by Colin Meloy
“And now she’s captured?” asked Curtis. “Great. Both of us locked up in here.”
Brendan shook his head. “No,” he said, “I have a feeling the witch has other plans. She brought me straight in here—but had Prue brought to her chamber. It’s strange, but I get the distinct feeling the Dowager is afraid of this girl. Whatever the case, I don’t think she’ll be letting on that you’re in here.”
“Of course not!” rasped Curtis. “If Prue only knew what she was up to . . .” Here he paused and looked over at the rat. “Hey, Septimus: How’d you see her?”
Septimus nonchalantly eyed his claws. “Oh, I have my ways. There’s a whole circuit of tunnels that ain’t big enough for anyone but me in this place.”
“Can you get back there? Find out what they’re doing?”
Septimus leapt up and saluted. “Recon? I’d be happy to.” And with that, he scurried back up the rope and disappeared.
“So you promise,” said Prue. “You promise to find him. How can I possibly know if I can trust you?”
“Dear girl,” said the Governess. “There’s little benefit in me lying to you.”
Prue studied the woman carefully. “And you’ll bring him straight back to me, back home. Just like that?”
“Absolutely,” responded Alexandra.
Prue’s vision blurred a little and she paused, trying to measure her words. What could she say? “Do you need my address?” asked Prue faintly. The prospect of returning home was growing more and more attractive by the moment.
Alexandra smiled. “Yes, you’ll have to give that to one of my attendants before you leave.”
“And you’ll let me go, just like that?”
“I’d insist, for your safety, that you be accompanied to the border of the Wood by a small detail of soldiers—nothing serious, just to make sure you’re not hurt on the way. This is, as you no doubt know, a very dangerous neck of the woods.” The statement was spoken with an illustrative twirl of her finger. “We did the same for your friend Curtis. He was most appreciative.”
“And you swear,” repeated Prue. “You swear on the grave of your son. To find my brother.”
Alexandra looked at her guardedly. “Yes,” she said after a moment.
“I know about your son,” said Prue. “I know what happened.”
The Governess arched an eyebrow. “Then you know how I have been wronged. How those madmen in South Wood—my home country—have cast me out and put in place that puppet government. You were flying from there; tell me, how is my old homeland?”
Prue shook her head. “Terrible. They’re rounding up all the birds and imprisoning them. For no reason. Though . . .” Here she paused, thinking about the Governess’s earlier words. “Now I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” said the Governess, leaning forward. “Prue, listen to me. I’m the force for good in this land. I’m the one who can set these things to rights. Let the South Wooders and the Avians battle and imprison one another, fighting suspicion with suspicion—I will throw them both. Things have reached a boiling point. No one is safe until the entire place is brought back under proper leadership. Under my leadership.” She sat back in her throne. “If you know of my son, then you know of my husband, my late husband, Grigor. We ruled together, the three of us, in harmony. The Svik doctrine was one of liberty and fidelity among all species of the Wood. It wasn’t until the deaths of my husband and my son that those relations spiraled out of control. And it is my intention to renew that harmony.”
Prue nodded, silent.
“But these things shouldn’t concern a girl of your age, much less one from the Outside,” said the Governess. “I can assure you, Prue, that we will prevail. We will be victorious. And we will return your brother to you and your family. You can expect to return home today, safe in the knowledge that your family will be united once more.”
Prue nodded again. Her whole world seemed to be spinning about her, flipping on its axis; up was down, right was left. It was as if everything, her entire worldview, had abruptly switched polarity. “Okay,” she said.
Curtis’s frantic pacing in his cell as he waited for Septimus to return had elicited the interest of his fellow prisoners, and they whispered among themselves, venturing guesses as to Prue’s fate.
“Oh, she’s a goner, as sure as I’m standing here,” whispered Seamus.
“Aye,” concurred Angus. “She’s vulture meat, for sure. They’ll hang her from a hemlock, let the birds sort out the rest.”
“Oh, it’ll be much simpler than that,” surmised Cormac. “I’m thinking a quick decapitation. Bang. Over.”
