North! Or Be Eaten (21 page)

J
anner climbed down the ladder in complete darkness. Not more than three rungs above, he heard Podo’s boot scrape wood, then a subtle
clop
when the peg leg reached the next step. Below was the sound of Tink’s heavy breathing, and below that, Oskar N. Reteep’s whispery grunt with each step down: “Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh my. Oh dear.”

Finally, Janner sensed the long, square shaft widening, and Oskar’s voice came from not far below. “Ah! In the words of Keeth Yager when he consumed a bucket of henmeat soup, ‘I never thought I’d reach the bottom!’”

Leeli’s snicker in the darkness was so pleasing it nearly shed a light of its own. When Janner’s feet touched the ground, he was surprised to find a floor of loose sand. Podo struck another match, and the yellow light illuminated their surroundings.

They stood in a chamber the size of the Igiby children’s bedroom, bare of everything but a lantern on the floor beside the ladder. The walls were a yellow, crumbling rock, the same color as the sand on the floor. Podo lit the lantern and made a quick search of the area before he was satisfied that, for the time being at least, they were safe. The family removed their packs and sat in a circle.

“Oy! That was a close one.” Podo sighed as he eased himself to the ground.

“Do you think they were looking for us?” Janner asked.

“Aye.”

“How long do we have to stay here?”

“Don’t know.”

“Long enough to eat, I hope,” Tink said.

“But not so long that this filth attaches to my skin permanently,” Nia said, picking clumps of dried mud from her cheeks. “You men can sit around in your stink all year if you like, but Leeli and I would rather not.”

“Food! Food would be a fine thing right now,” said Oskar. “Well said, young Kalmar.” Oskar rummaged through Nia’s pack and passed out strips of dried diggle meat, a hard loaf of bread, and the canteen of drinking water.

As he chewed the tough meal, Janner longed for a steaming pot of cheesy chowder or pot-roasted henmeat, and though he didn’t want to admit it, he wished he were clean of the mud disguise as well.

Leeli hummed as she chewed her meat and picked absently at a clump of dirt in her hair, unconcerned with the state of the food or her person. As usual, Janner noticed, she bore an odd contentment with their situation. Ever since Nugget had fallen to the sea—or, more specifically, ever since Leeli’s song had created that odd, dreamlike connection with the sea dragons, Leeli had floated through the journey with a strange calm.

“I think we should rest,” she said with a yawn. “I’m sleepy. And Grandpa?”

Podo grunted and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Thanks for taking care of us.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek and wrinkled her nose when she couldn’t find a clean spot. Podo sat still, his eyes big and shiny, and when instead of a kiss she placed her tiny hand on the side of his face, the old pirate’s mud-stiffened face cracked into a smile so wide that bits of dried dirt fell away and revealed clean skin beneath.

They all agreed rest would be a good thing, so the family and Oskar lay on the dirt floor and slept.

In the morning, or what Janner assumed was morning, he woke to find Oskar hunkered over the First Book in the lamplight. He hummed to himself and looked as happy as Janner had ever seen him. When he saw Janner was awake, his eyes brightened.

“Lad! Come look at this.”

Janner yawned, stepped over Tink’s snoring body, and sat next to Oskar. The old man placed the big book in Janner’s lap.

“I’ve made much progress. You see these characters? I think they’re music notes. I won’t know for sure until your sister has a chance to try it out, but this might be a melody from the First Epoch! And I’ve translated the first few pages. Look at this word. The swoop on this letter indicates a change in tense, much like Old Hollish. But Old Hollish expresses the tense with a—” Janner smiled weakly, uninterested at the moment in swoops and old languages. Oskar chuckled. “You’re right. Tedious stuff. Especially first thing in the morning. Here’s the point.” He removed his spectacles and placed them in the corner of his mouth. “The book is a narrative, as far as I can tell. I don’t know who wrote it, but it was someone who was there when it all happened.”

“When what happened?” Janner asked, waking up a little.

“When the First Kingdom—Anyara—fell. It tells the story of what happened—what
really
happened to the first city, where Dwayne and Gladys ruled for most of the First Epoch.”

