The Fork-Tongue Charmers (30 page)

R
ye skipped across the barnacle-pocked rocks. The mild ocean breeze carried with it early hints of summer, and Rye breathed deeply, enjoying the salt air. But the nagging tickle in her chest left her coughing, reminding her that she was not fully mended. She paused and put her hands on her knees.

“Rye, are you coming?” Folly called from up ahead.

Quinn looked back over his shoulder expectantly, teetering on his heels just above the waves.

Rye smiled at the sound of her friends' voices and
hurried forward. Grabstone awaited them.

They entered under the watchful eyes of its carved-stone guardians, but were greeted inside by the warm smell of familiar cooking. They eagerly joined Bramble, Lottie, and Shortstraw at the dining table.

“How was your walk?” Abby called from the fireplace. “You took it easy, I hope.”

“Of course,” Rye fibbed.

“Hmmm,” Abby grunted skeptically, and stirred her pots.

Abby and Lottie had arrived from Pest shortly after Rye's rescue from the Bog Noblins. Abby quickly tracked Rye down at the Dead Fish Inn, where a fever had kept her in bed for days. As soon as Rye was well enough to be moved, Abby brought them to Grabstone. It seemed to be safest for everyone. Rye wasn't concerned that Slinister would return there. He had already found what he sought, for better or worse. Whatever his future plans, she didn't think they involved Rye, her mother, or sister any longer.

Bramble played a card game he called Running the Black while the children waited for their meal. He showed them three Hooks cards, two red Ladies and one black Liar, and told them to “follow the black” as he shuffled the cards' positions on the table, their identical backsides up. Each time, they picked the wrong
one. Shortstraw perched on the back of his chair and plucked at Bramble's hair with his leathery little fingers. Bramble didn't seem to mind.

“Are you done corrupting the children?” Abby interrupted with mock annoyance, and set bowls of porridge in front of each of them.

“This bunch is already incorrigible,” Bramble said, pushing himself up from the table. “I'm afraid it's about time for Shortstraw and me to say farewell anyway.”

“Nothing to eat before you go?” Abby asked, pointing to a bowl.

Shortstraw jabbered excitedly.

“We'll eat on the way,” Bramble said, and the monkey grumbled in protest. “I've stayed to see you settled, but I've lingered too long for all of our necks.” He teased Shortstraw with a tickle under his chin. “I won't be able to stay a step ahead of the Fork-Tongue Charmers forever, and I'm probably the one person Slinister Varlet would most like to get his hands on right now, next to . . .” Bramble glanced at Rye and Lottie and seemed to catch himself. “Let's just say I would make a good consolation prize.”

Rye already knew that nobody in Drowning had seen or heard from Harmless since he disappeared into the forest Beyond the Shale. Even the rumormongers around the Dead Fish Inn had come up empty. All of
the Luck Uglies—and Fork-Tongue Charmers—had receded into the shadows. How they might settle their differences remained a mystery.

“Will you make your way back to Pest?” Abby asked.

Bramble shook his head and Rye noticed a far-off look in his pale blue eyes. “There's a village south of Trowbridge that isn't home to any Fork-Tongue Charmers that I know of. It may be just the place for me to disappear for a while.”

Rye watched Bramble gather his pack. He still moved with a limp. Since their last unfortunate encounter around this very same table, he had shared with her the truth—the story he'd tried to explain before she hobbled him. Bramble had indeed been a Fork-Tongue Charmer long ago, before the Earl drove the Luck Uglies from Drowning. But over time he'd seen the error in his ways. He and Harmless disagreed on many things, and might never to see eye to eye. But they were not enemies. Bramble had stayed close to the Fork-Tongue Charmers at Harmless's own request, and it was Bramble who had learned of Slinister's plans in the forest. If not for his and Knockmany's quick thinking, Rye might never have made it out from Beyond the Shale.

She felt a deep pang of sadness as she thought of Knockmany. He had been a loyal friend to both of her grandfathers and, from what Bramble had told her, a
legend even among the Luck Uglies themselves. She wished he'd gotten the opportunity to return home to Pest.

Rye got up and hugged Bramble tightly.

“Remember,” he whispered in her ear, “the old scars of the body don't always reflect what dwells in a person's heart.”

He pulled up a handful of his black hair in his fist and tilted his head so she could see the back of his neck. There, on his skin, was an ugly pink scar shaped like Slinister's Fork-Tongue inkwork she'd seen at Thorn Quill's: the remains of a brand that must have been painfully scraped away over time.

“I'm sorry, Bramble,” she whispered back.

“Don't be, niece,” he said kindly. “You're as ferocious as your mother when protecting what's dear to you.” He stepped out of her embrace and gave her a wink. “That's not the worst trait in the world.”

“I'm just glad I still need more practice with the cudgel,” Rye said.

“Don't fret, with a little time I'll be dancing as well as I ever have.”

“You never dance,” Abby said.

Bramble gave Abby a kiss on her cheek. “Stay out of sight and send word if you hear anything,” Rye heard him say.