Curtis stopped his pacing and glared at the bandits, each in turn. “Come on. I mean, seriously.”
Brendan gave a quiet stutter of a laugh, the first show of emotion since he’d arrived. “Ease up, lads,” he said. “You’ll drive the kid to ruin.”
A scraping of claws on wood announced the return of Septimus as he scampered out of a crack in the root-ball and launched himself onto the top of Curtis’s cage.
“Well?” prompted Curtis. “What did you see?”
The rat was nearly out of breath, and it took a moment before he could manage a word. “She’s there . . . in the throne room . . . I saw her . . . black-haired girl . . . looks pretty scraped up.”
“Scraped up?” asked Curtis. “Like, what way? Did they hurt her?”
Brendan spoke from his cage. “She’s got a bruised rib and a sprained ankle, I think. One of our lads had a look at her in the camp. She crashed from the sky, remember, riding a dead eagle. No doubt she’s scraped up.”
Septimus nodded before continuing, “But they’ve mostly just been talking. I can’t hear much—there’s a fair amount of noise from the main chamber—but it’s sounding like the Governess is going to let her go.”
“What?” asked Curtis, shocked.
One of the bandits murmured, “Didn’t see that coming.”
“Yeah,” said Septimus. “Says she doesn’t know where the baby is, but she’ll look for him. Lying through her teeth, basically.”
Curtis was outraged. “Someone has to tell her! Septimus! You have to tell Prue that she’s being lied to!”
Septimus was taken aback. “Me? Just outright yell that the Governess is a liar? You’ve got to be kidding. I’d be on a coyote’s skewer, a-roasting over an open fire, before you could say ‘rodent rillettes.’ And your friend would be thrown in here, likely. Or worse . . .” Here he ran his finger across his throat.
“But . . .” Curtis objected. “But . . . we can’t let her get away with this!” He had forgotten the volume of his voice, and he heard the warden grumble loudly in half sleep, “Keep it down up there!”
Curtis glared down at the warden, incensed. “And what are you gonna do, huh?” he shouted. “Cancel my dinner? Take away visitation rights? No television for six weeks? Things can’t really get much worse, man!”
The warden had stood up by this point and was staring up at Curtis, his arms akimbo. “I’m warning you . . .”
“Oh, spare me,” shouted Curtis before holding his face in between the bars of his cage and hollering, in the direction of the tunnel leading from the cavern, “PRUE! PRUE! DON’T BELIEVE HER! SHE’S LYING TO YOU!!!”
The warden’s face became beet red, and he began scrambling around, trying to find a way to quiet his insolent prisoner.
“MAC IS HERE!” Curtis shouted again, his voice cracking at the volume. “YOUR BROTHER IS HERE!”
“GUARDS!” shouted the warden, finally, and a group of coyotes came tramping into the room, their rifles raised to their shoulders.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” said Prue. She glanced briefly out the open door to the chamber beyond; some sort of ruckus had erupted, and a group of soldiers was being directed down one of the far tunnels. Alexandra followed her glance, curiously watching the activity before motioning to one of her attendants to close the door. The room was quiet again.
“Yes, I suppose that is,�
�� said Alexandra. “It was very nice to meet you, Prue. It’s not often I have a chance to meet Outsiders.” She stood up from her throne and walked to Prue, extending a hand to help her from her seat. Prue winced to have weight on the ankle again, and Alexandra gave a concerned look, saying, “Ooh. That poor ankle. Maksim!”
One of her attendants walked swiftly to their side. “Yes, madam.”
“Why don’t you pack our guest’s sprain in a poultice before she goes. Turmeric and castor leaves.” She looked back down at Prue. “Should be good as new.”
“Thanks, Alexandra,” said Prue, accepting Maksim’s proffered elbow.
“Let’s post a troop at the hillside overlooking the Railroad Bridge; if there’s some sort of rift in the Periphery allowing free passage into Wildwood, now would be a good time to step up the security,” Alexandra instructed. “We don’t want any more Outsiders stumbling in here and getting hurt. Enough damage has been done to these poor children; heaven forbid more should be lost in the Wood.”
