Before he knew it, the day had passed. He stood before a pile of pared swords and forks, and the boy with the red hat and the bell strolled by, whacking it with a hammer and saying, “Shift’s over. Shift’s over. Shift’s over, tools.”
Janner ate two bowls of soup and guzzled cup after cup of water before finding his bunk. When he was sure no one was watching, he slipped the apples from his pockets and stashed them inside his pillow. He lay on his back, grateful he was no longer stuck in the horrible coffin. He stretched his arms as far as they would go, swearing to never again take for granted any room bigger than a closet.
As he drifted off to sleep, he had in his mind the beginnings of a plan.
The next day Janner woke before the bell-clanger arrived.
He had to figure out what to do with the apples. The longer they sit, he thought with a roll of his eyes, the worser they get. It was obvious he should use them to bribe the ridgerunner, but bribe him to do what? To let him go? Janner didn’t think Mobrik would go that far, no matter how much fruit Janner offered. What, then? He could use the fruit to get answers to questions. He wanted to know why the Overseer used children in the factory instead of adults. He wanted to know if the Black Carriage brought all its children to the factory or if it sometimes indeed carried them to Fort Lamendron for transport to Dang. But none of those questions seemed worth a precious apple.
He needed a way out, and as far as he could see, the only way out was through the portcullis. But even if he figured a way to get through the long corridor to the empty floor, he had no way to open the gate. He’d seen the way two children strained to raise it; there was no way he was strong enough or fast enough to do it alone.
But what if he wasn’t alone?
Sara Cobbler had helped him once. Maybe she’d do it again.
Janner smiled. He knew what to do. He just had to find Sara.
He scanned the faces around the table carefully. Of the forty or fifty children eating their soup in silence, none was Sara Cobbler. He studied the children serving the soup, the ones who stirred the vats of soup, but none was Sara Cobbler. Throughout his first shift he looked for her, in the faces of those who passed, those who brought him new carts of bad blades, those on the high walkways, and even among the Maintenance Managers. But she was nowhere to be seen. He began to wonder if he had dreamed her up.
When he returned to the dining hall after his shift, he found her at last.
She sat at the table on the opposite side of the room, stirring her bowl mechanically. Her face was still dirty, her hair still matted, but he knew it was her, even before she raised her eyes and rested them on him. Stars in a storm, Janner thought again, and he smiled at her across the room. Almost imperceptibly, like the swish of a redgill fin beneath the surface of the river, she smiled back.
Janner’s insides swelled. Before he had time to think about it, he walked straight toward her. Her eyes widened, and she went back to her soup, stirring it a little too fast. Janner sat across from her and lowered his voice.
“Thank you,” he said. “I remember you—from the Dragon Day Festival last year.”
She didn’t answer.
A Maintenance Manager passed, and Janner looked down quickly and slurped a spoonful of broth. “I need your help,” he said after a moment. “We’re going to get out of here—I’ll get you back to your parents. But I can’t do it alone. Can you help me?”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “They’ll put me in the box again.”
“You’ve been in the…?” Janner’s heart ached for her. He wondered how many of the children in the factory had endured that awful place. “Listen. I can get us out of here. Will you help me?”
She shook her head again.
“Sara,” Janner said, then he paused while another manager walked by. “I can’t stay here. There’s something I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what it is yet, but my brother and sister and I—”
“I remember them, too,” she said, staring at her bowl. “Though it’s hard to remember anything before coming here. Her name was Leeli, right? And Tink. Tink was funny.”
Janner smiled sadly. “Yes. He still is. But I have to find them. We have to get to the Ice Prairies.”
“The Ice Prairies? Why?”
“I can’t tell you.” He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell everyone there that his father was the High King of the Shining Isle, though most of these children didn’t believe the place was even real. He wanted to tell Sara Cobbler because he thought she would be impressed. “You have to trust me,” he said instead. “Please.”
