The Fork-Tongue Charmers (28 page)

“R
iley,” Bramble said urgently, “allow me to explain.”

“You're a Fork-Tongue Charmer!” she cried.

“Riley,” he said, taking a step closer. “Please wait.”

Rye backed against the far wall. Bramble stood between her and the stairway.

“Stay back,” she said.

“Riley,” he said, more sternly, “you must listen to me.”

“I'm leaving,” she said. “You keep away.”

“You can't,” he said, closer now. There were only inches between them.

Rye tried to dart around him, but his fingers bit into her shoulder.

“Stop!” he demanded.

Rye's hand found her cudgel. Before she realized what she was doing, it was free from its sling, and without thinking, she swung it. The blow was straight and true—like Waldron had taught her—and it found its mark in the fleshy muscle just above Bramble's knee. He broke his grip and crumpled to the floor.

Rye ran past him. Shortstraw screeched in protest, but she glared and pointed her cudgel at him, too. The monkey whimpered and retreated to a corner.

“Don't leave here,” Bramble said, his face masked with pain as he reached out for her.

“Don't you come any closer,” Rye said, shaking the cudgel. But Bramble was in no position to pursue her.

Rye rushed down the stairs, ignoring his further pleas. She made her away across the shoal as quickly as she dared. This time she looked over her shoulder frequently, but neither Bramble nor Shortstraw followed. Rye's ears burned hotter than ever before. How could her own uncle be an enemy of her father? How could he have turned his back on them?

And yet, now it all seemed clear. Harmless and Bramble had always been cold to each other. Her mother herself had told Rye that her departure from Pest was
the start of a rift between the two that had never been mended. If Bramble had known Slinister since he was a boy, it made sense he'd become a Fork-Tongue Charmer.

Rye made it back to the stable behind the fisherman's shanty. She set out quickly on the pony she'd ridden from the Shambles, making her way toward the village along the beach but cutting a wide swath around Drowning itself.

It was dusk when she paused at the far end of Mud Puddle Lane. She could see lanterns flickering in cottage windows and smell smoke from their chimneys. She wondered if Quinn was sitting down to a long overdue supper with his father. Amid the cluster of cottages, she noticed that one house remained dark, its chimney cold. The O'Chanters' cottage hadn't been warmed in a long time. So close to her home, and yet Rye felt more lost than ever before. Her mother and sister were across the sea, her uncle had betrayed them, and her father seemed to harbor a knot of secrets she might never untangle.

She turned the pony and headed for the forest, its hooves splashing through the damp turf. Here the edges of the bogs had poisoned what was once forest floor, and the dead husks of needleless pine trees rose around her like looming skeletons. The pony carefully stepped over the fallen branches and jagged trunks that now littered the ground.

Rye stopped when they neared a dense wall of towering trees stretching north as far as her eye could see. The bogs were quiet. So were the shadows of Beyond the Shale, which spread across the ground like pools of spilled ink. She'd hoped to spot Harmless coming by way of Mud Puddle Lane so that she might warn him before he wandered into Slinister's trap. Better yet, maybe he wouldn't come at all. But her journey from Grabstone had taken longer than she'd expected, and she feared he had already made his way to their meeting spot.

She climbed down from the pony, giving him a pat and encouraging him to find his way back to the village.

Something caught her eye. Her choker was glowing. The blue was just a pale flicker, but its light unmistakable. If Spidercreep was near, that meant Slinister would be too. And Harmless couldn't be far behind.

My choker will lead me to him,
Rye told herself.

When she reached the edge of Beyond the Shale, she could do little more than crane her neck and gawk. The pines towered above her. The lowest branches had long since died and shed their needles. Now the jagged remains of the limbs had been carved into spikes as sharp as spears, forming an impenetrable barrier. Rye couldn't tell if they were designed to keep the forest's denizens in or the villagers out.

She checked her choker. The glow was stronger.

Rye took a deep breath. She had never ventured into Beyond the Shale. Not even at its edges. With her thumb, she tested the razor-sharp tip of a branch that jutted out at eye level. There was only one way to get through. Carefully.

She made her way methodically through the dense maze of jagged limbs, stepping over one lethal spike, ducking her head under another, contorting herself to slip between two tightly packed trunks. For once, being small and lean was an advantage. After traveling some distance, Rye stepped through a ridge of trees and was able to stand at normal height. The spiked branches still surrounded her, but she found herself in a narrow, branchless corridor that wended through the forest.

“It
is
a maze,” Rye whispered. “And I've found a path.”

Her choker grew brighter as she hurried carefully but quickly now, unobstructed by the meddlesome limbs. The leaves and debris crunched under her feet, and as Rye's runestones began to glow with even greater intensity, she spotted shimmering lights in a clearing ahead. Before she could rush forward, a hand clutched her arm.

The boy named Hyde glared at her menacingly
with his narrow-set eyes, the enormous mottled dog by his side.

Even if Rye thought she could outrun Hyde, she knew the dog would catch her before she got far. Their struggle was brief. Hyde took her cudgel, bound her wrists behind her, and gagged her with leather straps that tasted like they'd been cut from an old saddle. If nothing else, she was confident he would take her to Slinister . . . and Harmless. But instead, he dragged Rye to the edge of the circular clearing and deposited her out of sight at the base of several thick pines. Hyde watched her carefully. The dog sat on its haunches and eyed her too.

From her seat in the shadows, she saw that dozens of lanterns hung in varying heights from the jagged branches that ringed the clearing. The area itself was dotted with enormous stumps—remnants of the huge old trees that must have been felled by hand to create the open space.

