The Clouds Above the Wing, Page 3

  Leetshire sat nestled between the moody sea and the gigantic peaks of the Vanishing Mountains in the north of Lanternum. The weather was almost always perfect. The rains came on a timetable that was predictable and the citizens always planned accordingly. Three rivers flowed lazily through the center of the village before emptying into the Sea of Names, while small lakes stocked with trophy fish were scattered along the perimeter of the village. Gigantic shade trees lined the streets, which were paved with only the finest of stones. It was paradise.

  The citizens of Leetshire were the richest creatures in all of Lanternum. For many, Leetshire was called home; but for most, it was only a vacation spot. They would travel from their homelands to Leetshire every year and stay for long periods of time, often coming back with boring tales of their exorbitant escapades, which nobody really cared to hear about but they pretended all the same.

  Since the citizens of Leetshire were so flush with money, they had no desire for physical labor of any kind. The village was home to a plethora of servants whose job it was to answer to every beck and call of the social elite. Some were responsible for the upkeep of grounds and the construction of new buildings, while others cooked the food and even more would rush out to serve it. Among these servants was a boy of about fourteen years old, whose name was Lampwick.

  Lampwick had been in the service of the Winterbottoms for as long as he could recall. He had no mother or father, but since he lived in a community of servants and had a very rigid schedule every single day, it didn't matter much to him. He woke with the rising of the sun, went about his daily chores serving the very plump and very crabby Mrs. Winterbottom until the sun disappeared behind the trees, then went back to the bunkhouse with the rest of the servants.

  Lampwick was a large boy with an enormous round head and was equipped with one of the most impressive double chins in all of Lanternum. In fact, he looked more like one of the Leetshirian children than a servant boy, though his clothes usually gave him away. Many of the townspeople often wondered how a mere servant boy could be so rotund. They all ate the same meals in the same meal hall, yet it seemed that Lampwick outgrew the other kids his age.

  The day that changed Lampwick's life forever began like any other day. He woke early as the sun was beginning to rise above the trees and made his way to the Winterbottom estate. The Winterbottoms were quite possibly the wealthiest humans in all of Lanternum, which wasn't saying too much since there were so few humans around. They lived on the eastern edge of Leetshire, owning a vast a tract of land upon which Mr. Winterbottom went hunting almost everyday. Mrs. Winterbottom, on the other hand, spent her days perched atop a large, puffy couch, barking out orders to anyone within earshot. When she wasn't doing this, she was usually eating or reading books.

  “You're late boy!” she shouted at Lampwick as he entered the cavernous family room where the couch was situated.

  “I'm very sorry, ma'am,” he lied, knowing full well that he was five minutes early.

  “Hmph,” she scoffed as she inserted a chubby finger into her mouth and began chewing on a nail. Lampwick watched her for a moment before she exploded. “Well what are you just standing there for? Go get me some breakfast! I'm gonna starve! Look at me! I've resorted to eating my own fingernails! MY OWN FINGERNAILS!”

  “R-right away, ma'am,” Lampwick stuttered as he hurried out of the room.

  He ran down a long hallway that emptied into a grand kitchen. The Winterbottom's chef, a large black-haired labrador Doggon named Coldwater, was already fixing the lavish breakfast on the stove top.

  “Whoa! Slow down there kid!” he exclaimed as Lampwick slid across the recently mopped marble floor. “I don't want you breaking anything in my kitchen.”

  “Sorry, Coldwater,” puffed Lampwick, doubled over and using his own thighs as support. “But Mrs. Winterbottom is on the warpath.”

  Coldwater set down the spatula and put his paws on his hips. “And is that woman ever not on the warpath?”

  Lampwick shrugged. “She seems especially crabby today. She thought I was late and I was actually five minutes early, just like always!”

  “I think she and Mr. Winterbottom had a fight,” remarked Coldwater calmly as he resumed preparing a half dozen eggs. “She was yelling and throwing things at him as he left for the back forty this morning.”

  “She'll be throwing things at me if you don't finish that food quicker!”

  Coldwater scowled at him as he placed the eggs on a plate and arranged them carefully around five slices of toast that were generously slathered with raspberry jam. In his other paw he grabbed a large platter stacked high with pancakes and handed both to Lampwick. “Your fate is in your own hands now.”

  “Thanks,” Lampwick said, trying his best to balance the two plates as he scurried back down the hallway.

