“Six gold pieces. Three for each of you.” Warren looked from one of the criminals to the other and let himself relax a little since they were no longer actively attacking. “Why the heck don’t you guys ask about money before attacking? It makes more sense that way.”
“We’d lose the element of surprise,” pointed out his opponent, then he added, “Four gold pieces for each of us and we’ll let you go on your way.”
“Sure, it’s a deal,” Warren agreed. He then paid them off and said, “There. Now you can buy yourself a shiny new dagger and get rid of that rusty old thing.”
The guy wasn’t listening to Warren’s advice though. He was peering into the pouch of money that Warren was holding and hadn’t quite shut all the way after paying them. He caught a glimpse of gold, silver, and even some jewels, before Warren realized he was staring and pulled the drawstring closed.
The guy’s greedy eyes clearly showed he wanted to snatch the pouch of money. But the thing about the Forest was that there were always spies lurking, and there was a good chance that, if he took that pouch of money, word would spread very fast; then he’d just end up dead with all his newfound wealth dispersed amongst his killers. No, it was best in the Forest of Looming Death if you just took your fair share from the visitors and let them go on their way to be mugged by the next band of criminals in line34.
Phil brushed himself off and nodded to Warren. “Not much of a fighter, eh?”
“Nope. I have some pacifistic leanings, but mostly I just hate getting hurt.”
“Fair enough. Hopefully your money will hold out long enough that that won’t be a problem for you.”
“You said it,” Warren agreed. They walked on toward the cave. “So, are you Copper’s older or younger brother?”
“Older by two years,” Phil said as he stopped to look around and get his bearings. They needed to wade across the Brook of Dashed Hopes, and he wanted to make sure they did it in a shallow, rocky place, otherwise they were going to get their feet all wet, which is big no-no for those who live outdoors.
“And you haven’t seen each other in how many years?” Warren asked. He wanted to get to the bottom of the awkwardness between the brothers but didn’t want to inquire too directly since it might make Phil mad.
“Ten years,” Phil said, and began to walk again, shifting course slightly and going a bit more north.
“Nice to see him again after all this time?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Phil responded. It sounded like he was starting to get a little cranky about the questioning. Warren was ready to lay off, but then, after about a minute, Phil said with a sigh, “At least I would have thought it’d be nice to see him again. But—” he said and paused for a long time, lost in thought. “But Copper’s acting weird. And I don’t know why.”
Warren thought for a bit. “Did you guys part on good terms?”
“I thought so, but I guess something must have happened between now and then. Someone must have told him something about me that made him mad, or something?” Phil was glad that at this point they got to the Brook of Dashed Hopes and had to give all their attention to navigating the slippery rocks without twisting their ankles or falling into the water. Part of him felt he needed to talk about this thing with Copernicus, but most of him was not into talking about feelings; he’d never in his life been one to acknowledge emotions as legitimate things, and a decade in the Forest of Looming Death had done nothing to get him more in touch with his softer side, since even his closest murderer pals weren’t the types to have heart-to-hearts35.
It was when Warren and Phil were halfway across the Brook of Dashed Hopes that they were attacked for the second time. This time, some guys on either side of the brook hopped out from behind trees and started pelting them with rocks. Unfortunately, their aim was pretty good. Weapons were in short supply in the Forest, so some of the residents had to resort to sticks and stones in order to break folks’ bones. Since there weren’t many ways to entertain yourself in the Forest, those whose weapon of choice was rocks killed a lot of time (and targets) doing target practice.
Before Warren even knew what was going on, Phil began dodging the rocks and moving toward one of the assailants.
In no time flat, Warren had caught a projectile to the back of the head, slipped on a wet rock, and fallen flat into the brook. Everything went black for a flash, but in a few seconds, he was awake again, on his side, gasping and spluttering, his head nearly submerged in the rushing water. Also, he was still being pelted by rocks. He brought his arms protectively around his head and tried to notify the aggressors that he had more than enough coin with which to pacify them, but he was so busy coughing that words wouldn’t come.
Fortunately, in addition to dodging, leaping, warding off flying rocks, and fighting, Phil was also explaining to the attackers that Warren was strapped with cash and willing to pay them off. So, after just a few more seconds of coughing and slipping about in the brook and bumbling blindly around in a pointless quest to avoid being hit by rocks, Warren became aware that the assault had ceased, and that Phil was speaking. “Come on over here, Warren,” Phil said, “and pay these guys off.”
Warren cautiously lowered his arms and looked around. When he saw all the hoodlums gathered around Phil looking at him expectantly, he grinned and said, “Thanks, Phil!” Then he made his way carefully to the shore and reached into his bag to obtain the money pouch with one hand while examining a painful head wound with the other hand. Once again, he was happy no harm had come to his face.
“No problem, Warren,” Phil said as he watched his pitiful companion picking his way across the brook. When Warren joined him, Phil told the attackers, “We gave the last guys four gold pieces each. So that’s what we’re giving you.”
After some obligatory squabbling so none of them would feel like they’d come off as pushovers, they all settled on four gold pieces per attacker since no one wanted word getting around that Warren was being inconstant in his payoffs; things could get ugly pretty quick for both the givers and receivers if Warren gave more to some and less to others.
