North! Or Be Eaten, Page 2

  While the children watched Peet march away, a quick shadow passed over the tree house, followed by a high, pleasant sound, like the ting of a massive bell struck by a tiny hammer.

  “The lone fendril,”2 said Leeli. “Tomorrow is the first day of autumn.”

  “Papa,” said Nia.

  “Eh?” Podo glared out the window in the direction Peet had gone.

  “I think it’s time we left,” Nia said.

  Tink and Janner looked at each other and grinned. All homesickness vanished. After weeks of waiting, adventure was upon them.

  1. In Anniera the second born, not the first, is heir to the throne. The eldest child is a Throne Warden, charged with the honor and responsibility of protecting the king above all others. Though this creates much confusion among ordinary children who one day discover that they are in fact the royal family living in exile (see On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness), for ages the Annierans found it to be a good system. The king was never without a protector, and the Throne Warden held a place of great honor in the kingdom.

  2. In Aerwiar, the official last day of summer is heralded by the passing of the lone fendril, a giant golden bird whose wingspan casts entire towns into a thrilling flicker of shade as it circles the planet in a long, ascending spiral. When it reaches the northern pole of Aerwiar, it hibernates until spring, then reverses its journey.

  2

  Room Eight of The Only Inn (Glipwood’s Only Inn)

  After it flew over Peet’s tree house, the lone fendril’s shadow passed over Joe Shooster, proprietor of The Only Inn (Glipwood’s only inn), as he lay pinned facedown in the dirt, fighting back tears. From the front door of the inn, Joe’s wife, Addie, watched in horror. Her hands covered her mouth to stifle a scream as the Fang drove his boot harder into Joe’s back.

  The day was bright and blustery. The wind drove leaves and tumbleweeds through the streets to collect in the nooks of the town’s battered buildings. A few weeks ago, the Glipwood Township had been wrecked by a mighty storm that descended on Skree like an apocalyptic stomp of the Maker’s boot. Ferinia’s Flower Shop had lost its roof, and rain flooded the building. Some structures had been flattened, leaving parts of Glipwood in rubble. Others, like The Only Inn, Books and Crannies, and the town jail, survived, sad reminders of the town that once lay quiet and peaceful at the edge of the cliffs.

  Joe grimaced and managed to speak. “No, my lord, I have seen nothing of them. I swear it.”

  The Fang cracked Joe’s head with the butt of his spear—hard, but not hard enough to render him unconscious. A cry slipped out of Addie’s mouth, and the Fang whipped his head around and fixed her with a cold look. Joe felt the Fang’s cold, damp tail drag over him as the Fang stepped across his body and climbed the steps to the inn’s front door. Addie screamed as the Fang burst through the swinging doors and seized her by the back of the neck.

  “You, then, sssmelly woman,” the Fang growled, covering his snub nose and retching.1 “Look old Higgk in the eye and tell him if you’ve ssseen or heard from the Igibys or from that nassty man who used to run the bookstore, Oskar Reteep.”

  Addie went pale and trembled, unable to speak or take her eyes off the long fangs jutting out of the creature’s mouth, oozing venom.

  “That one’s useless, Higgk,” called another Fang who watched happily from the street. “See what it does when you bite it.”

  “Aye!” called another. “That’s what the poison in yer teeth is for, ain’t it?”

  Joe Shooster pulled himself to his knees and clasped his hands. “Please, lords! Don’t hurt my Addie. She knows nothing. Nor do I, and I swear to it.” Joe tried to keep his voice steady, but seeing his wife’s pale face so close to the Fang’s teeth made it impossible. “Please.”

  The Fangs of Dang derived much pleasure from watching Joe and his wife squirm and began to chant for Higgk to bite the woman. Higgk grinned and opened his mouth. His fangs lengthened, and tiny streams of venom squirted from them, crisscrossing Addie’s blouse with steaming, hissing burns. Addie’s eyes rolled backward, her eyelids fluttered, and Joe prayed that she would be unconscious when the Fang bit her. She went limp and sagged in the creature’s grip.

  A long whistle came from deep within The Only Inn. Joe dimly recognized it as the teapot on the stove in the kitchen.

