sneakery

  Durgans!” said Guildmaster Clout. “The best way to outsmart ridgerunners is to think like them. Your job today is to sneak an apple from this tree without me knowing.”

  Janner and Kalmar sat in the dark with the other Durgan Guildlings, dressed in black. It had been two months, and Clout had granted the Wingfeather boys the honor of full status in the Durgan Guild by giving them uniforms. It hadn’t been easy, especially for Janner. He had never run so much or done so many chin-ups, sit-ups, or throw-ups in his life. His arms felt stronger, facing bigger students in the ring had made him a fine fighter, and he was even able to keep up with Kalmar when they raced.

  Guildmaster Clout’s refusal to allow anything less than excellence was frustrating at times, but on the rare occasion when he gave a word of approval—and the even rarer occasion when he smiled—Janner’s heart swelled with pride. All the Durgan Guildlings loved their guildmaster, even when he punished them with laps or labor. When students from other guilds voiced their distaste for Clout, the Durgan Guildlings voiced their loyalty and challenged them to sanctioned wrestling duels (which no student was fool enough to accept, because they all knew the Durgans were the best fighters in the school). The Durgan Guildlings carried themselves with pride, and anytime it turned to arrogance, Guildmaster Clout disciplined his students without hesitation.

  “I want you all to spread out beyond the courtyard and hide,” Clout instructed. “Pretend you’re ridgerunners trying to relieve me of my hard-earned fruit. I’ll guard the tree, just like the Durgan Patrol at the Outer Vales. All you have to do is sneak past me, pick an apple, and deliver it to that basket over there. If I catch you, you’re out. The first guildling to get an apple to the basket in the center of the courtyard without me whacking you with my staff won’t have to run laps with the others. Also, you won’t have a bruise from my staff—and you get to keep the apple. Clear?”

  The guildlings nodded and fidgeted, eager to begin. Guildmaster Clout had begun holding one night class per week for the guildlings’ sneakery training, and on those days Janner and Kal got to wear their uniforms and practice Silent Sneaking, Shadow Climbing, and General Night Stalking. Kal wore no boots, but he and Janner both had black outfits, complete with gloves, a cape, and a cowl. It felt like an elaborate game of night zibzy.

  The guildlings’ capes flapped in the wind of early winter as they waited for Clout to give the signal.

  “I’ll give you two minutes to choose a position. Commence,” he said, and he turned his back while the guildlings scattered.

  Janner sprinted across the courtyard and hid behind a low wall. He lowered his hood and peeked over the edge. He could barely see Clout’s shadowy figure under the dark shape of the apple tree as he lifted the horn and blew. Janner looked around to see what the other guildlings’ strategies might be. Something thwacked nearby, and he heard a muffled cry. One of the guildlings had already been caught by Clout and was rubbing his thigh as he crossed the courtyard and sat near the basket to wait out the rest of the game.

  Clout was nowhere to be seen. Th
e apple tree was unguarded but seemed impossibly far away. There was no way to cross the courtyard without being seen.

  Janner crept forward to peek around a shrub and came face to face with Morsha MacFigg, a fifteen-year-old girl with a pretty face. It didn’t look so pretty now because she had smeared it with mud.

  “Get out of here, Wingfeather!” she whispered. “This is my spot.”

  “Sorry,” Janner said, backing away.

  He bumped into someone else—Churleston James, a fourteen-year-old. “Shoo, Janner! I’ve got a plan and you aren’t a part of it.”

  “Sorry,” Janner said again.

  He scurried away from the low wall to one of the stone buildings that bordered the courtyard. As soon as he was safe in the shadows, he heard two quick whacks and saw Churleston James and Morsha MacFigg moping across the yard to sit with the others who had been caught. Guildmaster Clout had come and gone and Janner never saw him. By now Janner counted six children who had been staff-whacked and every few seconds he heard someone else say, “Ow!”

  “Psst.”

  Janner looked up.

  Kalmar was on the roof of the building, two wolf ears poking over the edge. “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know,” Janner whispered, “but I think we stand a better chance if we work together.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” said another voice from behind a prickly bush at the corner of the building.