She paused. “What do you want me to do?”
Janner grinned. “I knew you were a brave one. I knew it.”
Sara Cobbler smiled.
Janner was glad she smiled. He knew he would need it to carry him through the next three days and nights in the coffin.
42
A Nefarious Bargain
No sooner had General Khrak arrived at his palace in Torrboro and sat down in his chambers to eat than he was interrupted. He was tired of chasing the Jewels of Anniera, tired of sending disappointing messages to Gnag the Nameless. He didn’t understand why Gnag wanted the children, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to eat his gruel in peace. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his forearm and said, “What?”
A nervous old woman entered the room and bowed. “My lord, a visitor to see you.”
“Who isss it?” he hissed as he toyed with a rat tail that garnished his gruel. “I’m eating.”
“My apologies, lord,” she said. “A man has arrived in Torrboro from the Ice Prairies. He wants to speak with you. He says his name is Gammon.”
Khrak stared at the woman. He loathed her, but she prepared his food with such care, such devotion to his wishes, that he had restrained himself from putting an end to her many times. And now she had interrupted his meal to announce the arrival of what was sure to be an imposter. Gammon would never show his face in Khrak’s presence.
But his curiosity was piqued, so he pushed back from the table and left the room, resisting the urge to push the old woman to the floor as he passed.
General Khrak situated himself on his throne and put on his fiercest teeth-baring face before he nodded to the Fang soldier to allow the man claiming to be Gammon to enter. The door swung open, and a man with black hair strode across the hall. He was dressed in furs from head to foot and looked at Khrak with a boldness that surprised him. Khrak was used to the groveling of Fangs like Commander Gnorm or Plube, Fangs who lacked the courage to meet his eye—and wisely so. Khrak had killed enough Fangs for little enough reason that they all shrank from his presence. But this man met his gaze and groveled not.
Khrak was intrigued.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Are you General Khrak?” said the man.
“I am.”
“My name is Gammon.”
“Is it?” said the Fang. In a fraction of a second, he could slither down from his throne and sink his fangs into this arrogant fool. And the man must have known that. Yet there he stood, unafraid. Khrak was surprised to find that he respected the man for it. “If it’s true that you’re Gammon, then you must be a fool indeed to come here where you could so easily be killed. We know about you and your petty gathering in the Ice Prairies. Kimera, is it? Gnag knows all about your plans to ignite a rebellion and drive us from Skree. Do you think it is so easy as that? Do you think Gnag has not made arrangements for the destruction of your little army?”
Gammon spread his hands. “Yes, Khrak. And it is those arrangements I would like to discuss. As you said, you know I’ve amassed an army. You know I don’t want you in Skree. You know I won’t rest until you and every one of your scaly brothers is on the other side of the Dark Sea. Or at the bottom of it,” Gammon said evenly.
Khrak flitted his forked tongue and waited. He kept his cold black eyes fixed on Gammon until he saw the tiniest flinch in one of his eyes. Good, he thought. The man knows fear after a
ll.
“After all these years,” Gammon continued, “I have finally learned why you came here.”
“Oh? And why do you think that isss?” The conversation was far more interesting than Khrak had expected it to be.
“The Jewels of Anniera. Three children. You didn’t come here to destroy us. You didn’t come here to conquer our land. You came here because Gnag wanted those three blasted kids, and he suspected they fled here. Am I right?”
Khrak leaned back in his throne and toyed with the end of his tail.
“Yesss. That is correct. In the beginning, our Gnag thought little of Skree. It was the jewels that he sought, not your hills and woodlands. He cares not for such thingsss.”
“I’ve learned about the fortress in the Phoobs,” Gammon said. “I know what’s happening there. And I know we don’t have much time.”
Khrak wondered how Gammon had learned about the operation in the Phoobs. He had done his best to keep it secret so that when it came time to unveil the plan, he would have the advantage of surprise. But it didn’t matter that Gammon knew. It didn’t change anything. The more the man talked, the more Khrak wanted to hear him scream for mercy.