“Be sure to follow your own advice,” Abby told
Bramble as he mussed Lottie's hair. Lottie pinched his nose.

“Shortstraw, say good-bye to your cousins,” he instructed.

Shortstraw screeched grumpily, turned, and slapped himself on the bottom with both hands.

“Don't mind him . . . the warm weather makes him irritable.” Bramble patted himself on the shoulder and Shortstraw climbed up to his usual perch.

“Good-bye, Quinn. Be well, Fuzzy,” he called as he headed down the stairs. Folly gave him a mock scowl, but Rye saw Bramble flash her a little wink as he disappeared.

Abby ladled out a bowl of porridge for herself and joined the children at the table. For a fleeting moment, things seemed almost normal—Rye, Abby, and Lottie sitting around the dinner table with her two best friends. Just like they had done so many times on Mud Puddle Lane. Rye looked around at Grabstone. Maybe home wasn't about
where
you were, but rather
who
you were with.

Abby had poured her cranberry wine earlier than usual and set her drink on the table. It reminded Rye that Harmless wasn't the only one they were missing. No furry black face found its way into Abby's cup.

“Have you seen him again, Quinn?” Rye asked. “Any more signs of Shady?”

Quinn paused and thought. “I think so, although it's hard to be sure. Some nights, right around dusk, I see two shapes creeping around the forest's edge. One's black, the other's gray. They could be cats . . . or Gloaming Beasts. Every time I've tried to get a closer look, they disappear.”

Rye would bet it was Shady and Gristle. Her hand went to her pocket, where she no longer kept a black stone but a well-worn leather collar. Shady might be gone, but at least he wasn't alone. Hopefully he was happy.

“And Newtie?” Lottie asked excitedly.

Quinn glanced at Abby and Rye.

“Yes, Lottie,” Quinn fibbed. “I think I saw a very happy dragon swimming in the river.”

Lottie smiled and ate her porridge without a single protest or bang of her spoon.

“Well, I'm glad Angus has finally let you out of the cottage again,” Abby said to Quinn.

Quinn nodded. “Me too. He settled down after he realized I was none the worse for wear. Well, except for this.” Quinn showed them the back of his hand, which was adorned with a swirling pink scar from the jellyfish's sting. “And my crooked toe where a sheep stepped on me . . .”

Rye laughed. “So you did bring home souvenirs!”

After all, she thought, weren't scars just reminders of the places you'd been?

Quinn smiled. “I suppose you're right.”

“And what about your news?” Abby said, turning to Folly. “How is little Fox? We want to hear all about him.”

Fox Flood was Folly's newest sibling. Rye couldn't wait to meet him. For Folly's sake, Rye was secretly glad that Faye Flood had delivered yet another boy. Folly might not be the youngest anymore, but she was still the only girl.

Folly glowered. “He's loud . . . and fussy. When he's not screaming, he's sleeping or soiling linens. Besides that, he doesn't do much of anything at all.”

Rye looked at her in surprise. Then she saw Folly's lips pucker as if she were trying to stifle an expression. It was a smile. Before long, a huge grin spread across Folly's face.

“But his hair is so soft and he smells really good. When he falls asleep on your shoulder, you don't want to move for hours.”

“It's true,” Quinn said with a nod and a shrug. “It's happened to me too.”

That thought put a grin on all of their faces.

Rye waved cheerfully as she watched Folly and Quinn leave Grabstone, but underneath her smile she held a heavy heart. Her friends said they would return to visit
soon, but what Rye knew, and Folly and Quinn didn't, was that Bramble wasn't the only one saying good-bye that day. Abby had already told Rye as much, and it took all of Rye's willpower to keep it from them.

No one in Drowning had seen or heard from the Earl since the disastrous night in the forest. No Longchance soldiers patrolled the streets. If Slinister re-emerged, who knew what he might have in store for the village, or his enemies? Worse, if the Bog Noblins resurfaced, neither noble nor Luck Ugly would be there to give the villagers a fighting chance. Abby was taking Rye and Lottie away. She'd told Rye it was better if nobody—not even Folly and Quinn—knew where they were going next. Abby had even kept it from Bramble, for fear he might try to stop them.

Rye balanced a cup of tea as she climbed the steep, winding stairway. She'd told her mother she was going for a short rest, but when she reached her bedchamber she kept going. Rye was the only one who knew they weren't alone at Grabstone. The door to the Bellwether still remained sealed at all times. Except, that is, whenever Rye ventured up the stairs with an extra cup of tea or bowl of stew, and found the door miraculously cracked—as if she had been expected.

Rye slumped down in the rickety stool and looked out at the sweeping views around her.

“Thank you for the tea, duckling,” Annis said, slurping from her cup.

Annis's white hair was combed straight and shone like fishing line in the sunlight. Rye was glad she'd appreciated the hairbrush Rye had brought her.

“We're going away for a while,” Rye volunteered.

“I know,” Annis replied with a nod.

Somehow, Rye wasn't surprised.

“Have the birds brought you any news?” she asked hopefully.

