The Fork-Tongue Charmers (12 page)

“No!” Lottie yelled, and running straight forward
without stopping, buried two little fists into the Constable's gut. The unexpected attack actually caused Valant to buckle over and cough.

Lottie rushed past, pursuing Newtie as he scurried down the wharf toward the water. But before she could catch him, she snagged her shoe on an uneven plank and fell hard on her hands and knees. She watched helplessly as Newtie reached the far end of the pier and tumbled over the side, disappearing beneath the black water of the river.

Valant caught his breath and his hand went to the red whip on his belt. Unfurled now, Rye saw that it was a cat-o'-nine-tails.

“You nearly cost my dog its treat, child,” Valant said. “Now you'll meet my cat.”

Valant raised his arm. Rye felt her heart pound in her chest. But before Rye or anyone else could move to stop him, Valant's head jolted back violently and he stumbled several paces. Rye couldn't comprehend what had happened until Valant regained his balance. His crimson hat sat askew on his head, impaled by the shaft of an arrow that now protruded from low on its crown.

It was at that moment that all of the Constable's composure seemed to fall away, and his eyes turned rabid. He reached up and clutched the arrow by its fletching, pulling it free from the scarred leather war
helmet in which the arrowhead was buried. The arrow's tip snagged fabric on the way out, and he examined his fine hat still impaled on the end.

“Not . . . in . . . the . . . HEAD!” he bellowed, his face consumed by an almost inhuman rage.

Rye looked for the archer. It was not one of the sailors or fearsome vagabonds who made the Shambles their home. Instead, Abby O'Chanter stepped forward from the crowd, the smooth curves of a crossbow at her shoulder and her eyes simmering with a rage even hotter than Valant's.

Abby had already nocked another arrow and would have surely buried this one home had Lottie not regained her feet and rushed for her arms. At the same time, the angry mob surged down the pier toward the Constable and his small party of soldiers. Rye heard a vicious bark, followed by screams as Valant's dog was set loose upon the masses. Rye saw Hyde rush to the Constable and point in Abby and Lottie's direction.

A rhythmic thud of metallic drums sounded up and down Little Water Street. When the beat was joined by shouts, Rye realized that they weren't drums at all. Rather, it was the Earl's soldiers, pounding their swords against their shields in unison as they marched down the narrow dirt road from Mutineer's Alley. The Shambles' residents redirected their attention from
the Constable to the advancing wall of armored bodies. They huddled together, forming their own tightly packed mob in front of the Dead Fish Inn. Rye, Folly, and Quinn found themselves pressed together so tightly that they couldn't break away. The soldiers came to a halt just past Thorn Quill's shop, leaving a short stretch of vacant dirt between the two factions. They ceased their pounding, and the Shambles fell eerily quiet.

Longchance's men stared out from under their helmets. Shamblers glared back, men and women alike, their faces hard and unrelenting. Blades appeared from inside boots and under dresses. Those who were otherwise unarmed picked up oars, broken bottles, and other makeshift weapons. Rye didn't doubt the Shamblers' ferocity but feared their fate against the more heavily armored troops.

Only then did the first black figure appear, climbing like a serpent from the river itself. Its companions crawled out from under wharfs and shadowy alleys. Beneath hoods, their faces were masked with white ash, their lips and eyes streaked with soot like skeletal eye sockets.

From the rooftops above them, the rest began to descend, dropping themselves like spiders right into the middle of Little Water Street. Rye saw cowls and leering, hook-nosed faces. Flashes of scrap-metal teeth.

The Luck Uglies.

Their leather boots padded silently as they filled the narrow gap between the soldiers and the Shamblers. The folds of the Luck Uglies' cloaks shifted, revealing nimble blades and nail-studded gloves waiting to strike. Rye had never seen the masked outlaws by the light of day; she doubted anyone had. She couldn't tell who they were regarding more cautiously—the soldiers, the Shamblers, or one another.