Maksim nodded.
The Governess continued, “And Maksim: Take the side exit. There seems to be some sort of tumult in the main chamber. Best not to disturb the dear girl any more.”
“Aye, madam.”
As Prue was led from the chamber via a side door, she could see Alexandra calling a group of soldiers to her and, whispering hushed instructions, following them through the opposite door.
“What’s going on?” asked Prue, hobbling unsteadily over the uneven ground.
“Nothing of note, I expect,” replied Maksim. “Likely just some tiff between soldiers. Here, let’s make it to the pantry, and I can tend to that ankle of yours.”
“Thanks,” said Prue. It tasted bitter, this sudden surrender, but the anticipation of returning home was sweeping over her like a breeze on the first clear spring day.
“Shut those prisoners UP!” shouted the Commandant, having arrived at the growing group of soldiers standing on the cavern floor, staring up at the cages. The bandits had joined in with Curtis, screaming the girl’s name over and over, batting their cage bars with their empty bowls. The noise was deafening, echoing endlessly off the tall cavern walls.
The frantic warden was babbling, “I don’t know what’s come over them! I don’t know!”
The Commandant glared at the warden before turning to his soldiers and instructing them to raise their rifles. “Fire at will,” he said firmly.
Curtis had his eyes on the crowd of soldiers below them, and when he heard the Commandant’s directive, he yelled to the other prisoners, “They’re going to shoot!”
“Swing your cages, boys!” shouted Brendan. “Give ’em a moving target!”
Immediately, Curtis and the bandits began running from side to side in their cages, sending them into a jostling sway. The hemp ropes holding them to the root branches moaned and creaked under the violent action.
The soldiers began firing indiscriminately, and the cavern was alive with the crackle of gunfire, the acrid smoke from the powder filling the room.
“Keep swinging!” yelled Brendan. “Faster!” Curtis heard a bullet whiz by his cheek and he set to swinging his cage even harder.
A woman’s voice came through the cloud of smoke that was billowing up from the soldiers’ rifle barrels. “STOP!” she commanded. The firing abruptly ceased. Curtis stopped his running, his stance spread across the cage floor in an attempt to slow its swinging. Finally, the smoke began to clear and Curtis could make out the figure of Alexandra, walking toward the cages. Her face was flushed red.
“Insolent children!” she shouted, waving a hand in front of her face to dispel the smoke. “Insolent, bratty ruffians!”
Dmitri, the coyote, demurred from his cage. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Shut up, you,” dismissed the Governess.
“Where’s Prue?” shouted Curtis, out of breath from the swinging. The smoke in the chamber clawed at his throat and stung his eyes. “What have you done with her?”
“I sent her home,” said the Governess. “She’s gone. Back to the Outside. So you all can stop your racket now, thank you very much.” She looked directly at Curtis and said, “She’s in bad shape, you know. She’s been through a lot.”
“You lied to her!” Curtis yelled. “She doesn’t know your plan!”
“She’s a smart girl, that Prue McKeel,” responded Alexandra calmly. “She knows when she’s in over her head. Unlike certain other Outsiders of my acquaintance.”
Here Brendan interceded. “Let the children be, witch,” he said, his gruff voice emanating angrily from his cage. “What kind of woman chooses children for enemies?”
Alexandra directed her glare toward Brendan. “And what kind of king abandons his people at the slightest intrusion, hmm? Your compatriots should know that you were intercepted trying to retreat into the woods, away from your precious hideout. The first sight of the enemy, and you’re off to save your own hide.”
Brendan laughed. “Tell them what you will, Dowager. Your words ring hollow.”
Curtis, in despair, had thrown himself down on his cell floor. He stared dolefully into space. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. He felt abandoned.
Brendan glanced sympathetically over at Curtis before shouting down to Alexandra, “What have you done with the girl’s brother? The baby?”
“The baby is safe,” said the Governess. “He is well kept.”
“She’s going to feed him to the ivy!” said Curtis. “On the equinox!”