Warren helped them pick up a few of their rocks, then he and Phil went on their way.
After a few silent minutes, Warren asked, “Hey, is this bleeding like crazy? Like, should I be concerned?” He indicated the wound on the back of his head; it was so bad he could feel the blood oozing down his neck.
Phil just gave it a glance. “Eh, head wounds always bleed tons. Let me know if you start to get dizzy.”
Warren bit his lip; he didn’t care for Phil’s offhand manner when the back of his head was being soaked in blood. But even though he already did feel dizzy, he was hesitant to mention it since Phil already obviously considered him a coward. Warren wanted Phil to retain what little good opinion he might have of him.
On they trudged for a while. They got attacked a few times, but it was just more of the same so we needn’t clutter up the story by detailing more little squabbles.
The next landmark on the way to Mirabella’s cave was the Bridge of Misery, where they, of course, had to pay an exorbitant toll to a big, burly bridge keeper. To add injury to insult, once they had gotten across the bridge they were yet again attacked by more thugs. But eventually, after about two hours of toiling through the Forest, they found themselves crouching behind a raspberry bush at the edge of the clearing that surrounded the cave Mirabella called home.
Upon finding himself this close, Warren was finding it difficult to refrain from running right up and trying to free his sister then and there. But that was stupid. So, they cased the joint. Which meant they stared and stared at the cave, waiting for something to happen.
Eventually, it got so boring that they decided they’d take turns, one person casing the joint while the other person got to daydream and stare about idly and eat raspberries. It was Warren’s turn to stare at the cave when something finally happened; he was look
ing at the ghastly scarecrow that graced the center of her vegetable garden when Mirabella herself walked out of the cave, then said something over her shoulder to someone in the cave, and began to weed the garden. (Warren knew it was Mirabella because she looked pretty much exactly like her twin sister The Queen).
Warren said, “Psst!” to Phil, and elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’m already looking!” Phil snapped.
“It’s her! Mirabella!”
“I know, Captain Obvious,” muttered Phil.
Warren gave Phil a sidelong glance. He made a mental note to try not to be too much of a bother to his guide, but there was no helping the fact that he and this hardened thug just weren’t going to connect. “Sorry,” Warren said. “You’re the pro. What do you think we should do?”
“Just wait and watch,” Phil said. “And if we don’t observe anything helpful after a while, we’ll just come back tonight with lots of weapons and hope for the best. Maybe some of the fellas from my gang will want to come along—it’s been pretty boring around here lately.”
Warren was taken aback. “Oh. You don’t have to—I’m not expecting—”
“Nonsense,” Phil said. “All I do day in and day out is risk my life. This is no different from any other day.”
“But—”
“Seriously. It’s fine.”
“But—”
“Shut up. Watch.” Phil nodded his head toward Mirabella.
Warren nodded. They could talk about this later. He held the sleeve of his good arm to the wound on the back of his head and applied pressure as he watched Mirabella.
Mirabella puttered around in the garden for a looooong time, then suddenly she sighed, stood up, and yelled into the cave, “What do you want?”
Some incomprehensible words echoed from the cave, too quiet and jumbled to be understood, but Warren knew it was Corrine.
“Hold on!” Mirabella yelled. “Just hold on a second!” Then she tossed a handful of weeds back onto the ground and stalked back to the cave, grumbling under her breath. A minute later, she came back out again leading Corrine, who appeared to have her hands bound in front of her and did not look happy. Nor did Mirabella. It was impossible to tell which woman was angrier as they glared at each other with loathing.
Warren jolted forward as though he was about to rush out into the clearing, but Phil put a hand on his arm and stopped him.
Mirabella said, “Go on. Be back in four minutes. If you run away, I will find you. And, yes, Farland wants you in one piece and unharmed, but frankly I don’t much care—if you give me trouble, I won’t be bothered about adhering to my promises to him as regards your wellbeing.”
Corrine said, “Whatever. I just have to pee. Why would I go running off into a forest full of criminals? I’m not an idiot.”
Mirabella made scoffing sound that indicated her disagreement, then she waved a hand toward the trees and said, “Time’s a’wastin’.”
Corrine jogged off toward the trees. Phil stood quickly and, crouching low, followed her from the tree line. Once Warren realized what was going on, he followed too. They caught up to her just as she had walked a few paces into the trees. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet to the shade, so she wasn’t aware of Warren and Phil hiding behind two trees a few feet away from her. “Corrine!” Warren whispered.
She jumped at the sound and looked like she was about to dart back to the cave, but then she froze and squinted into the dark in Warren’s direction. “Warren?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yup, it’s me,” Warren whispered. He stepped out from behind the tree and hurried over to her.
She flew at him, wrapped her arms around him.
At the impact, Warren felt a jolt of pain, but he suppressed a gasp since he didn’t want to worry her.