  Lampwick placed the plates on a table that sat in front of the couch. Mrs. Winterbottom's eyes darted greedily between the two plates and her tongue danced around the outside of her lips as if she were an enormous snake eying a plump mousekin. “Get out of the way, boy!” she said breathlessly as she swatted at Lampwick with one of her chubby arms. “I don't need your grubby fingers contaminating my food!”

  The worst part of his servitude, was that he had to watch Mrs. Winterbottom scarf down her food, waiting to take the plates away. However, the best part of his servitude, came right after.

  Mrs. Winterbottom, large though she was, rarely finished all of her food. When this would happen, Lampwick would take the plates away; but instead of bringing them into the kitchen and throwing the food in the trash, he would run downstairs as quickly as he could and stash the food away in a hiding spot that only he knew about. Then, throughout the day he would whittle away at his collection whenever he had a spare moment.

  Today he wasn't so lucky. Mrs. Winterbottom plowed through breakfast at an astonishing pace, leaving only a few small crumbs on her plate.

  “Take it away,” she ordered, belching loudly and settling into her couch. “Tell Coldwater that his cooking was marginal. I expect him to step it up a notch for my next meal.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “And be quick about it, I have some other errands for you to run.” She began reaching out gingerly for a book that sat on a coffee table only a few feet away, but her belly did a marvelous job of preventing her. “Hand me that book before you leave as well!”

  Lampwick grabbed the book and handed it to her, then hurried back into the kitchen. He emptied the scant remains into the trash, then gave Coldwater the dishes for washing.

  “She didn't waste any time on this, huh?” Coldwater remarked as he began cleaning the plate.

  “No,” he agreed. “The funny thing is that she said that your cooking was marginal.”

  “That woman is a real piece of work. If it was so bad, why was she licking the plate?”

  “But she didn't lick—”

  “I know that; it's just a figure of speech,” he snapped. “She didn't leave much behind.”

  Lampwick and his double chin were both painfully aware of that fact. “I gotta get back. Later, Coldwater,” he said, shuffling out of the room and wishing that he was going to his secret hiding spot instead.

  When Lampwick returned, Mrs. Winterbottom gave him a large list of things to get from the shops in Leetshire. He liked making the trip into town, since it allowed him to have some time away from the Winterbottom estate.

  Along the way he took a side-path off of the road which led to a nice spot along the banks of the Echo River. He often stopped here on the way into town and would sometimes sleep along the riverbank, listening to the relaxing gurgling and churning of the water. Other times he would find interesting rocks and try to skip them across the water or try his hand (usually unsuccessfully) at fishing with an old broken pole someone had left behind on the bank. Today, however, he wasn't alone at the river.

  As he
rounded the hilltop he spotted two figures standing by the riverbank, talking quietly to each other. He didn't recognize them, but judging from their clothes, they weren't servants. The figure on the left was a Felite, dressed in the usual flamboyant outfit that a Felite aristocrat would wear. The second figure appeared to be human. He wore a long cape that extended all the way to the ground and his clothes were very fancy. Lampwick guessed that he was fairly old, because his hair was gray and receding. He also leaned heavily upon a cane.

  If he was to be spotted by these two, he would no doubt be in a lot of trouble for meandering down by the river instead of heading straight into town. Still, he was curious as to the nature of their conversation, especially since they were trying to be so secret about it. He made his way to a group of bushes nearby as silently as he could, but grace and stealth were not two of his skills. He stepped on a few branches and almost stumbled over a tree root, but luckily they didn't hear him.

  “You're sure?” the human asked the Felite.

  “I am. You would be wise to leave Leetshire tonight. Take things that are precious to you, but leave the things that we discussed.”

  “What if some of those things are things that are precious to me?”

  “Then that is a tragedy,” said the Felite coolly. “But if you don't do as I ask, we will find you.”

  The old man shuddered. “They'll be there.”

  “Excellent. Well then, I think this is goodbye, ol' boy. As always, it was a pleasure doing business with you.”

  The Felite turned and walked away. The old man stood there for a long while, looking into the gurgling waters of the river before he finally turned and hobbled off in the opposite direction. Lampwick wasn't really sure what to make of the conversation, but decided he better get to the store and then back to the Winterbottom estate before Mrs. Winterbottom had a meltdown.

  Downtown Leetshire was full of shops and cafes that catered towards the lavish tastes of the Leetshirians. The shop that Mrs. Winterbottom requested Lampwick visit was called “A Taste of the World”, and specialized in exotic foods that were found all around Lanternum and The Outer Edge (not to mention an array of other general goods). It was run by a sycophantic Vulpini, with long red fur, beady yellow eyes, a long snout and a puffy tail that stuck out from the back of his trousers. As Lampwick entered the shop, he pulled the list from his pocket and began taking a mental inventory.