Brendan stood in his cage and stared down at the Governess, his hands gripping the bars. His face was blank. “Oh, Dowager,” he said softly. “Say it’s not so. Not the ivy.”
Alexandra smiled up at Brendan, almost beaming with accomplishment. “Oh yes, Bandit King. We’ve arrived at a deal, myself and the ivy. The plant requires infant blood. I require domination. One thing for another, quid pro quo. Seems like a decent partnership, yes?”
“You’re mad, witch,” said Brendan. “The ivy won’t stop till everything is wiped out.”
“That’s precisely the idea,” responded Alexandra. She calmly waved her hand, a horizontal slice through the air, a dismissal, a negation. “Everything. Gone.”
“We’ll stop you,” said Brendan, the emotion rising in his voice. “We have numbers yet, the bandits. We can still bring you to your knees.”
“Unlikely,” said Alexandra. “What with their ‘king’ being imprisoned. However, since I do expect that your remaining ragtag group will continue to harry my forces, I would insist that you give me the location of your little hideout. Posthaste.”
Brendan spat on the ground. The glob of spittle landed feet away from an observing coyote soldier, who grimaced and stepped away. “Over my dead body,” said the King.
Alexandra smiled. “That can certainly be arranged.” She then turned to her cohort of soldiers and barked a command: “Bring the King to the interrogation chamber. Elicit the location of the bandit camp. By whatever means necessary.” She began to walk from the chamber but stopped at the tunnel entrance. She turned back to the cages and smiled. “Good-bye, Curtis,” she said. “I don’t expect that I’ll see you again. This is where you will find your end, sadly. I wish it could’ve worked out differently, but alas, such is the way of the world.”
Curtis stared, aghast.
“Good-bye,” she repeated, and left the room.
At the Governess’s instruction, the warden pulled the ladder from the wall and, braced by a coterie of coyotes, removed the Bandit King from his cage. Proud and defiant, he climbed down the ladder to the floor below, quietly allowing his captors to place manacles at his wrists. The bandits in the cages watched the proceedings wordlessly, and Brendan cast a single steely look up at them before he was led from the room.
“Be strong, boys,” was all he said, and he was gone.
CHAPTER 18
On Returning;
A Father’s Admission
The poultice, a thick layer of a yellow
-green paste enclosed in a wrapping of oak leaves, felt cool against her ankle as Prue was led from the warren by two silent soldiers. The remedy appeared to be surprisingly effective; she was able to walk, albeit with a slight limp, almost immediately, and didn’t require the arm of one of her attendants.
The coyotes wordlessly led the way; they traveled for a time down a shallow gully where a path, worn into the bracken, wound through the hanging ferns and blankets of wood sorrel on the forest floor. The light had grown dark since they’d first arrived at the warren; a layer of clouds had blown in from the southwest, and the air was cool and damp. The patter of a first wave of raindrops could be heard, assailing the outstretched leaves of the trees and the ground cover. After a while, the path opened up onto the Long Road, the muddy gravel of the surface speckled with rain, and Prue followed the coyotes along the road. They arrived at the Gap Bridge, spanning the dark void below it, and crossed. At the far side, the coyotes left the road and began following a hidden trail, imperceptible to Prue’s eyes, down through a wide field of enormous sword ferns and into a glen suffused with the spidery branches of vine maples. Prue fell into a kind of rapt meditative state and began to lose her sense of direction entirely.
Finally, after what must have been several hours, the coyotes arrived at a break in the trees and there, looming darkly over the span of a wide gray river, were the twin spires of the Railroad Bridge. The little wooden houses of St. Johns could be seen on the far banks of the river, snuggled cozily within the manicured trees of the surrounding neighborhood. The soldiers stopped at the tree line and gestured for Prue to continue. She nodded and took her leave from her escorts, scrambling down a slope, brambly with blackberry vines, to arrive at a shallow gully that ran along a stretch of railroad tracks. She gave a quick look over her shoulder to see if she could still see her entourage—she wondered how many soldiers would be stationed here, watching over the bridge—but saw nothing. If they were there, they were safely camouflaged by the trees.