  Addie’s eyes fluttered. “Tea’s ready,” she slurred, and in a flash of inspiration, Joe leapt to his feet.

  “Wait!” he cried.

  “What?” Higgk barked. “Have you sssuddenly remembered the whereabouts of the Igibysss?”

  “No, lord, but if my Addie is gone, who will cook you booger gruel? No one else in Skree can make a pot of it like Addie Shooster. And what about midgepie? And clipping-topped gullet swanch?”2

  Higgk hesitated. The other Fangs stopped their heckling and cocked their heads sideways, considering Joe and Addie in a new light. Except for the whistle of the teapot, there was silence. Joe wiped his hands on his apron and met his wife’s eyes. She took some strength from him and said, “M-my critternose casserole is dreadfully good, sir.”

  “Fine,” Higgk said.

  He released Addie, and she fell to the ground in a heap. Joe rushed over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  “Ugh,” said the Fang. “If I don’t have a plate of that critternose casserole by sundown, I’ll finish what I started.” The Fangs hissed and snarled and chuckled their agreement. “If you learn anything about Reteep or the Igibys and you don’t tell Higgk, no amount of food will save your smelly ssskins.”

  Joe and Addie hurried to the kitchen, where they set to work concocting a critternose casserole, the name of which Addie had invented on the spot. She sent Joe out to round up as many rodents as possible so she could begin the work of removing their little black noses.

  Joe kissed her and thanked the Maker they were both still alive. “I’ll be back soon, love,” he said.

  He hung his apron on the back of a chair and pulled on his boots but hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. Joe peeked out the window that opened on to the back courtyard. He saw no Fangs.

  Instead of going outside, Joe tiptoed up the kitchen stairway to the second floor of the inn. He paused at the top and stared at a hallway lined with doors.

  He listened. He heard faintly the raucous Fangs in the streets. He heard the creak of the old building and the gusty wind outside. Joe stole down the hallway to room eight and eased the door open.

  Room eight contained a neatly made bed, a wash basin on a chest of drawers, and a desk, each piece of furniture simple but sturdy. Joe moved to the window and paused, looking out at the wreckage of Glipwood with a pang of sadness. Below the window lay what remained of Shaggy’s Tavern. The stone chimney stood like the trunk of an old petrified tree, the ground littered with planks, broken stools, and shattered bottles.

  Wincing at the creak of his footsteps on the wooden floor, he crept to the chest of drawers and slid it away from the wall. Behind the bureau was a small doorway. Joe looked around one last time and ducked inside, pulling the chest back into place behind him.

  The doorway opened on to a cramped room lit only by a tiny window in the ceiling. The light was weak, but after a moment Joe’s eyes adjusted, and he could see the plump figure shivering in the bed.

  “Hello, old friend,” Joe whispered.

  The man stirred and tried to sit up. A blood-soaked bandage adorned his large belly.

  Joe put a hand on his arm. “Don’t sit up. I have to step out for a bit, but I wanted to check on you first. Do you need water?”

  The man on the bed tried in vain to flatten a lock of white hair against his balding head. “I’m…parched,” he said, “to paraphrase the wise words…of…Lou di Cicaccelliccelli.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Joe said with a smile, pouring a cup of water from a pitcher beside the bed. He lifted it to Oskar N. Reteep’s mouth. “I’ll be up later to change your bandages. Do you need anything else?”

 
; Oskar swallowed the water with a grimace. “A few more books would be splendid, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Joe looked at the stacks of books in every corner of the room. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “Rest. I’ll be back tonight. It’s nice that you’re able to talk again, Oskar.”

  “Yes,” Oskar wheezed. “And Joe, there’s much I need to tell you. Zouzab… beware—” He broke off in a fit of coughs.

  “It’s all right. There will be time to fill me in on everything later.” Soon Joe would have to tell Oskar that his little companion Zouzab was gone, probably killed by the Fangs. He didn’t want to burden the old man with more grief.

  Oskar leaned back and fell asleep immediately. As bad as he looked, he had come far in the weeks since Joe found him bleeding on the floor of Books and Crannies. The day the storm came, Joe and Addie had spent the better part of the afternoon maneuvering him into the inn. No Fang reinforcements had come since the night before the storm, when Podo and the Igibys fled to Anklejelly Manor to escape the hundreds of Fangs that had come for them. Joe still wasn’t sure what became of the Fangs that night, but it seemed that someone, or something, had killed them all.

