“What?” Rose asked, leaning forward.
“I’d say, ‘I don’t want to be a fairy, but I need to fly. Make me a bird so that I can get lost in the clouds. So I can’t hear the noise below. So that I can fly so high everyone becomes a dot on the ground, with no face and no voice and no way to hurt me. Make me a bird so that I can fly past the mountains and find something new.’ ”
Meadowrue’s eyes dropped, and Rose’s heart went out to her. She didn’t see anything that needed changing. There was nothing wrong with Meadowrue at all.
To Rose Coffin, the bridge was a city, and it was impossible to call it anything else. It had streets and alleys, buildings and homes, places of worship and places to lose one’s time. It was full of shops and markets, banks and taverns, squares and parks. It was a lot to traverse, and every passing second was another second of destruction rained down by the Abomination somewhere south of here, getting closer and closer by the day. The faster they found the spiked armor, the faster they could move on to the next weapon, the faster they could end this nightmare.
Setting foot onto the bridge the following morning, Rose couldn’t even tell they were standing over water except for the port on either side where all the ships docked, creatures piling out by the hundreds, filling the cobblestone streets that were already overcrowded to the point of suffocation.
In the distance, the city could be seen rising higher and higher as the bridge gradually elevated. Rose figured it would take most of the day to reach the castle at the center.
The population that pushed past her was a wide spectrum of races and personality. There were humanlike people who covered their bodies in brightly colored cloths that bulged and moved. Tiny trolls snorted and elbowed their way through the crowds while other creatures flew over them, Meadowrue gazing up with envy. Books were nailed to the walls, pages flapping, as a voice boomed from along the spine preaching the contents within. There were Centaurs and Minotaurs and cloaked figures that appeared to be concealing nothing but dark smoke and red eyes. There were Willapps and Cobberjacks and creatures of silver and bronze, though no golden boys like Coram.
Banners hung from building to building and lanterns dangled over the sidewalks. There were many beggars rattling their boxes of few coins, and street musicians playing the most unusual of instruments.
The sidewalks were lined with cart after cart loaded with goods for sale, strange aromas lingering in the air around them. The sellers stepped forward into the street showing off what they had, barking their benefits and values. Rose eyed everything closely, slack-jawed at what she saw.
A hunchbacked ogre lifted a meaty kind of substance, shoving it her way, the smell rank. Rose withdrew, her face scrunched up, offending the seller. With a snarl, he wiped his hand across his nose and flung the mucus at her. It missed, but that didn’t stop Coram’s sword from cutting through the air, settling an inch from the ogre’s neck. “Apologize,” he said, which the ogre did, his eyes glued to Coram’s gold skin. “Now give us some of those thorn slugs before I decide to make my payment in blood.”
The ogre filled a bag with the writhing meat and tossed it to him. As Coram handed over the money, the ogre asked, “Ever thought about selling your skin?”
“Haven’t you heard? We don’t do that anymore,” Coram answered, and popped one of the slugs in his mouth and offered the rest to the others. Everyone partook except for Rose, her stomach rumbling for a wide assortment of reasons.
While Rose was unable to look away from the strange sights, most of the eyes on the bridge were looking at Coram. He seemed to shrink under the scrutiny, his eyes darting all over, never lingering in one place for very long. His breaths were as deep as ever, and he was suddenly rather skittish, jumping at every shout and sound, sweat beading across his skin. Eventually, when the group found their path blocked by a large creature, he lunged to pull his sword free once more.
Standing before them was a seven-foot-tall figure with a bird’s face—a long, cracked beak, small beady eyes hidden in thick dark feathers that billowed around its long neck. On its back was a large basket filled with objects that moved. The creature held up its hands, a gesture Rose assumed meant it was no threat to them. But it turned out this was how the creature spoke. Protruding from its palms were two small beaks, the two mouths taking turns to speak, one voice far deeper than the other.
“Put the sword away, put the sword away. Just goods here. That’s all. That’s all.”