Then, like a spark to tinder, the first bottle was hurled at Longchance's men from the Shamblers and, as one, they cried out and streamed forward. Soldiers, Shamblers, and Luck Uglies collided in a sprawling, street-wide clash.

Rye lost sight of Quinn but saw Folly get knocked to the ground. She felt herself being swept away, her frame crushed by larger bodies in what had become an uncontrollable riot.

She called out desperately for her friends, but a hand clasped over her mouth. Someone grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and dragged her away.

R
ye found herself on a damp embankment. High overhead, a stone arch of the great bridge that spanned River Drowning blocked out the sun. Chaos roared in her ears. Behind her, the dirt walkway of Little Water Street was a battlefield.

The strong hands on her shoulders went to her head. They were familiar and warm. Harmless seemed to read the concern in her eyes.

“Bramble has your mother and Lottie on their way into the Flats,” he said, nodding to where the
embankment stretched out from under the bridge and headed away from Little Water Street. That was where the Shambles came to an end, replaced by rolling mudflats where the river flowed into the sea. Villagers called them Slatternly Flats after the worms and mollusks that burrowed there.

“What about Folly and Quinn?” Rye asked.

Harmless tightened his jaw in thought. “The doors of the Dead Fish Inn will hold,” he said. “But your friends won't be able to get inside at the moment. I'll bring them with us for now and get them home safe after you're on the ship. Head that way,” he indicated, pointing a sword toward the mudflats. “I'll be right behind you.”

“What ship?” Rye asked, but Harmless had already rushed back into the conflict on Little Water Street.

Rye looked in the direction of the Flats. The tide was out, and Rye saw the silhouette of a tall-masted schooner bobbing offshore. In the distance, several small shapes had gathered where the waves met the sand. She started toward them, and stopped and turned expectantly when she heard the sound of steps at her back.

It wasn't Harmless. Instead, two men hurried toward her. They wore flowing cloaks, but their hoods hung loose. Their faces were deathly white. Sweat from their brows streaked soot down over their cheekbones like
ominous, black tears. Rye noticed the tattoos covering their forearms and ending at the hilts of the swords in their fists.

“It's Bramble's niece,” the taller one said, catching his breath. “We're lucky to have found you.”

“Yes, Snip, where's your uncle?” the snaggle-toothed one asked.

“There, by the ship I think,” she said, raising a finger toward the Flats, then regretting it. She suspected now that these men were Luck Uglies, but there was something particularly unsettling about them.

“Let's all find him together, shall we?” the taller one said.

More footsteps pounded behind them and Rye was relieved to see that it was Harmless with Folly and Quinn in tow. Her friends looked flush, but none the worse for wear.

“Riley,” Harmless said in an even tone, “take Folly and Quinn with you.” He gestured to the two men. “We have some cleaning up to do. Hurry now.” He flicked one sword in the direction he intended, and Quinn and Folly didn't ask any questions. They just hurried to join Rye.

But, to Rye's surprise, the two men extended their arms so the tips of their blades faced Harmless. Harmless did not seem to share her surprise. He stepped
forward purposefully, his short swords in each hand pointed to the ground.

He stopped only when each of their blades was within a whisker of his throat.

“I find myself in dark spirits today,” Harmless growled. “Choose your next move with great care.”

The men glanced at each other, then back to Harmless. Their blades didn't waiver.

“So you've cast your lot with Slinister and the Fork-Tongue Charmers,” Harmless said without moving, shifting only his gaze from one to the other. “At least your corpse paint makes you both a little easier on the eyes.”

Rye realized now that their faces had been intentionally masked with white ash and soot.

“It's been a long time, High Chieftain,” the taller Charmer snarled, ignoring Harmless's barb. “There's a new game afoot. And we've learned to bet on the player with the strongest hand.”

“The deck is stacked against you,” the other chimed in. “You just don't realize it yet.”

Rye saw a look of sadness cross Harmless's face, then his eyes glinted with a wolfish fury.