Corrine whispered, “I was afraid you were dead! They wouldn’t tell me—”
Phil popped out from behind his tree and said without any explanation or introduction, “We don’t have time for chitchat, kids. Look, we’re here to rescue you. We’re coming back tonight. Two hours past sunset. Tell Mirabella you need to leave the cave again. Go to the tree line to the left of the cave. We’ll be waiting.”
Corrine stared at him for a few moments then asked, “Who are you?”
“Explanations later,” Phil said. “Warren, let’s move.”
Warren reluctantly let go of his sister. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her now that he’d found her, but night was a much better time for an escape mission. “I hate letting you go back in there,” he said to Corrine. “Will you be ok?”
“Oh, sure,” she said in an amazingly offhand manner considering that she was a hostage to a soulless villain. “She’s pretty angry she has to watch me for Farland, and she wants me gone as soon as possible, but she’s not going to do anything to me.”
“Unless you’re not back there in about a minute,” Phil reminded her.
“Right,” she said. “And I have to pee. So you guys go away.” She was pretty stunned to find her brother in the Forest of Looming Death, but when a person has to pee a person has to pee, so she waved him on his way, and he and Phil scuttled off.
After a few minutes of running, Warren asked Phil, “So that’s the plan? We just go meet up with Corrine two hours after sunset and we run? With a measly little four-minute start?”
“Essentially,” Phil conceded as he jogged along.
Warren sighed and stumbled along in silence. He supposed it had been silly to hope that somehow an actual good plan might materialize, but still he didn’t like how lame this particular plan was. However, it wasn’t like he had a better idea, so Phil’s would have to do.
They ran on at a good clip, only stopping to be attacked by groups of greedy prisoners who had heard through the grapevine that there was a wealthy visitor to the Forest running around and paying quite well for people to leave him alone.
When they finally reached the hole in the ground where Julianna was hiding, Warren was quite relieved; he was exhausted, his head was throbbing where the rock had hit him, and he was really dizzy. He needed some sleep like nobody’s business if he was going to have a hope of pulling off a midnight escape out of the Forest of Looming Death while being tracked by the evil Mirabella.
* * *
34A neat thing that sometimes happens when a small population lives in a confined area cut off from the population at large is that they work out an equilibrium that works best for all the residents a lot faster than big populations in unconfined spaces do. That’s in part why so many small island populations are so peaceful; they figured out how to live in harmony ages ago because they had to, whereas mainland folks still haven’t worked it out over the entire span of human existence. When you’ve got nowhere to run to, you are nicer to your neighbors. Thus it was that, shut off from the rest of Fritillary, even the criminals in The Forest of Looming Death could manage to live without killing each other off. And thus it also was that visitors managed sometimes to go into The Forest, have a visit, and depart un-murdered (though much, much poorer).
35The general thought the criminals had about such things can be summed up in this equation: Heart-to-hearts = weakness = someone who isn’t man enough to be a reliable cog in the workings of a worthwhile gang. And if you weren’t in one of the worthwhile gangs, you were a sitting duck. Or, rather, Sitting Duck; The Sitting Ducks was the unofficial name that the cool criminals had for the group of losers who no one wanted in their gangs. The outcasts were all forced, out of necessity, to band together into one pathetic gang full of weaklings, half-wits, and guys who talked too much about emotions.
Chapter Thirty-six
It was the middle of the night. A swell time for clandestine meetings. Throughout the city, there were probably at least a half-dozen scheduled for one thing or another. The castle maintenance guy, Luther, was walking through the grimy
streets on the way to one of these meetings. In his pocket was the magical vial of raven blood, who had had a tough time keeping quiet when it had so many questions it would have loved to have asked. But it didn’t want to be dashed to pieces against the nearest wall, so it kept all its questions bottled up. Hopefully it could get some good eavesdropping in at this meeting, then report some information to Warren.
Luther was talking to himself, but so quietly that the magical vial of raven blood couldn’t hear anything. Occasionally, a wagon would drive past, or a group of merrymakers would cavort by, but other than that it was quiet.
Earlier, the magical vial of raven blood had heard Luther talking with his wife about the Prince’s upcoming hunt. The citizens were getting so excited about it, and about all the parties that went along with it. The commoners were even allowed to attend some of the planned events. That day, there had been a hunting-themed festival in the city center, and the next day there was going to be a parade with deer-shaped floats, hunting dogs demonstrating tricks, and marching bands playing hunting songs.
It all sounded pretty awesome. The magical vial of raven blood wished it could see. When it had been ravens, those ravens could have soared above the crowds and taken it all in.
After a while, Luther’s mumbled speech became clear, and another voice started responding to him. He must have met up with a friend. Sounded like a lady. “You know what this meeting’s about?” asked Luther.
“Steph mentioned something about pirates,” commented the lady.
“Pirates? Sounds suspicious.”
“I know. Hardly in line with our pacifistic stance,” she agreed with a sniff.
“Yeah. Well, I’m sure Steph has her reasons. She’s never steered us wrong before.” A pause. “Or, she hasn’t often steered us wrong.”
The lady responded too quietly for the magical vial of raven blood to hear, but whatever she said made Luther laugh and say, “Tell me about it. But nobody’s perfect.”
How to Break an Evil Curse Page 31