“What are you selling?” Coram asked, sheathing his sword, though his eyes still carefully scrutinized the merchant.
“Limbs. Extra limbs. Take a look, would you? Go on. Go on.” It swung the basket around and Rose peeked in, positive she heard it incorrectly. Inside the wicker, she saw arms and legs, hands and feet, piled upon one another, like a collection from some massacre. The tendons where the limbs and appendages were severed writhed, itching for replacement, the different-colored skins marked and scarred. Repulsed, Rose pulled away.
“We’re all fully limbed here, friend!” Ridge said. “Now, move aside! We’ve business to attend to!”
They tried to push past, but the creature grabbed Coram, its fingers wrapping around his arm, the beak digging in.
“What about you?” the free hand asked.
“What about me?” Coram said, trying to pull free.
“You’re going to need to replace that arm. No gold in the basket, but there should be silver.”
Coram glanced down. “My arm is fine.”
“Is it?”
The crowd was parting behind them, shouts rising up. Rose glanced back, uneasy about the sudden disturbance. What she saw next happened in slow motion.
A man pushed past the onlookers. A human man who could have stepped out of a previous century, his clothes formal and dated. He wore a powdered wig and a leather apron covered with dark stains. His mouth was filled with yellow teeth, and in his hands was the largest sword Rose had ever seen. As he lunged forward through the crowd, he raised it up high.
By the time the sword came down, hacking off Coram’s left arm, all Rose could do was scream. This piercing sound—a long and solid note—elicited a wave of energy from her hands that sent the man flying a hundred yards back like a rocket and straight into a building.
In the chaos that followed, someone half Rose’s size picked up Coram’s arm and ran off with it, darting in and out of the crowd and out of sight. The birdlike creature tried to flee as well, but Ridge grabbed him, frantically dumping out the contents of the basket, as Meadowrue screamed at the merchant that they were the Order of the Sacrifice, which seemed to stun him a bit. Digging through the pile of limbs, Ridge found a silver arm and held it against Coram’s exposed wound. “Hold on, mate! The pain’ll be gone in a minute!”
Coram had collapsed against the wall, his breathing strained, his eyes opening and closing. “No,” he groaned. “No silver. That’s not me. That’s not me. I’m gold. I’m …” His words were lost in a groan.
Rose watched, bewildered, as the loose tendons waved like living tentacles. They were longing to be attached. Soon, the dangling shreds on Coram’s shoulder began to react to this new limb, coming to life and seeking a union. The strands reached out, touching one another, rubbing, writhing, until they finally interlocked. Soon, the wound began to close up, gold mixing with silver. Rose couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. In a matter of minutes, Coram’s arm was completely healed. Looking at his face, however, it was hard to tell he was saved. Stammering, he couldn’t remove his eyes from his arm. He attempted to touch the silver but, as if repulsed, pulled away. He mumbled things about who he was, where he came from. He said he was less than whole.
“Not true!” Ridge said. “You have your arm! A good one too! You live to fight another day!”
“Not my arm,” Coram said, distant, his eyes distraught. “Silver.” He muttered the word over and over again in disbelief. “Silver.” It would be a long time before he was on his feet.
Wi
th no more to see, the crowds started shifting around them, carrying on with their day. Someone passing by said, “Welcome to Lemonwyll.”
They reached the castle by nightfall, the labyrinth—and the armor—just below their feet, the bridge just as far behind them as it was ahead. But it was all too clear how weary and battered they all were, the mental strain bearing down hard, and so it was decided that they would try to get some sleep in a nearby inn before setting out in the morning, hopefully refreshed enough to succeed in their quest.
The price was steep at the Squeezed Lemon—the innkeeper, a man whose bulbous face was hidden in hair, didn’t want to house any Cobberjacks, even though Deedubs was suddenly as meek as Eo—but Meadowrue was able to work him down to a reasonable price. Reasonable being Meadowrue would let him live. As the group paid their money—Ridge couldn’t fit through the door with all his branches, and was to sleep outside—the innkeeper leaned over the counter, saying, “Do I know that Cobberjack? Is he—”
“He’s my pa,” Eo said. “He’s old and he’s tired, and he would like some sleep. That’s all.”