  “Frost mushrooms,” he said to himself as he walked to the section of the store where the huge refrigeration units were kept. He had never had the good fortune of trying one of these delicate mushrooms, which were imported from the snowy tundra of The Outer Edge. Mrs. Winterbottom was always sure to finish them off before handing her plate back to him.

  As he finished up in the refrigerator, he turned to walk away but froze in his tracks. Hobbling directly towards him was the old man that he saw at the river. He could see now that the old man wore a scowl and had a large, pointed nose. Did he know that Lampwick had overheard his conversation? Was he coming to punish him?

  He tried to think of excuses or things to say, but the old man walked straight past him, never giving him so much as a glance. He breathed a sigh of relief, then hurried about picking up the rest of the items on the list.

  “Count McLaren,” boomed the shopkeeper when he saw the old man approach the counter. “How are you this beautiful day?”

  “Fine,” grunted the Count. “I want you to deliver this list of supplies to my manor by this afternoon.” He handed the Vulpini a piece of paper.

  “Plannin' on a trip, are we?”

  “Yes,” the Count replied quickly. “Taking the family through the countryside for a few days. The grandchildren can't get enough of it, you know.”

  The Vulpini smiled widely, showing his many rows of shiny teeth. “Ahh, the countryside is beautiful this time of year. Whereabouts are you headed?”

  The Count was starting to become agitated. “The... um...Vanishing Mountains.”

  “I see, I see. Won't you need some good hiking boots if you're heading up into the mountains? I see you don't have any on the list.”

  “We have some at home. Just make sure to have the supplies at my manor early this afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course; no problem at all sir! Enjoy your trip and give my warmest regards to your wife.”

  The Count nodded and then hobbled out of the shop. The Vulpini disappeared into the back room and could be faintly heard giving orders to his workers.

  Lampwick finished the rest of his shopping quickly and put it on the Winterbottom tab, which Mr. Winterbottom settled with the shopkeeper weekly. He was painfully aware that he was starting to run late, however he wasn't built for quick movement. He would trot for about 20 feet, then huff and puff while walking a few hundred feet, then repeat the process over and over until he stumbled through the door of the Winterbottom estate.

  “You sure took your time!” Mrs. Winterbottom quaked as he entered the room. “What in the world happened to you? You're sweating all over my beautiful floors! Keep it up and you'll find yourself at the other end of a mop!”

  “I'm...I'm sorry,” he puffed.

  “Whatever. Go bring this stuff to Coldwater so that I can have lunch already!”

  Later on that afternoon, after he had finished scrubbing the floors and changing the bedding in the bedrooms, Lampwick sat outside sipping a glass of water. He noticed that clouds were beginning to form on the horizon. Coldwater joined him on the large patio.

  “She's letting you have a water break, huh?”

  Lampwick nodded. “Hey Coldwater, do you know anything about Count McLaren?”

  “Not much. I just know that he's done a lot of business with the Felites over the years and made a fortune from it. Although, he did have a lot of money to begin with.” He pulled a small cigarillo from his coat pocket, lit it, then began puffing contently as he surveyed the manor's grounds.

  “I wonder what it would be like to have all that money...”

  “Quit dreaming, kid; it'll never happen. You'll only disappoint yourself the more you dream. I used to have big dreams too, ya know.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Once upon a time I was going to open up my own restaurant in Kibbleshire. Now look at me. I'm being worked to the bone by that mountain of a woman in there, and for what? I barely make enough to get by.”

  “I don't make anything at all,” Lampwick remarked gloomily.

  “That's because you're a kid. Your payment is a roof over your head and some meals every now and again. You'll earn some money when you turn 17.”

  “When I turn 17 I'm getting outta here.”

  “Oh? And where will you be going? Last I checked there weren't many opportunities for humans out there.”

  Lampwick shrugged. “There's bound to be something. Look at Count McLaren and the Winterbottoms; they're humans and they've got a lot of money.”

  “There are exceptions, but only a few. McLaren was a good businessman; the Winterbottoms are rich from ages past. They coasted on in. I'm not really sure what the other human family in Leetshire did to get their riches, but they're here just the same. That's it. Three exceptions to the rule. Your chances are slim.”

  Lampwick knew that Coldwater was probably right, but the thought of serving Mrs. Winterbottom until he was old and gray didn't appeal to him in the least. He decided to change subjects. “It's not the rainy season again, is it?”