“What do you want, then?” Khrak said with a clack of his fangs as he leaned forward. Gammon gulped, and Khrak relished his fear.
“I want,” Gammon said with a sigh, “to make a bargain.”
Khrak’s eyes widened with surprise. He hadn’t expected this. “What kind of a bargain?”
“I know where the Jewels of Anniera are. I know where they’re headed,” said Gammon. “And I know that you haven’t caught them yet. How is it, with all your swords and teeth and trolls, you can’t capture three little children? I can’t imagine Gnag is happy about that, is he?”
Khrak hissed, and the point of his tail fluttered with warning.
“I propose to deliver you the Jewels of Anniera, safe and sound. And if I do, you gather your army and leave my continent. If the Fangs—any sort of Fangs—raise a blade against my army, I’ll do away with the jewels once and for all. How would Gnag like that? How would he like it if after all these years, the treasure he sought was finally within his reach—and then lost forever?”
The two of them glared at each other. Khrak wondered if Gnag would be angrier that he had lost Skree or that the jewels had been killed. He immediately knew the answer to the question. For nine years the Nameless One had obsessed over finding these cursed jewels. If they were killed, Khrak knew he would be blamed. He was one of Gnag’s oldest and most loyal soldiers, but he was no fool. Khrak would be dust on the breeze the moment the jewels were lost.
“I agree.”
Gammon’s eyes widened. “You what?”
“I agree, fool. If you deliver to me the three Wingfeather children, then we will leave these lands. There is little here that we want, anyway.” Of course, Khrak thought, we Fangs will never leave. If Gammon believes that, then he’s not as smart as I thought.
“I have your word? You’ll leave, simple as that?” Gammon said.
“Yesss,” Khrak said, trying to keep a straight face. Is it really this easy?
“Well, fine then. Fine.” Gammon nodded. “My scouts have told me where they are. In two weeks, send as many Fangs as you like to the Ice Prairies, and we’ll deliver the children. I suggest you bring the whole army. I’ve heard these children have a way of escaping.” Gammon narrowed his eyes. “I have your word?”
“Of course,” said Khrak. The word of a Fang.
“Because we’ll kill them,” said Gammon. “I mean it. And there are enough of us to put up a fight, so don’t plan any tricks.”
“Of course,” repeated Khrak. “No tricksss. Will that be all?”
“Yes. That’s all. Two weeks.” Gammon straightened and left the throne room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Khrak burst into laughter. He knew humans were weak and cowardly, but he had come to believe that a few at least were of some intelligence. Gammon, for instance, was notorious. He had boldly worked against the Fangs for so long that Khrak had even come to respect him. The way he strode into the room only minutes ago had solidified that respect—but now this? Gammon believed the Fangs would pack up and evacuate Skree as easy as that? Gullible fool!
As soon as Khrak had the children in his possession, the Fangs would stamp out Gammon’s little army with no more trouble than squishing a roach. Gammon was as much a fool as the old woman who prepared his gruel.
“And fools,” sneered Khrak to himself, “deserve the iron fist of the Fangs of Dang.” He pounded the armrest of the throne. “Woman! Bring my salad!”
43
Three Days in Darkness
Hard as it was to believe, there was something positive about being stuck in the box for three long days: Janner had plenty of time to think back on what he had done to get there and what he would do when he got out. He lay in the coffin and went over it again and again, second-guessing himself, preparing his nerves for the next stage of the plan, wondering if Mobrik suspected anything.
Finding the ridgerunner had been easy enough. He was always zipping here and there, climbing chains, leaping from coal pile to gearbox to table, a sort of Maintenance Manager for the Maintenance Managers. When Mobrik came near during the second shift, Janner had called his name.
“What do you want?” the ridgerunner asked.
“I need a favor,” Janner said.
“Do you have any fruit?”