The innkeeper scratched at his cheek. “Thought he was that disgrace from way back. The one that failed the entire bridge. You know the one. You must. He was—”
“It’s not him,” Eo snapped. “That was a different Cobberjack completely.”
Deedubs lowered his head and left the room. He didn’t speak for the rest of the night, though Eo explained to Rose all about his father’s well-known history in Lemonwyll.
“Um, he came here years before I was born. He was leading an army into Widcrook at the time, and for days everyone had been cheering him, and stuft. All along the bridge he ate the greatest foods, slept in the grandest beds. Gifts were laid at his paws. All because he promised them victory against Widcrook. Um, the Widcrook army was threatening to overtake the bridge, and stuft. He told the people here not to flee. He encouraged their young to join him. But his army was poorly trained and out of shape. When they crossed into Widcrook, it was a total slaughter. I think his pride got to him, and stuft. The leader of the dark army was a witch named Bahgdaal. She’s the most powerful of all witches, and the only one you will ever meet that has dark red skin. She was the one who blinded him, and after his army was defeated he was forced to walk back across the bridge alone, his head down in shame. It took him days to get across, and every step of the way he heard the calls of the people. He was pelted with food and garbage, he was kicked and clubbed. He walked into every wall and person along the way. He said he changed after that. But I’m not sure how. All I know is that it’s taken a lot for him to come back here, and stuft.”
An hour later, before a blazing fire in the common room of the inn, Coram was rotating his new arm, as if it were deeply uncomfortable. He flexed his hand and bent it up and down repeatedly, testing the joints, lifting objects up and setting them back down. He twirled his sword, and it flew from his grasp, penetrating the wall by more than half. Although he seemed to be deeply troubled by it all, Rose was in awe at the magic that had taken place.
“Could that be done with anyone?” she asked, swiveling her own arm.
“Mostly,” Coram said without picking his head up. He walked to the wall and removed his sword, but he did it with his good arm.
“With any part?”
Coram’s eyes shot in her direction. “Wh-what are you getting at?”
Rose looked over at Deedubs, who was already asleep before the fire, curled up like a pup, though his breathing was strained. “If you could get a new arm, why hasn’t he received new eyes by now? Or Meadowrue new wings?”
“Oh,” Coram said, taking a deep breath.
“Um, when Cobberjacks die, we, um, we rot real quick and stuft. Especially the eyes. It’s real difficult to save them.”
Rose nodded. “But it could be done.”
“Um, I guess. Technically.”
“What about you?” Rose asked Meadowrue.
Meadowrue stood up abruptly and headed upstairs to her room. “I don’t deserve them.”
When Rose heard the door slam, she asked, “Could I receive a new limb? If I needed to?”
Coram plopped down in a chair, his leg up and dangling over the side. “I doubt it. Humans have a much different biology. Besides, it’s not much fun. Trust me. Right now my arm is being skinned somewhere in a dark corner of this bridge. And for what? For money. That’s why there are so few of us left.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose said. And she really was. She thought it explained a lot. Because he always lived under the threat of an attack, it was like he could only care about others abstractly. From a distance. He didn’t know how to get close to anyone.
“Needless to say, Golddusts don’t have the longest life span. It’s why I had to learn to fight. It’s why I’ve sought out the best teachers in all of Eppersett. Von Ballard. Goosecheck. The Red Ghost. All my life I’ve had to defend myself, and I always will. There will never be rest for me. And I will always be alone.” He sighed. “The Abomination’s destruction will never affect me. My world’s already destroyed. But maybe others can have a chance.”
The words settled above them like a cloud. Rose wished a wind could come and blow it away. “I know we’re not Golddusts,” she said, “but we’re here with you on this journey. You’re not alone.”
“This isn’t family, Rose. This group, the Order, it isn’t even friendship. It’s obligation.”