“I'm afraid you've bet poorly. Now lower your arms, or the only losing hands today . . . will be your own.”

Quicker than Rye could blink, the razor edges of Harmless's two blades came to rest under each of the Charmers' sword hands. He pressed them against the
skin of their wrists hard enough to show it was no idle threat.

“Care to bet on whose hands are the fastest?” Harmless asked with wry grin. “Or maybe you've forgotten?”

The men glanced at each other with heated eyes, but each took a step back. Harmless eased his blades to his side and circled around the Charmers warily as he joined Rye, Folly, and Quinn.

“We stand aside today because of who you are and what you've done before,” the snaggle-toothed Charmer called as Harmless gathered Rye and her friends. “But next time, we'll consider the slate to be wiped clean.”

“Then I suggest you spend your final days well,” Harmless replied darkly.

The Charmers retreated into the shadows of the bridge. Harmless did not look back at them. He put his arm around Rye's shoulder and a hand on Folly's back, rushing them and Quinn away to the Flats.

Rye glanced over her shoulder once. High atop the bridge, she thought she saw a solitary masked figure in black watching them go with red-rimmed eyes. But when she looked again, he was gone.

A hard-scrabble group of men paced irritably on the sand where they'd beached three wooden longboats. One of the men turned and ran toward them, his pale blue eyes ablaze.

“What happened back there?” Bramble demanded.

“Two of our brothers showed their hands,” Harmless said curtly.

Abby rushed forward and joined them, dragging Lottie close behind her. Rye's sister had somehow managed to retrieve Newtie's empty cage from the wharf. She held it sullenly with Mona Monster.

Abby threw her arms around Rye and looked to Harmless for answers. “What now?” she asked, casting her eyes to the boats.

“I was able to make some hasty arrangements for your safe passage on the
Slumgullion
.”

He gestured toward the schooner anchored in deeper waters.

“Passage where?” Abby said, her thin black eyebrows sinking low over her eyes.

Harmless hesitated.

“Where, Gray?”

“Pest.”

“Pest!” Abby exclaimed, her eyes flaring. “Without asking me?”

Rye tried to make sense out of her parents' hurried words. She knew the Isle of Pest was where her mother and Bramble were raised, but they almost never spoke of it. Abby had not returned to Pest since leaving well before Rye was born. For all Rye knew, it might have
been on the other side of the world.

“Perhaps if you hadn't buried an arrow in the Constable's hat I would have had time to explore other options,” Harmless was saying to Abby.

“Yes, you'll have to forgive me,” Abby retorted. “Impulsiveness is normally your domain. But you may have noticed your youngest daughter was about to learn a painful lesson about lawmen and their egos.”

Harmless rubbed his chin. “She does seem to display a rather aggressive disdain for authority figures.”

“I wonder where that might come from,” Abby said, without a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“We're leaving Drowning?” Rye asked urgently.

If her parents heard her at all, they didn't bother to reply.

“Yes, I wonder too,” Harmless responded hotly. “What are you doing carrying your crossbow openly?”

“Surely you've heard,” Abby said, throwing her arms in the air. “I'm a wanted criminal now. I thought I should dress the part.”

“Why are we leaving Drowning?” Rye yelled, stepping between them.

Harmless and Abby broke off from their jabs. Her father's face softened.

“It can be no coincidence that the Earl's soldiers marched into the Shambles on the very day we were
set to ride on Longchance Keep. This is no ordinary constable. He has no fear of the Luck Uglies. And after months of licking his wounded pride, it seems Longchance has grown similarly emboldened.”

“But why must we flee? Can't we go—” Rye caught herself, and was careful not to say Grabstone. “Somewhere else?”

“If the Shambles is no longer safe, then nowhere in the Shale is. I already know that two of our kind have betrayed their brothers. For now, it's best that you go somewhere even Luck Uglies no longer tread.” His eyes narrowed. “Until I know which Luck Uglies I can trust, we cannot trust any of them.”