  Coldwater followed Lampwick's gaze to the bank of growing clouds far off in the distance. “Usually it happens next week, but it looks like the rains might come a little early this time around.”

  “That's too bad; I just overheard Count McLaren say that he was going on a trip into the Vanishing Mountains with his family this afternoon. They're gonna get rained on!”

  “Certainly does look that way.”

  “I don't know, though,” Lampwi
ck said, kicking a small stone from the patio. “I saw him talking to a Felite down by the river on my way into town. He was saying something about leaving a bunch of stuff behind. Do you think he's really going to the Vanishing Mountains?”

  “It's none of our business, and what the heck were you doing down by the river? Last I checked that's quite a ways off of the road into town.”

  “I like to go down there and listen to the water sometimes. It's peaceful.”

  “Peaceful my foot; if drill sergeant Winterbottom caught you down there, you'd be dead for sure.”

  “That would be impossible. She never leaves the couch!”

  They both chuckled, realizing that he was correct. It had been years since she had stepped foot outdoors. Unlike most of the families in Leetshire, the Winterbottoms lived there year-round, which meant she wouldn't be forced to go outside to make the trip afar.

  “Well just the same,” Coldwater said finally. “Don't go getting yourself in trouble. I don't want to cook my food and serve it. That'd be downright demeaning.”

  “Maybe I could learn some magic...I could probably make money doing that,” Lampwick remarked dreamily.

  Coldwater laughed so hard that Lampwick thought he was going to fall off the patio. “Where do you plan on doing that? There aren't many magicians left in the world, you know. Add to that, the ones that are left are so wacky and weird you wouldn't even want to be around them!”

  Lampwick sighed. “I'll find something I can do, just wait and see.”

  “Maybe you will,” Coldwater replied, putting a paw on Lampwick's shoulder. “But for now you need to go inside and help me clean up my kitchen for dinner tonight.”

  Coldwater was ordered to make a lavish meal for dinner, which consisted of five different courses; frost mushrooms, large slabs of steak with medallions of buttered potatoes on the side, four chicken breasts, four whole lobsters and a large kettle of onion and frost mushroom soup with dumplings. By the time dinner was served the weather had turned nasty outside, so Mr. Winterbottom returned early to eat.

  Lampwick watched the raindrops beat against the glass of the kitchen window while waiting for Coldwater to finish the next dish. “Get over here, kid! This dish is getting cold!”

  Lampwick moved from the window and quickly over to Coldwater, who was impatiently holding out the platter for him. The smell was intoxicating as he brought it into the dining room; it took every last ounce of his willpower to not sneak a handful. Luckily the Winterbottoms were engaged in conversation when he got there, which meant Mrs. Winterbottom wouldn't be yelling at him.

  “I don't know why you have to go out hunting every day,” Mrs. Winterbottom stated flatly in between spoonfuls of soup. “So what? The rains came early. You can miss a week of hunting.”

  Mr. Winterbottom crossed his arms and frowned like a spoiled child who just had their favorite toy taken away. “It wasn't supposed to do this! I thought the Triad took care of this?”

  “Sunshine must not have made it up here.”

  Mr. Winterbottom pounded the table with his fist. “She ought to be up here! We all paid her good money to take care of this sort of thing! Where the hell is she?”

  “Who's Sunshine?” Lampwick blurted out. Both of the Winterbottoms stopped their conversation and stared at him, mouths agape. There was a loud clink as Mrs. Winterbottom's spoon fell from her chubby fingers and dove to the bottom of her bowl.

  “And what business is it of yours?” Mr. Winterbottom snapped.

  “Get back in the kitchen and fetch the next course!” Mrs. Winterbottom roared, her chins trembling with rage. “And fetch me a new spoon, you imbecile!”

  Lampwick turned and hurried back to the kitchen, not stopping to look back. Coldwater was smirking as he came sliding into the kitchen. “Now what did you do?”

  “I asked them about Sunshine.”

  Coldwater began chuckling to himself, “What did you ask them about? Where it comes from?”

  “Of course not! Apparently Sunshine is a person. They said 'she' and Mr. Winterbottom was really mad about her not holding off the rain!”

  “Oh, I think I know what they're talking about. Supposedly there are three Felite celebrities known as 'The Triad' that have powers over the weather. One can conjure up storms, one controls the snow and the other can wipe any type of storm or cloud from the sky. Maybe that's who they're talking about.”

  “I never heard about them before. They sound really interesting; what else do you know about them?”

  “I told you all I know. It's all probably a bunch of Felite hooey anyway. Here's the next course.”