  “Who’s that?” Janner whispered.

  “Joe Bill,” came the answer.

  “It’ll only work if one or two of us is a sacrifice,” Janner whispered. “We need to distract Clout and let the other one get the apple.”

  “But I don’t want to get whacked!” Joe Bill said. “That sounds like it hurts.”

  “You’re going to get whacked either way,” Janner said. “Look,you can be the one to get the apple. Kalmar and I will be the distraction. All right?”

  “I’m not as fast as Kalmar,” Joe Bill said after a moment.

  “Nobody is,” Janner said.

  “Hush! Here he comes!” Kalmar hissed.

  The three boys held their breath as a shadow passed, quiet as smoke and low to the ground.

  When Clout had gone, Joe Bill said, “Aw, Kalmar should do it. It’s either him or nobody, the way I see it.”

  “I agree. Kal?”

  “All right, if you’re sure. What do I do?”

  “Joe Bill and I will flank the apple tree. I don’t think Clout will expect anyone to come straight across the courtyard. When he comes after us, make a run for it.”

  “Asneaky run,” said Joe Bill.

  Janner waited till he heard another whack from farther away, and said, “Now!”

  He and Joe Bill crept around the perimeter of the courtyard in opposite directions. Janner inched forward, listening so hard that all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. When he reached the end of the low wall, just a stone’s throw from the apple tree, he braced himself to run.

  “Ouch!” someone said from the opposite side, louder than the others. “I’m Joe Bill, and that hurt, Guildmaster!”

  Janner sprang. He knew Clout would catch him before he got to the apple tree, but he didn’t mind if it meant Kalmar made it through. Just as he expected, Clout’s cloaked form rose up as if from nowhere. Janner tried to dodge the staff but was too slow.

  He felt a sting on the back of his leg, and Clout whispered, “Take a seat, Janner.”

  Janner saw the faintest movement near the tree and knew that Kalmar had crossed the courtyard and climbed up into the branches. Now he just had to get the apple to the basket. Janner sat with the other guildlings and watched to see what would happen, smiling in spite of the throbbing in his leg.

  “Good work, Joe Bill,” Janner whispered, and Joe Bill’s smile showed in the shadows of his hood. By Janner’s count, there were only two guildlings left. He couldn’t fathom how Clout had managed to tag almost every one of his students and guard the apple tree at the same time, all without making a sound.

  After what seemed like a long time, Clout caught someone in the dark just behind the tree, and Janner’s heart fell. But instead of Kalmar, Quincy Candlesmith emerged, downcast from having come so close to the tree only to be staff-whacked. Janner studied the dark branches and finally spotted a smudge of black, barely moving. Kalmar was still there, and Clout had no idea.

  After another long silence, Kalmar made his move. He dropped from the limb with only the tiniest ruffle of his cape and scurried toward the basket. Janner was ready to leap to his feet and congratulate Kalmar when a whisper of movement came from behind. Kalmar dove for the basket and threw the apple, but Guildmaster Clout swung his staff and whacked the apple away at the last moment in an explosion of juice and chunks of fruit.

  Kalmar landed in a crouch and punched the ground. The students stood as the guildmaster approached.

  “Up, Kalmar,” said Clout, and Kalmar joined the others. “That was the weakest attempt at sneakery I’ve seen in all my years as guildmaster. I caught most of you in the first two minutes of the lesson.”

  The guildlings shuffled their feet and hung their heads.

  “If you mean to be in the Durgan Guild you’d better learn to control your breathing. Keep your joints from cracking—especially you, Larnic. It sounded like you were frying bacon. You need to know when to statue and when to creep. Pathetic display, the lot of you.” Clout shook his head at the guildlings and watched them squirm. “Kalmar! Janner! Joe Bill! Step forward!”

  Janner approached with the other two, wondering what he had done wrong.

  Clout’s voice was menacing. “Why don’t you tell the class what you did back there?”

  “We, uh, came up with a plan, sir,” Janner said.

  “A plan.” Clout glared at Joe Bill. “What do you have to say, boy?”

  “It was Janner’s idea, sir.”