“Plenty. There's some bad weather brewing to the south, and I understand this will be a fine season for summer squash. But if you mean news of your Harmless, I'm afraid there is none.”

Rye frowned and stared at the wormholes in the floorboards.

She looked up after a moment. “Do you think he's . . . alive?”

Annis frowned and stared into the dark hollow of her cup. She swirled its shallow contents into a little whirlpool as she contemplated the question. She sucked her gums.

“I would guess so. For the time being.”

“And what about Slinister?” Rye asked.

Annis thought for a moment before answering. “You find yours, I'll find mine, and what we do with them is
a problem for another day.”

Rye picked her fingernails. “Is there really anything
we
can do . . . to change the way this will end for them?”

Annis watched Rye carefully. “You can always change the ending,” she said.

Rye looked at her with a spark of hope.

“You just have to be willing to pay the toll.”

Rye swallowed. “What's the toll?” she asked quietly.

Annis shrugged. “Not for me to say. But you'll know it when the payment comes due.”

She reached out and handed Rye her cup. Rye pushed herself up from the stool and turned to leave the Bellwether.

“Riley,” Annis said, and Rye paused at the door. It was the first time Annis had called her by her given name. “It may get worse before it gets better.”

Rye's shoulders slumped. Then she noticed a twinkle of sea glass in the old woman's eye.

“But it
will
get better,” Annis added. “Of that, you can be sure.”

R
ye knew she was near the door even before she saw it. The Spoke had been warm and damp throughout her trek, but now the air had gone cold and stale. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, not due to the drop in temperature, but because of what lay ahead. Deep claw marks laced the face of the iron door behind thick coiled chains and dozens of locks. A small eye-level grate betrayed no hint of what was behind it, but Rye already knew. It was the door to Beyond the Shale.

She pulled her sealskin coat tight at the neck and adjusted the pack on her shoulder. Her cudgel hung across her back. She reached back and ran her fingers over it nervously.

Rye was no stranger to this place. She had been here before. The last time she had unlocked the door at Harmless's instruction, but hadn't ventured through it. He had told her that for many, the door was the start of a one way journey. Rye swallowed hard. She now stood on the verge of what could be just such a trip.

But this time she wasn't alone. Rye looked over her shoulder.

Abby's jaw was steady under the hood of her scarlet cloak. She had slung her crossbow across her back and a satchel at her hip. For the first time Rye could recall, her mother had foregone a dress and now wore leggings like Rye's. Her tall black boots extended to her knees. Even Lottie was uncharacteristically somber. She stood close by Abby's side and had insisted on carrying her own pack. Mona Monster was stuffed into her belt. Lottie puffed her cheeks and watched the fog of her breath rise from her nostrils.

They all stared at the locks.

“Go on, Riley,” Abby said. “You're the only one who's done this before.”

“Do you have the first piece of the puzzle lock?” Rye asked.

“No,” Abby replied, shaking her head.

Rye raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“But you do.” Abby reached into Rye's hair. She removed her hair clip, snapped off the back clasp, and placed the rest in Rye's palm.

Rye carefully examined the hair clip retrieved from the remains of the Willow's Wares. The one Waldron had given to her mother before her. Rye noticed now that the dragonfly was uncharacteristically fearsome. Unlike the colorful ones that populated Pest, this dragonfly was menacing—the color of an angry sky before a storm.

Rye looked to Abby with wonder.

“When your father commissioned the new locks to be placed upon this door, he wanted to be sure that only an O'Chanter could open it.” Abby shrugged. “Sometimes the best hiding place is the one in plain sight.”

Rye nervously rubbed the dragonfly between her fingers. She turned back to the door and considered the numerous locks strung along the chains. Deciding on one, she reached out and carefully placed a finger on it. She quickly pulled her hand away. It was frigid to the touch. Rye glanced back at Abby. Her mother gave her a reassuring nod.

“Go on, Riley,” Abby said. “It's time to find your father. We won't wait for ten years again.”

Rye reached out, grasped the lock more fully in her hand, and twisted it to examine the open puzzle slot at its base. She positioned the dragonfly and began to slide it into the slot. She cracked an anxious smile, looking at Abby and Lottie, who had pressed around her. She couldn't believe it—she'd found the correct lock on the first try.

Rye slid the dragonfly piece into the lock smoothly. The bolt slid open and the first lock fell away. But instead of opening up to reveal the next puzzle piece as it had done last time, another lock clicked and dropped, then the next. Rye's eyes darted as the locks popped and fell onto the tunnel floor, until finally the last one opened and the heavy chains tumbled to the ground with a loud clatter. Rye sprang back so the coils wouldn't smash her toes.

Abby pulled Rye and Lottie close. They all held their breath as they stared at the unbound door in front of them. Nothing rushed forth to attack them. No force seemed to draw them in. The door just loomed, daring them to open it.

“It looks like luck may be on our side today,” Rye whispered.

“It always is, my love,” Abby whispered back.

With Abby's gentle prompting, they inched closer. Finally, Rye reached out and pressed her palm against the door.

The next step, they all took together.

The End