“Anyara? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Neither had I until I started nosing around in your book, my boy.” Oskar donned his spectacles again with a wink. “But it sounds a lot like another kingdom we both know, doesn’t it?”

Janner tried to think past the sleep still in his brain. “Anniera?”

“That’s right.”

“So Anniera sits where the First Kingdom used to be?”

“Well, that’s my guess. It’s hard to say. But listen to this first paragraph:

“It’s terrible,” Janner said.

“Yes,” Oskar said quietly. “But that’s not all. It goes on to say the kingdom was…
protected
. I’ll have to ask your mother to be sure I’m translating it correctly. The power to save Anyara lay ‘beneath the stones’—whatever that might mean—and whoever
wrote this book was the last soul left to tell the secret. I’m not certain, but I believe that somewhere beneath Anniera, probably beneath the Castle Rysen, where your family made their home, was a room, perhaps. A chamber or tunnel of some kind, known only to the High King. I’ll know better once I’ve had more time to translate. But if there
is
a chamber, if there is some secret there that can protect Anniera…” Oskar looked over his spectacles at Janner. “That could be the reason your father risked his life to get you this book.”
¹

Janner stared at the lantern flame, his mind overwhelmed with information. It was hard to believe that beyond the walls of this dark burrow existed a world like the one Oskar described, a world of kings and powerful stones and dark enemies. It was even harder to believe that Janner was tangled up in that world like a dragonfly in twine. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to climb the ladder and breathe fresh air, Fangs or no.

“Oskar,” Podo said from the shadows at the perimeter of the burrow. He was a vague form leaning against the stone wall beside the ladder.

Oskar heard the danger in the old pirate’s voice. “Eh, old friend?”

“You heard what Nia said. There’s only one thing that needs to be in Janner’s mind, and that’s to make it to the Ice Prairies. No long-lost kingdom, no silly stories about magic stones and forgotten secrets. We both know that stuff is no more real than the groanin’ ghost of Brimney Stupe.”

“But the ghost
was
real, Podo! Or—the
story
of the ghost was real. My wind contraption just added a little terror to the tale.”

“I’m in no mood to ninny with ye. We both know there weren’t no ghost.”

“No, there wasn’t a ghost, but the story of the ghost was as real as you and I. And the story of the ghost came from somewhere, didn’t it? Brimney himself was real, or else who built Anklejelly Manor?”

Podo rumbled.

“Fine, fine,” Oskar said. “In the words of Phinksam Ponkbelly, ‘I don’t want to poke a snickbuzzard in the gobbler.’ All I want is for young Janner
Wingfeather
here to know who he is and where he came from.”

“And all I want,” said Podo, “is to get these kids and their mother someplace they can live out their years in peace. Anniera is sacked and gone. There’s no more an Anniera than there is an Anklejelly Manor. It’s a dead island, as dead as snakeskin, and
that’s what these young
Igibys
will be too if they get ideas in their heads about kings and stones and secrets. It’s ideas like that that landed us in this hole. If ye’d kept that fool map hidden better, we might be blowin’ smoke rings at Shaggy’s Tavern right now.”

Oskar stared at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Do you know how many heirs to the throne of Anniera exist in the world?
One
. And he’s snoring on the floor at your feet. Peet the Sock Man is likely dead, or he’d have found us by now, which leaves exactly one Throne Warden in all of Aerwiar. Leeli here is the first Song Maiden in generations.” Reteep raised his eyes to Podo’s. “I tell you, old friend, I’d rather be stuck here in a Strander burrow than blowing smoke rings in Glipwood, where the Fangs spit and howl and kill our spirits. At least we’re here because we
choose
to be. We’re here out of bravery and not cowardice.

“You sailed the seas and ran with the Stranders and did Maker knows what else in your sea-storm of a life. All I’ve ever done is read about such things. And here I sit in a cave with all that’s left of the Wingfeather clan—the stuff of legends, Podo! And legends don’t hide beneath the ice just so they can grow old and die with a fat belly and a bald head—not that my head is bald. My hair is full and flowing. I’ve always prided myself on it.”

