North! Or Be Eaten (35 page)

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Claxton. He’s mad as a blat.” Her chin quivered. “Hurt his own mother, he did.” She waved her hand in the air. “No matter. Right now I need water, and I need ye to help me change the dressing on me wounds.”

She held the lantern up so that he could see her side. Blood soaked her ragged dress.

“Claxton did this?” Janner asked quietly.

“Aye. Now scurry up the ladder and find a cup or a bucket. Creep down to the river and bring back some water. All the supplies here are gone—gone with your family.”

“Please, tell me where they are,” Janner said.

“If ye don’t get me any water, I might faint and never wake up. It’s been days, lad. Go. Shouldn’t be hard to find a vessel in all that junk. And be mindful of the Fangs. I’ve heard naught of ‘em since you took yer little nap.” She laughed again, that weak, crackly laugh that set her coughing so badly she toppled over and lay on her side in the dirt.

Janner didn’t wait to be told again. He scrambled up the ladder. At the top he listened for movement and heard none. When he pushed the trapdoor, it didn’t open. He pushed again but was afraid to break the latch.

“Er, Nurgabog?”

“It’s behind…the ladder,” she moaned.

He found another looped wire behind the top rung of the ladder, tugged it, and the door clicked open, spilling dirt into the shaft.

When he emerged from the house, Janner found dawn fast approaching. No Fangs marched past, and no old man snored on the stoop.

In the rosy gold light of the sky just before the sunrise, Janner searched the debris around the house until he found a large clay pot. There was no sign of Fangs, so he sprinted across the road and skidded down the bank to the water’s edge. The surface was glassy, undisturbed except by occasional rings where water bugs alighted. Suddenly a fish broke the surface with a great splash and hung in the air for a moment before pointing its needle-sharp snout back into the water and sinking away.

“A daggerfish!” Janner said with wonder. Then, more seriously, “A daggerfish.” He filled the pot and scrambled away from the water line.

Nurgabog was unconscious when Janner returned. He nudged her and helped her to a sitting position. She smelled awful and looked even worse, but Janner felt a surprising affection for her. She had known and even loved Podo in his younger days, which made her less like a hag or a Strander and more like a long-lost grandmother.

“Much better,” she said after she had a long drink. “Now tear off a bit of that shirt you’re wearin’ and clean it good.”

Janner hated to ruin his only shirt, but he did as he was told and set about changing Nurgabog’s bandage. The wound in her side reminded Janner of Podo’s the night
he almost died in the weapons chamber at Anklejelly Manor. If only he had the flask of water from the First Well. Old Nurgabog certainly needed it more than the gargan rockroach.

“Better,” she said when they were finished. Her eyes were clearer. “I didn’t want ye runnin’ off without takin’ care of old Nurgabog first. Can’t trust a soul on the Strand.”

“You can trust me,” Janner said.

Nurgabog studied his eyes for a moment and smiled. “Aye. I believe I can.”

“Where’s my family? Where’s Tink?”

“Tink?”

“Kalmar, I mean. Where are they?”

“Well, lad,” Nurgabog said carefully. “You’re not gonna like the answer. And mind you, all I’m about to tell ye came from several Stranders from several clans. Word gets about, you know.”

Janner nodded.

“Yer family left three days ago. Your mother was afflicted with a fierce grief over you and yer brother. They never heard her say a word, but she cried aplenty. Cried like the sun had set forever, they told me. But Podo kept tellin’ her that you boys would be fine. Said ye knew how to take care of yourselves, and Maker forbid, if ye didn’t, there was nothing he could do about it. They had the girl, see.”

“Leeli,” Janner said. His heart grew heavier with every word Nurgabog spoke.

“Aye. And he said that with you boys missing and like as not caught by the Fangs, it was their job now to keep her safe. They waited as long as they dared, then they set off to the Ice Prairies with many a prayer and a tear for you lads.”