Slinister strode from the trees in his leather helmet and full constable attire. He led Spidercreep on a length of chain, the Bog Noblin's jaws encased in an elaborate iron muzzle. It must have been the same device Spidercreep had worn when she'd encountered him in the Spoke.

On a stump, someone was waiting. A man sat with
his elbows on his knees, eyes on Slinister. His eyelids were heavy, but they betrayed no alarm.

Harmless!

Rye squirmed on the ground helplessly. Hyde nudged her still with a boot.

“Good evening, High Chieftain,” Slinister said, taking one end of Spidercreep's chain and fastening it to a thick iron post nailed into one of the other stumps.

“If I'd known you'd taken a bride, I would have sent a gift,” Harmless said. He eyed Spidercreep with a look that conveyed more pity than anger.

Rye noticed that Harmless's own choker was glowing bright in Spidercreep's presence.

The two men regarded each other in silence.

“So,
Valant
is it now?” Harmless said finally. “It has a rather regal ring to it.”

“I'm glad you approve.”

“It's much nicer than Slinister—about time you finally let go of childhood taunts.”

“It's not easy recasting oneself,” Slinister said. “But we are who we say we are.”

He removed his battered leather helmet and placed it on a stump at his side. The deep, shiny scar on his head reflected the lantern light. Again, without the ornamental trappings, his whole persona seemed to change.

“For ten years I have been reinventing myself as a
lawman. An enforcer of rules and order, by any means necessary.” He flashed a smile and ran a palm down his thick braid that now fell loose. “It helps to look the part.”

“You look like death,” Harmless said.

“You should know. Last time you saw me, I believe you introduced me to your axe.”

“Days fondly remembered,” Harmless said. “Perhaps I'll reacquaint you.”

Rye didn't like the direction of the conversation. Hyde's attention was focused on the clearing, so she fidgeted her legs, trying to gauge how fast she might climb to her feet. The dog let out a low growl, and she froze.

“Yes, the good old days,” Slinister repeated. “I, too, long for them. This lawman business has grown tiresome.”

“And when you robbed the Mud Sleigh, breaking our bargain with Good Harper,” Harmless said, “was that Valant the lawman or Slinister the Luck Ugly?”

“Killpenny rode under the protection of our reputation for ten years without paying for it. As I see it, I was just collecting our past-due commission.”

“You put a nail in our coffins with every bargain you break,” Harmless said.

Slinister shrugged. “Grand plans require resources. Last autumn, when you sounded the Call to Drowning,
it presented a most interesting . . . opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” Harmless asked.

Slinister nodded. “Yes. There are pressing developments to be discussed. Matters that affect all the Luck Uglies.”

“And what might those be?” Harmless asked.

“You would know if you weren't spending all your time playing watchdog for your family, or taking holidays at your little hideaway.” Slinister's tone was bitter. “Grabstone, you call it?”

“So you've learned of Grabstone,” Harmless said gravely.

“Yes, a lovely girl told me all about it.”

Harmless's eyes flared.

Rye could hardly contain herself any longer. She might not be faster than a dog, but she only had to make it far enough for Harmless to see her.

“I really gave her no choice,” Slinister continued.

Harmless rose menacingly from the stump at Slinister's words. Slinister raised a cautionary finger, his other hand resting on the hilt of the blade at his side. “Stop and think,” he warned. “Think long and hard before you take your next step.”

Rye sprang to her feet. Before Hyde or the dog could react she tore from the trees as fast as her legs would take her.

“At the moment, your daughter is on a very small rock in a very large—”

Slinister's voice came to a dead stop.

Rye could only call out a muffled cry as she ran to Harmless. He pulled her in tight. She couldn't hug him either since her hands were still bound, but he removed the leather strap from her teeth.

“He stranded me on an island . . . he said you couldn't hurt him because then I'd be stuck there forever . . . but it's all right because I'm here now,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes flared and she turned to Slinister.

Slinister wasn't wearing the white ash of the Fork-Tongue Charmers, but the color drained from his face as if a ghost had just rasped in his ear. Incredulous, he looked to Hyde, who stood with the dog at the edge of the treeline.

“Rye O'Chanter,” Slinister said slowly. “I am speechless.”

“I told you you would see me again,” Rye said defiantly.

“Yes,” Slinister said quietly. “And I told
you
, bad luck follows wherever I tread.” He shook his head. Slinister seemed more stunned than angry.

Harmless's rage was beyond words, but the two swords at his back spoke for him, hissing as he drew them from their sheaths. He seemed to catch himself
before he advanced toward Slinister, tilting his neck as if listening. Rye heard something too. Hooves. Horses.

“Our guests have arrived early,” Slinister said, repositioning his leather helmet over his skull. He twisted his face and seemed to push back whatever emotion had left him so flustered. “You'll appreciate this part, Gray,” he said in a near whisper.

An armored soldier on horseback appeared from a break in the trees. He was followed by a parade of mounted troops, each of the warhorses adorned in black-and-blue tartan saddle blankets. There were so many soldiers they were able to form a tight ring around the entire clearing.

“I told him to bring every man he could spare,” Slinister explained to Harmless. “In case you had any surprises in store.” He glanced at Rye. “Although, it appears your well of surprises has finally run dry.”

Harmless sized up the soldiers warily but didn't move from his position at Rye's side.

With the area now secured, Rye saw a final horse and rider emerge from the trees. The man in the saddle was framed tall and harsh, like the jagged pines rising high above them. He guided his umber-colored stallion around the perimeter twice, surveying the surroundings with hard coal eyes. His dark hair was tied in an elaborate knot atop his head. The long ends of his mustache
were plaited and dangled down past his chin like the barbels of a catfish. The last time Rye had seen him, he'd worn a similarly adorned beard. That was right before Harmless cut it off and promised to feed it to the Bog Noblins.