Although Rye's mother's face was hard, she offered no objection to what Harmless was saying.

“Except one,” Harmless added, looking over to Abby. “You know where to find him,” he told her quietly.

“No offense taken by the way,” Bramble muttered out the side of his mouth.

“And Slinister?” Rye asked. “I saw him again last night—at Thorn Quill's. He was with the Constable's squire,” she added quickly, before her mother could erupt at her disclosure.

Harmless looked surprised, then even more resolved.

“Whatever Slinister's intentions may be,” Harmless said after a long pause, “he's the last person who would
align himself with the Earl and his Constable. Beyond that, his intentions remain murky, which is all the more reason to get you to Pest. I'll be better able to address both the Earl and the Fork-Tongue Charmers knowing that there's an ocean between you.”

“He says you have something—” Rye began, but was interrupted.

“Gray!” a voice called from the shoreline. “It's now or never. I'm not waiting for a kiss good-bye from the Earl's men.”

Rye recognized the voice as belonging to a man from the Dead Fish Inn. It was the one-eyed freebooter she'd seen the day before.

“You must be off,” Harmless said to Abby. “Captain Dent hoists the colors of a freebooter. He swears no allegiance to the Earl, nor to me, but we share—shall we say—common interests.”

“You're putting us in the hands of pirates?” Abby whispered incredulously, as they all hurried to the longboats.

“Smugglers,” Harmless clarified.

“Smugglers!” Abby said, stopping short.

“Abigail,” Harmless whispered, nodding toward Rye and Lottie. “Given the cargo, don't you want to be in the hands of someone who knows what he's doing?”

Harmless noticed Rye's nervous glance at Captain
Dent. The one-eyed smuggler barked orders as his men readied the longboats for launch.

“Not to worry, Riley,” Harmless said, watching the freebooters loosen the moorings. “Daggett Dent has captained four sunken ships and three wrecks—swam away from each without a scratch. Yes, there's the matter of his eye, but that was courtesy of an unusually fearsome pelican. My point is—luck travels with him on every voyage.”

Rye frowned. Apparently, luck was in the eye of the beholder.

The longboats were ready. Rye hesitated before approaching them. She smiled sadly at her friends. Folly chewed her lip. Quinn shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Harmless took a knee in the sand and placed a reassuring hand on Rye's shoulder. “Something tells me you'll like the Isle of Pest. Really.”

“It's not terrible—for a barren pile of sea stacks,” Bramble added from over his shoulder. Harmless ignored him.

“You won't come?” Rye asked, although she already knew the answer.

“They wouldn't be so glad to see me again,” he said. “I'm afraid my head would fetch a hefty price on High Isle.”

“Why wouldn't they be glad to see you?”

Harmless gave her a wry smile and looked like he might answer, but a shout from the bridge drew him to his feet. A dozen men in Longchance tartan spilled over the embankment under the archway, weapons drawn.

Harmless pressed a hand to Rye's chest and steered her toward a freebooter.

“Get the children in the boats!” he called to Captain Dent, pointing at Lottie.

Harmless's eyes caught Rye's and seemed to bid her farewell, then he drew his swords from his back and charged in the direction of the advancing soldiers.

Rough hands grabbed Rye before she could protest, and she felt herself lifted off the sand and deposited into the leaky hull of a longboat. Abby and Lottie appeared next to her, and the heavy bodies of several freebooters crowded in alongside them. She struggled to spot Folly and Quinn—to be sure they were safe and at least wave good-bye—but the thick shoulders of the sailors blocked her view.

Captain Dent was soon in the boat himself, barking orders to the men who were still onshore. They pushed the longboat through the surf line, waves crashing against its bow and bathing Rye with salt spray as the freebooters heaved the oars. Looking back at the Flats, Rye lost sight of Harmless, Bramble, and her friends.

“They'll be fine,” Abby said reassuringly, and handed Rye a wooden bucket.

“Is this if I get sick?” Rye asked.