  Lampwick spent the rest of the meal hurrying in and out of the dining room, never stopping long enough to be yelled at or to eavesdrop on any more of their conversation; he had done enough of that for one day.

  At the end of the meal, when the Winterbottoms finished up and slunk off to their sitting room, Lampwick emerged from the kitchen and began to clean up. He was delighted to see that Mr. Winterbottom had left half of a steak, a full lobster and even a few frost mushrooms! Finally, Lampwick had hit the mother-load! Before he could clean up the rest of the table he had to get his prizes to his super secret hiding place.

  His hiding place was in one of Mr. Winterbottom's old trophy rooms—a room full of animal mounts that Mr. Winterbottom deemed unworthy of showing in the rest of the house. In the back corner was a closet door well hidden by a large bookshelf. He ate the remaining frost mushrooms on the way and had just finished putting the steak and lobster in a container when a voice from behind nearly made him soil himself with surprise.

  “What are you up to over there?”

  Lampwick wheeled around to see Martin, another servant boy of the Winterbottom's. He was a little older than Lampwick and had dirty blonde hair and a face filled with more freckles than Lampwick thought possible. He wasn't the nicest of boys and today he was accompanied by his usual crony, a Dartian youngster named Tobias, who was as ugly as they come with leathery green skin that was covered in warts and bulging eyes on either side of his head.

  “N-nothing!” Lampwick blurted out, shutting the door loudly behind him.

  “What was that?” Martin said, frowning.

  “What was what?”

  Tobias's tongue flicked out from his mouth and nabbed a fly that was buzzing around the cluttered room. Martin gave him a disgusted look, then turned back to Lampwick. “Don't play stupid with me, Dumbwick. You're up to something behind that bookcase and I want to know what it is.”

  Lampwick's mind was racing. If someone found out about his stash—especially if that someone was Martin—he would be in big trouble. No doubt he'd receive countless beatings at the hands of Mrs. Winterbottom, but worst of all, he would no longer be able to have a steady stream of supplemental food. “Mrs. Winterbottom wanted me to come down here and look for a book she had lost,” he said quickly, trying hard to add some conviction to the words.

  “What would that tub-of-lard want with a book from Mr. Winterbottom's collection?”

  Lampwick knew Martin had him. Mrs. Winterbottom absolutely hated the books that Mr. Winterbottom would sometimes walk around with his nose in, and since this was his room, all of the books in the case were also his.

  “Aren't you supposed to be off cleaning the pony stables?” Lampwick asked, trying to change the subject.

  “We already did that,” croaked Tobias. “We thought we'd take a little break down here in the basement for awhile since it's raining so hard outside. When we saw you, we had to come over and have a look.”

  The pair took a few steps closer to him. Perhaps if he ran they would chase him and forget all about the room and the hidden door. The odds were stacked against him though, especially with two older boys staring him down. “Mr. Winterbottom!” Lampwick said suddenly, looking past his two antagonists. “Down to look at your trophies, sir?”

  They
spun around quickly to explain what they were doing in the basement, but were surprised to see that Mr. Winterbottom wasn't there at all. That was all the time Lampwick needed. He opened the door to his secret closet and jumped inside, slamming it shut behind him and locking it.

  Martin and Tobias both swore loudly and rushed over to the door. They pounded on it with their fists and pulled at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. Lampwick sat laughing to himself as they shouted at him. Then the knocking and noises suddenly stopped.

  He wondered if they had decided to leave, but figured it would be best to sit and wait in case they were laying down a trap. Then he heard a scraping sound accompanied by some groaning followed by a loud clunk against the door.

  “You won't be going anywhere, Dumbwick,” snickered Martin from the other side of the door. Their laughter faded away as they left the room, so Lampwick tried opening the door, but it wouldn't budge. The blood in his veins went cold as he realized what had just happened: they pushed the bookcase in front of the door. He pounded on the door and shouted for help, but nobody came. He knew it wouldn't be long before the Winterbottoms realized he was gone, but they would have no idea where to look for him. The thought that only Martin and Tobias knew where he was didn't encourage him either. At least I have a pretty good supply of food, Lampwick thought as he began taking a mental inventory of everything he had stashed in the room.

  He tried running into the door with his shoulder and managed to move the bookcase enough to crack the door open, but he could push it no further. Out of breath and tired out, Lampwick sat down and began to nibble on the lobster that played a part in getting him into this mess. The only thing left to do was to wait, however long that was going to be.

  Chapter Two:

  The Fall of Leetshire