Janner hung his head.

“Podo was right when he said there was nothing else for ‘em to do,” she told him. “He would’ve come for you, lad. Believe that. But he didn’t know where you were, and even if he did, he couldn’t storm Fort Lamendron or the Palace Torr with a little girl, an old bookseller, and a bereaved mother to tend to. Maybe in his younger days—ah, lad! You should’ve seen him in his younger days.” Nurgabog wore a toothless smile and a faraway look in her eye.

“They left me,” Janner said, pushing down the lump developing in his throat.

Nurgabog nodded. “Aye. They did. I’m sorry, boy.”

“Wait.” Janner lifted his head. “What about Tink? What about Kalmar? You didn’t mention him. He’s with them, right?”

Nurgabog sighed and shook her head.

“Then where is he?”

“He made a choice, lad.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He followed the road here, same as you.” She paused. “But he kept walkin’.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Janner said.

“Never even stopped to see if they were still here,” she continued. “And the worst part of it? They
were
. Yer whole family, sitting down here in the dirt and the dark, sendin’ up prayers to the great silent Maker that you’d both show up safe and whole. And Kalmar Wingfeather marched right past with nary a look back, four days ago.”

Janner felt a sob in his throat. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“Because whatever it is inside a man that calls him to the edge of things, calls him to the shadows and away from the light, must have been mighty loud in his ears. Yer brother is a Strander now, lad. That’s what he wanted. He showed up in the East Bend with a fire in his eye, swinging Claxton’s pone about like he owned the place.”

It was hard for Janner to hear anything Nurgabog said after those words. It felt as if his insides were boiling. Rage, then disbelief, then confusion, then sorrow, then guilt—Janner’s tears soaked the ground of the Strander burrow.

Why would Tink do such a thing? The Stranders were vile, thieving, murderous villains—like Fangs without scales. Why would he choose to join with such people? The High King of Anniera. Janner was glad his father wasn’t alive to see his son betray the kingdom so. He knew Tink was afraid, that he didn’t want to be the king. But this? A Strander?

Fine
, Janner thought, wiping the tears from his eyes.
Let the Stranders have him
.

He stood and looked down at Nurgabog coldly. “How do I get to the Ice Prairies?”

“Eh?”

“I have a long way to go,” he said.

Nurgabog stared at him with a sad look in her eyes. “So you’re leavin’ him behind?”

“You said he made a choice,” Janner spat. “I’m not risking my life to try to convince him to do something he should
want
to do. I’m tired of chasing him, tired of his jokes and his selfishness. I’m tired of him. If he wants to be a Strander, I can’t stop him. He would have made a lousy king anyway.”

Nurgabog said nothing.

“Well?” Janner demanded.

“North of here,” she said after a moment. “After about a day’s walk, you’ll come to the Barrier. Go east till ye find an old dead glipwood tree. Thirty paces past it, you’ll
find a breach in the wall. The dead tree is a snickbuzzard’s roost, so be wary. Move quick, or they’re likely to make food out of you. It’s easy enough to slip through when the Fangs are lookin’ elsewhere, especially now that the patrols are so few.”

“Why are the patrols fewer?” Janner asked as he crossed the room to the ladder.

“Don’t know. But the Fangs seem less and less worried about Skreeans slippin’ through to the Ice Prairies, which makes me a fair bit worried about what old Gnag the Nameless is doing that we don’t know about.”

“Thanks for your help,” Janner said. “What will you do?”

“Old Nurgabog will be fine, lad.” She smiled again. “Thank ye for the thought, though.” She paused, looking at Janner like she wanted to say more.

“What?”

“I’ve a mighty argument kickin’ around in me head, lad.”

He waited.