Rose lowered her head and stared at her feet. It was strange, his words hurt her. Not very long ago, she was seriously considering using her magic on him. “You’re all more friendly to me than anyone back home. Can you believe that? I mean, what’s that say about me? The closest thing I’ve got to friends are the ones who are bringing me to my death.”
Coram looked away, eyes on the wood-beamed ceiling. “Rose, it can’t be that bad, where you came from.”
“Recently I thought I was going to have a friend. For a hot minute, anyway. Her name is SallyAnn, and she’s one of the coolest girls in school. I mean, the way she dresses, the way she talks, the confidence … I swear she could have her own reality show on TV.”
“A reality show? What’s TV?”
Rose grinned; for a minute there, she had forgotten where she was. “TV, computers, they’re these screens where we get most of our information.”
“Like books.”
“Not exactly. Anyway, it turned out SallyAnn didn’t want to be my friend. She just wanted to humiliate me. Still does. That’s why I ran.”
“Why would she want to humiliate you?”
“I don’t know. I think somehow it makes her more popular.”
“I don’t like this SallyAnn.”
“You and me both. I mean, I guess that’s one good thing about never going back. I never have to see her stupid face again.”
“I’m sure she has the stupidest face of all.”
“It is. It’s, like, so stupid.”
They both laughed for a moment, and then Coram said, “Rose, I really am sorry.”
“For what?”
He leaned forward, hands clasped together, looking directly at her. “I’m sorry that you ever came here. I’m sorry that home was so tough for you that you had to run. I’m sorry there was no one to help you. You deserve more.”
Rose felt as if her mind somersaulted inside her head. Nothing felt right; everything was mixed up, upside down, inside out. She nodded, biting her lip. “Thank you.”
There was a long silence between them, until Coram stood up. “It’s late,” he said. “You should get to bed. Tomorrow is going to be like nothing we have ever experienced, and you need to be ready. If we fail to find the armor, we fail everyone. The Abomination wins. Your magic won’t work without the three weapons.”
Deedubs was left undisturbed in front of the fire while Eo slept at the foot of Rose’s bed in as tight a ball as possible, his back folded perfectly into the concave nook her legs made. The Cobberjack could probably feel her shaking through
the night, and maybe that was why he threw a paw over her. Rose never missed her bed more than when she was sleeping somewhere else.
By morning, the group should have all been refreshed, but it was painfully clear, to Rose at least, that they weren’t. Their eyes were bloodshot, their bodies were wobbly, their hair stood on end. And if they look like that, imagine what you look like. She quickly tried to adjust her appearance with a hand through her hair.
The group all knew what was coming and the dread of it all had obliterated their sleep and ransacked their sense of calm. Hardly a word passed their lips as they made their way from the inn to the castle, the beating of their hearts and the rattling of their bones doing all the talking for them.
Lemonwyll Castle was nothing like Summercress Castle. Unlike Queen Sequoia’s impenetrable fortress, this one was swarming with life, its gates open to everyone. Even in the early morning, the castle was still humming with the energy from the night before.
To get to the labyrinth, they had to bypass the boisterous crowds and descend deep into the castle through the dungeon. The prisoners there appeared forgotten, wasted away, half of them hanging by their arms or chained to the wall, shivering with cold. Coram explained how evil and monstrous these prisoners were, but Rose still felt pity for them and she even said so.
Beyond a wood door in a long-abandoned part of the dungeon was a final staircase. It was already dark and cool in these depths, but now, the lower they went, it was becoming unbearable. As they descended the stairs, iridescent rodents crawled across their feet, and Rose exploded in shivers. The critters were hairy and swollen, and they glowed in all sorts of different colors like skittering orbs illuminating the entire staircase. Panatoos, Meadowrue called them.
After the chill ran its course, Rose followed everyone else down the stairs, careful with her steps. At the bottom, she saw a wall in the distance lit by torches, eight doors built into it, leading to the labyrinth beyond.
Rose Coffin Page 10