  “And what was this plan, Janner? Tell the class. Go on.”

  “I thought our only chance of getting the apple was to team up. Divide your attention. I figured if we were all going to get tagged, we might as well get tagged for a reason, sacrifice ourselves so at least one of us could succeed. Kalmar is the fastest of us, so Joe Bill suggested he be the one to get the apple.”

  “What do you have to say, Kalmar?” barked Clout.

  “It almost worked, sir.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” asked Guildmaster Clout. No one spoke, so he said, “Class! Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Yes, sir,” they all said.

  “I think it’s pathetic,” he sneered at the guildlings. “Pathetic that in twenty years of teaching this guild, no guildling has ever come as close to getting the apple into the basket as Kalmar Wingfeather.” A smile broke over Clout’s face. It always surprised Janner how different the man looked when he wasn’t scowling. “That last approach to the basket was one of the finest sneaks I’ve ever seen in a guildling. And it only happened because these three boys worked together. It’s not unusual for guildlings to figure that out after two or three games, butnever the first time—and in less than two minutes!” Clout patted them each on their backs, which Janner had never known him to do. “Outstanding, lads. You’re dismissed for the night.” Then his smile vanished. “The rest of you? Pathetic! Twenty laps! Go!”

  After they bade farewell to Joe Bill, the boys waited for Nia in the courtyard. But instead of a carriage, a horse thundered through the gate and whinnied as it rounded the statue, blowing steam from its nose in great bursts. Rudric towered in the saddle and smiled through his beard at the brothers, who still had occasion to be awestruck by the giant man. He wore his full Durgan Patrol uniform.

  “Oy, Wingfeathers! Those are fine looking outfits you’re wearing. Hard not to look handsome in black, isn’t it?” Rudric whipped his cape around and winked. “Your mother sent me to fetch you. Dinner will be hot and ready when we get back. Up you go!”

  Rudric pulled Janner up as if he
were a stuffed doll.

  “Why are you wearing your Durgan outfit?” Janner asked as Kalmar sprang up behind him.

  “The council met today to discuss the missing animals,” Rudric said. “It’s worse than anyone thought.”

  “How bad is it?” Kalmar asked. “I heard it was just ratbadgers.”

  “If it’s ratbadgers, there are hundreds of them,” Rudric said. “Farmer after farmer came forward and reported their missing animals. You wouldn’t believe it. Hogpiglets, flabbits, hens. Some people reported missing goats.”

  “Goats?” Janner asked. “It seems like a goat would be too big for a ratbadger.”

  “Oy,” said Rudric. “It also seems like a ratbadger would leave some trace. Whatever’s taking these animals is sneaky. Your grandfather thinks it’s snickbuzzards, according to Paddy Thistlefoot.”

  “There aren’t any snickbuzzards in the Green Hollows,” Janner said. “Grandpa knows that.”

  Rudric flashed a look of surprise. “Oy? Well. Maybe Thistlefoot heard him wrong. Either way, we’re going to solve this mystery. That’s why the Durgan Patrol is on watch. We have to hunt it down before every animal in Ban Rona gets eaten. And speaking of food—” Rudric wheeled the horse around and spurred it into a gallop. “Your mother’s dinner is waiting.”

  Janner gripped the folds of Rudric’s coat and thrilled at the speed and strength of the horse, the cold air, the surety with which Rudric rode. The boys’ capes popped in the wind as they sped through Ban Rona and over the hills. The air of early winter brightened the stars and stung Janner’s hands.

  They arrived at Chimney Hill and ate dinner, and then Danniby arrived in his Durgan uniform and informed Rudric that the Patrol was gathered at the Keep and awaiting orders.

  “Wish us luck, Wingfeathers,” Rudric said as he excused himself. “We have a flying ratbadger to catch tonight.”

  “I tell ye,” said Podo with a belch, “it’s a snickbuzzard. You’ll see.”

  ***

  That night, something woke Janner. He sat up in bed, heart pounding, afraid without knowing why. He shook the sleep away and listened to the creaking house, the stir of the wind outside, the scratch of bare branches on the window. They were eerie sounds, but not unusual. Still, something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t figure out what.