  When the Shoosters emerged from their hiding place the morning after the battle, it felt as if the world of Aerwiar had ended. Dark clouds roiled in the sky above the deserted town, and the streets were clogged with the dust, bones, and armor of countless Fangs. Soon Shaggy emerged from the tavern, and the Shoosters felt great relief at his appearance. They had been neighbors for decades and were the only members of the Glipwood Township who chose to stay rather than flee to Torrboro or Dugtown the night the Igibys fought their way out of the Black Carriage.

  But then the one friend the Shoosters had left was taken from them.

  One afternoon a company of Fangs tore through Glipwood on their way north from Fort Lamendron. From a second-story window of The Only Inn, the Shoosters watched helplessly as Shaggy pushed a wheelbarrow of firewood across the street. When the Fangs saw him, they pushed him to the ground and one of the lizards sank its fangs into Shaggy’s leg.

  The Fangs left as quickly as they had come, but by the time Joe and Addie raced to Shaggy’s side, he was already dead. The Shoosters wept as they buried their friend in the Glipwood Cemetery at the southern end of Vibbly Way. Joe scavenged the SHAGGY’S TAVERN sign from the building’s wreckage. It bore the name of the tavern and an image of a dog smoking a pipe. Joe placed it at the head of Shaggy’s grave after carving, in his finest lettering, the inscription “Shaggy Bandibund, an Exemplary Neighbor and Friend.”

  Now the Fangs were back, demanding to know the whereabouts of Reteep, Podo Helmer, and the Igiby family, and Joe had no idea why. Oskar had mumbled a great deal in his sleep about the Ice Prairies and the Jewels of Anniera, whatever those were, but Joe Shooster was merely the proprietor of The Only Inn. He didn’t know about such things and didn’t care to. He just wanted Oskar to recover and things to somehow go back to the way they were before the Fangs set foot in Skree.

  If the Fangs wanted Oskar, then Joe Shooster knew the right thing to do was to keep Oskar hidden. When the old man’s wounds were healed, Joe would figure out what to do next. In the meantime, he had to be careful. As Joe had just seen with Higgk the Fang, it wasn’t just Oskar’s life in danger but his and sweet Addie’s as well. He hated to think of harm ever coming to her.

  Joe bid Oskar farewell with a pat to his leg, and Oskar grunted in reply. Joe listened at the back of the chest of drawers for a long moment before sliding it aside and creeping out from behind it. He scooted the chest back into place and froze.

  What was that sound? Movement from the window behind him? A sheen of sweat swept over Joe’s body, and his mind raced. As casually as possible, he removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his vest and dusted the top of the chest. He hummed to himself as he moved from the chest of drawers to the desk and risked a glance at the window.

  A face stared back at him.

  A small figure with delicate features and a patchwork tunic perched outside the window of room eight. His eyes were piercing and cold, and they froze Joe in his tracks.

  “Zouzab!” Joe said aloud, glad and confused to see the little fellow. Oskar would be pleased his friend was still alive.

  He waved at the ridgerunner, who nodded in reply. The little creature was probably worried about his old master and would be a great help to Joe and Addie as they nursed Oskar back to health. Joe placed the handkerchief back in his pocket and slid the window open.

  “Welcome, Zouzab!” he said, as the ridgerunner skittered through the window like a spider. “It’s good to see a familiar face in Glipwood.”

  “Greetings, Mister Shooster,” Zouzab said. His voice was thin and brittle—not like a child’s, but not like a man’s either.

  Joe patted the little man on the head, failing to notice the look of disgust that flashed over Zouzab’s face when he did so. “I suppose you’re wondering about Oskar, aren’t you?” He smiled at Zouzab, happy about his good news.

  Zouzab’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he nodded. “Yes, Mister Shooster, I’m most concerned for his…health.”

  “Well,” Joe said and then remembered Oskar’s words just a few minutes ago: “Zouzab…beware.”

  Joe had assumed Oskar wanted to warn his little friend to beware of the Fangs—but now he wasn’t so sure. He detected something sinister in the way the ridgerunner studied him.