Podo rolled his eyes. “What’s your point?”

“Well, it’s just…wherever you take us, be it the Ice Prairies or the belly of a gargan rockroach, these children should know who they are. At all costs, they should remember who they are.”

Hearing Oskar call him and his siblings ‘the stuff of legends’ gave Janner goose bumps, but it also gave him a shiver in his stomach. He had read enough stories to know that legends became so by great suffering and great feats. Janner didn’t want to suffer, and he wasn’t sure he was brave enough or smart enough to accomplish anything legendary. But he couldn’t deny that he desperately wanted to know more. He could’ve listened all day to Oskar’s theories about the fall of Anyara, knowing it could be a history of his home, of the kingdom where his father once ruled. Janner shook his head at the wonder of it.

“Pah,” Podo said. “It’s time to go.”

Oskar’s face fell, and he closed the book while the old pirate woke the rest of the family.

H
ow will you know if the Fangs are gone?” Nia asked. She stood at the foot of the ladder, peering up into the shaft.

“We don’t need to worry with that just yet, lass,” Podo said. “Watch this.”

He limped over to the ladder and ran a finger along a seam in the rock. With a
click
, another hidden door appeared, this time in the wall behind Janner.

“Who made all this?” Janner asked.

Podo grinned. “Stranders are rotten to the core, but that doesn’t mean they’re not smart as foxes. Used to be I could get from here clear under the Blapp to Torrboro and never once see the light of day nor a drop of water. Tunnels run under both cities like hollow roots, all cut by brigands over the epochs so they could steal and escape without a trace.”

“And nobody knows about the tunnels?” Tink asked, bending over to peek into the darkness beyond the door. His eyes were wide and curious, and Janner knew if he and Tink had been alone, his brother would have already disappeared into the tunnel like a dog on the hunt.

“Nobody but the Stranders. It’s been a long time, but I think yer Podo can make his way deep enough into Dugtown for our purposes.” Podo looked at Oskar. “You say this Ronchy McHiggins fella lives on the river side of town?”

“Yes. The Tavern of the Roundish Widow is near the river, on Riverside Road, just a few blocks east of the ferry. It’s been years, but I’m sure I can find it.”

Podo nodded. “The tunnel should get us close. The streets of Dugtown are too dangerous fer me in broad daylight. Might be recognized. I’ll get you as close as I can and wait in the tunnel while you find yer man.” Podo turned to the others. “You four stay here.”

“Grandpa, please let me come with you,” Tink begged. “I’ll be quiet, and I’ll do exactly as you say.”

“No, lad. There’s not much to see in these tunnels but rock and dirt and worm droppings. Ye’ll be as safe here as anywhere, and Oskar’s the only one who really needs to go.”

Tink sighed. Janner wasn’t happy about staying either, but not because he was eager to go tunneling (though that
did
sound like fun). The walls and ceiling of the burrow seemed to be closing in on him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was in a tomb.

“We won’t be long, Nia. An hour to find Ronchy, assumin’ he’s still there, Oskar will make the arrangements, then another hour back here. If all goes well—and it seldom does—we’ll be back by lunch.” Podo winked at his daughter. “Save me some of that tasty bread, eh?”

“Just hurry back.” Nia forced a smile. “And bring a bucket of water with you. I may never get this dirt off.”

“Janner, you’re in charge.”

Janner nodded, trying his best to act like a Throne Warden.

Podo disappeared into the doorway without another word. Oskar adjusted his breeches well over his belly in preparation for tunnel travel, rubbed his hands together with excitement, then ducked through the door after Podo.

The children and Nia stared at the tunnel for several moments, as if Podo might reappear, having changed his mind about the whole thing.

“T.H.A.G.S.,” Nia said.

The three children looked at her in disbelief.

“Tink, work on a sketch of Fingap Falls and Miller’s Bridge. Leeli, it’s probably a bad idea to make too much noise in here, but you can practice your whistleharp fingerings, and we’ll try and sort out the notes in the First Book. Janner, much has happened in the last few days that needs written about.”