And with great satisfaction, Janner said, “Yes.”
“What do you mean?” Mobrik’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get fruit?”
“None of your business. Maybe I had it with me when I got here. Maybe I know things about this factory that you don’t. Maybe there’s a fruit tree atop the building that drops apples down the gutter and into my pockets.”
Mobrik looked at the ceiling, then raised an eyebrow at Janner. “You’re being funny. You’re trying to be funny.”
“Nope,” Janner said, and he produced an apple from his pocket.
Mobrik’s eyes grew as wide as the apple itself. The little creature snatched it away, then whacked Janner in the head. “That’s for trying to be funny with me. I don’t know where you got the apple, but you can be sure I’ll report this to the Overseer. Now get back to work.” He turned to go.
“But I still need a favor,” Janner said.
Mobrik stopped. “What?”
“I need a favor.”
“Do you have more fruit?” Mobrik asked, this time less sure of himself.
“Yes. I have more fruit, but it’s hidden away. If you do the favor, I’ll tell you where it is. Two more apples.”
Mobrik skittered forward and patted Janner’s pockets. “Fool. If it’s true you have these fruits, I’ll tell the Overseer, and we’ll search the factory until they’re found. Then you’ll be thrown into the box again. You don’t want that, do you?” The ridgerunner smiled wickedly. “I heard you in there, crying and crying. It was pathetic.”
Janner ignored him. “It’s true, you might find the apples. But trust me when I say I’ve hidden them well. It may take you days and days to find them, and by then? The longer they sit…”
Mobrik’s face fell. “The worser they get.” Just as Janner hoped, the ridgerunner couldn’t bear the thought of letting perfectly sweet apples go to rot. “How many did you say? Two?”
“Two sweet, shiny red apples.”
Mobrik bit into the apple in his hand. He closed his eyes and chewed in ecstatic silence. “Very well. If I do this favor for you, you will tell me the location of the apples?”
“Once you prove to me that the favor is done, and if you swear by the fruit of the Green Hollows and the Holes in the Mountains that you’ll not betray me, I’ll tell you where to find the apples.”
“The Hollows! The Holes!” Mobrik gasped. “How do you know such things?”
“I just know. You have my word that I’ll give you the apples if you’ll swear on the Hollows and the Hol
es that you’ll do as I ask.”
“I can’t help you escape, if that’s what you want.”
“That’s not it. I want you to do something for another of the…tools.”
Mobrik cocked his head and thought for a moment. “Fine. What do you want? Hurry, or the apples will worsen!”
Janner had eaten two bowls of broth the night after his conversation with Sara Cobbler, knowing he’d be stuck in the box for three days. After the third shift, when he was easing his tired bones into bed, the ridgerunner appeared again.
“It’s done, boy.”
“Starting when?”
“Tomorrow, first shift.”
“You swear on the Hollows and the Holes?”
Mobrik straightened and adjusted his coat, offended that his honor was in question. “I swear it. On the fruit of the Green Hollows and the Holes in the Mountains.”
“Thank you, Mobrik.”
“Where are the apples?” he demanded.
“What apples?”
Mobrik looked so shocked he might faint.
“I’m kidding,” Janner said. “They’re right over there. Under the pillow in that empty bunk.”
The ridgerunner darted to the bunk and removed the apples. He held them over his head in triumph, then shoved an apple against each nostril and inhaled deeply.
Janner had smiled as Mobrik skipped away, even though he knew the box awaited him. This would be his last night in a bunk for a long time, if everything went according to plan. He was determined to enjoy it.
That was days ago, as far as Janner could guess. Now, in the darkness of the box, his back ached. He wanted to turn on his side, but there wasn’t room. He had thought that his first time in the box would make this time easier. It made the beginning easier because he didn’t have to pass through the dreadful experience of discovering he was trapped, but knowing he had to endure three days instead of two was maddening.
North! Or Be Eaten Page 24