  “Oskar…” Joe faltered.

  Zouzab took a step forward.

  “Well—I haven’t seen him. Not since the day before all this chaos descended on Glipwood. Have you?” Joe cleared his throat, removed his handkerchief, and busied himself with dusting the rest of the furniture in the room, tightening the sheets, and fluffing the pillow, acutely aware of Oskar’s presence on the other side of the wall. He prayed the old man wouldn’t wake up or snore.

  Joe opened the door to the hallway and paused at the threshold. “Would you like to come with me? I have twelve more rooms to dust, and it’s terribly exciting work, I assure you. Otherwise, you’re welcome to leave the way you came in.”

  Zouzab watched him in silence, like a cat about to spring. The two stood in room eight for what felt to Joe like an eternity before Zouzab looked over the room one last time, bowed, and leapt lightly to the windowsill.

  “Good-bye, Mister Shooster,” Zouzab said, and in a flutter of patchwork, he was gone.

  Joe crossed the room on trembling legs to close and latch the window. Then the silence was shattered by a loud burst of flatulence from Oskar’s secret room.

  Zouzab’s head appeared in the window.

  “Excuse me,” Joe said with a shrug.

  The ridgerunner narrowed his eyes, wrinkled his nose, and was gone.

  1. Addie Shooster was in fact quite fragrant, by human standards. Her cooking was lauded in Glipwood as the finest in Skree, and when she didn’t smell like roast and totatoes or cheesy chowder, she was careful to apply flower petal perfume in copious amounts to her neck and arms. This perfume is likely the scent to which the Fang referred.

  2. Joe remembered Nia Igiby’s bargain with the late Commander Gnorm to prepare him a maggotloaf weekly. Not only had it rescued her children from the town jail and the Black Carriage, but it had bought them a degree of immunity from the Fangs, who were too lazy to cook for themselves and who valued such meals nearly as much as gold and jewelry and murder.

  3

  Two Plans

  Janner’s and Tink’s excitement had evaporated.

  Boys sometimes forget that before one leaves on an adventure, if at all possible, one must pack. There are situations in which packing is secondary—such as escaping a burning building—but if there is time to plan and arrange and discuss before leaving, then it is a fact of life that grownups will do so. When children say it’s time to leave, they mean, “It’s time to leave.” When grownups say so, they really mean, “It’s time to begin thinking about leaving sometim
e in the near future.”

  After Nia’s pronouncement, she and Podo proceeded with the day’s chores as if a monumental decision had not been reached at all. The next day, the children chopped firewood, washed clothes and blankets, fetched water from the creek, and prepared meat to be salted and dried while the grownups planned, arranged, and discussed.

  That evening after dinner, Nia and Podo unrolled an old map to work out their route to the Ice Prairies. They agreed to travel south to the edge of the forest, then west along the border until they reached the road to Torrboro. At Torrboro, they would travel south and west again in order to skirt the city and avoid the Fangs concentrated there.

  “Three days west of Torrboro, the Mighty Blapp River ain’t so mighty. It’s wide but shallow enough to ford,” Podo said. “And the Fangs should be scarce there.”

  “What about the Barrier?” Nia said.

  “What’s the Barrier?” Janner asked.

  “I reckon you wouldn’t have heard of it. It’s here,” Podo said, and he ran his finger across the map. “The Barrier is Gnag’s best attempt to keep Skreeans from doin’ exactly what we’re tryin’ to do. It’s a wall that runs the length of the southern border of the Stony Mountains. It’s patrolled by Fangs night and day. A few years after the Fangs took over, some folks realized the Fangs didn’t move too fast in the cold, so a lot of Skreeans fled north. ‘Course, most of ‘em died. Fangs are slower in the cold, but they can still fight, and they can still bite. Especially when those they’re after are women and children and men without weapons. Gnag’s answer was to construct the Barrier. It doesn’t keep everyone out—it’s a lot of wall to patrol, see—but it does its job well enough that the masses don’t try an’ run off. Oskar told me that if you’re west of Torrboro and your company is small enough, you can find a breach in the wall and slip through unnoticed. That’s what we aim to do.”