“I don’t know much about Anniera. Not even sure there is such a place. I don’t pay much mind to what’s happenin’ in the great world that don’t affect me. I let things pass as they will,” she said. “But yer Podo did somethin’ for me that nobody else ever did. I care about ‘im, see. Which is to say that I care about what
he
cares about. I know he cares about you and your brother, so now I’ve got to wonder if he’d want you get-tin’ safe to the Ice Prairies alone or you doin’ what’s right—and maybe neither you nor your brother makin’ it.”

“I don’t understand,” Janner said.

“Don’t ye want to know what happened to me? It’s not every day I get stabbed by me own son.”

Janner was ashamed he hadn’t bothered to ask about Nurgabog’s wound. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What happened?”

“Your brother may have quick hands, quicker than any Strander I ever saw, but old Claxton’s got talents too. Didn’t take him long to find out Kalmar Wingfeather was back on the Strand. Quick hands don’t make a boy invincible, do they?”

Janner’s anger at Tink cooled a little, and he felt a prick of fear. “What happened?”

“It’s the Black Carriage, lad.”

“What about the Black Carriage?”

“The Fangs swing through once a week, thanks to an agreement Claxton made with ‘em. He wanted the Stranders of the East Bend to rule more than just our little section of the river, see. Wasn’t content with the way things have always been. Ye may not know it, but the Fangs are under heavy orders to collect more and more children,
and children are gettin’ harder and harder to come by. The Fangs allow those of us in the East Bend to carry daggers and leave us be—as long as we give ‘em a few fresh children each week for the Black Carriage.”

“What does this have to do with Kalmar?”

“Claxton’s got ‘im in a cage, waitin’ for the Black Carriage right now. Kalmar thought he’d be welcome in the East Bend like a long lost son. But like I said, ye can’t trust a soul on the Strand. No sooner had your brother strutted into the East Bend than Claxton beat him near to death and took back his pone.”

“No,” Janner said.

“Aye. It’s true. And old Nurgabog tried to stop it all. Didn’t want to let me old sweetheart’s grandbaby get carted off. But Claxton is mad as a blat, like I said. Stabbed me in the gut and kicked me into the river. His own mother.” Nurgabog covered her face with her hands.

Janner knew the Stranders were an evil bunch, but this was worse than he had imagined. And Tink wanted to join them. It made Janner sick.

“I survived, of course,” Nurgabog said with a sniff. “Got word Podo was holed up in this burrow, so I came as fast as I could. Too late, you see. They were gone by the time I got here. And yer brother will be gone after tonight, when the Black Carriage rolls in.”

Janner didn’t know what to do.

“So,” Nurgabog said, “you see my dilemma. If I kept quiet, ye’d scoot off past the Barrier and have at least a chance to find your family again. But now that I’ve told ye Kalmar’s in a cage, you’re gonna do what any good brother would. You’ll try to save ‘im. And you’ll be caught, and you’ll both be carried away.” She sighed. “And now I’ve doomed not one but two boys to the Deeps of Throg. Of course, ye could forget what I told ye, run to the Ice Prairies, and leave Kalmar to whatever fate the Maker has for ‘im, as you said you would.”

Janner stood at the foot of the ladder with his head bowed low. He couldn’t leave his brother.

“Thank you, Nurgabog,” he said. “I’m glad you told me everything.”

“So you’re goin’ to try and save ‘im, then?”

“Yes ma’am. I have to. I’m a Throne Warden.”

“Then you’ll need these.”

She triggered another hidden latch in the wall, and a small, square door swung open. Janner gasped. Inside were two leather backpacks, the ones Nia had made for him and Tink, complete with swords and bows.

“I reckon Podo left ‘em for ye. Proof the old man believed you’d make yer way here sooner or later. The dried diggle meat is gone. I ate it. My apologies.” She gave him a gummy smile.

In his pack, Janner found a folded parchment with his name on it in his mother’s handwriting. He slid to the floor and opened the letter, heedless of the sad way Nurgabog watched him.

Janner sniffed and wiped his eyes. At the bottom of the page, written in a much less refined hand, was a note from Podo.