by Matthew Cody
Still, what was left of the road offered the safest route, even if it was more perilous than it once had been. Better to follow a road, no matter how treacherous, than to risk getting lost in the wilderness.
After several days of traveling together, the three companions fell into a rhythm. Leetha kept the lead and cleared away the brush and intruding weeds that seemed particularly dangerous. Carter and Bandybulb followed close behind, and Carter told Bandybulb stories about famous people from back home. This was mainly to keep the little kobold from lecturing him on the great exploits of King Tussleroot the Wise. Carter began with George Washington, Amelia Earhart and Gandhi, but he eventually moved on to the true adventures of Luke Skywalker, Bruce Wayne and Bilbo Baggins. Bandybulb, needless to say, was impressed.
The three of them were sheltering for the evening in a small ruined watchtower when it started to rain. Leetha didn’t know who’d built the old tower, and Carter was just glad that there was enough of a roof intact to provide some cover from the rain, which was getting heavier. Soon the sky grew dark and great thunderclouds lit up with dueling forks of lightning. The wind blew sheets of rain in through the holes in the tower roof, and their little fire sputtered as it struggled to stay lit. Carter kept expecting the storm to blow over as most summer storms do, but this one lasted throughout the evening. More than once, he imagined he could hear the playing of pipes beneath the cracking peals of thunder. At least, he thought it was his imagination, until he saw Leetha listening at the window and staring worriedly at the storm.
The next day there was less conversation as they picked up their pace. Though no one spoke of it, not even Bandybulb, the previous night’s queer storm had unnerved them all. The strange music and the storm itself had left them distracted and scared, and that evening they unknowingly made camp too near a hangman’s tree, and they were forced to threaten the tree with fire when it tried to loop one of its ropelike branches around Bandybulb’s neck. Fleeing the tree meant that they had to camp out in the open, and they were harassed by gusting winds that tore at their cloaks and blew dirt into their eyes. That night there was no mistaking the pipes. When the wind died down for a few seconds, they could hear the haunting music, louder than before.
They were being pursued.
By now their fear gave way to short tempers, and they argued about whether to keep following the road or take their chances in the wild. It was afternoon of the following day when Leetha finally called a halt to their march. Carter and Bandybulb sank to their knees, exhausted. Leetha had been keeping a brutal pace.
“It’s time we accepted the truth,” she said. “We cannot run fast enough to escape that which follows us. And we all know who it is.”
“The Piper,” said Carter.
Leetha shook her head in frustration. “But how can it be? I thought you said that his magic pipe was hidden away? Even if he knew where it was, he couldn’t have gotten to it so fast.”
Carter had been asking himself the very same question. “He carved up the furniture in his cell to make the flute that he used to lure my sister and me here. Maybe he’s carved another. It won’t be as good as his original pipe, the one hidden at Magician’s Landing, but it looks like it’s enough to do some magic at least. These storms and winds are not natural.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he’s chasing us,” said Leetha.
“Maybe he knows we talked to Roga. Maybe he visited her himself.”
“It’s a shame she didn’t eat him,” said Leetha.
Carter let out a tired laugh, which only earned him a stern look from the elf girl. “That wasn’t a joke.”
Leetha stomped over to the side of the road, where she plopped down, crossing her arms over her chest in a pout. “There are likely beasts about, so there’s still a chance he’ll get eaten. I live in hope.”
Carter rested his chin on his knee. It would be so easy to go to sleep right there in the middle of the road. He felt someone standing over him, and he looked up to see Bandybulb. The kobold stuck out his foot, practically shoving his big toe in Carter’s face. “Bandybulb has a splinter.”
“Oh, who cares?” snapped Carter, and he hauled himself up to standing.
The little kobold frowned. “But it’s a big one.”
Carter looked at the road ahead, then back the way they’d come. The road was empty for miles in either direction, curling through the rolling fields and tall grasses that bordered the eastern coast. “How far are we from the Deep Forest?”
Leetha sighed. “If we stick to the road, we should reach it in a day or so. Longer if we try to cut across the moors. But in the wild we’d have a better chance of losing the Piper.”
“Well, let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that the Piper manages not to get himself eaten,” said Carter. “That leaves us with a problem of what to do about tonight.”
“We can stand and fight,” said Leetha.
“You’re the only one of us any good at that,” said Carter. “And we’re all exhausted. If the Piper’s going to make his move soon, he did a good job softening us up first. And he might not be alone.”
“Rats?” asked Leetha.
Carter nodded. “He might have help. We’re in no shape to risk getting lost in the moors, and we need a better option than fighting.”
“Even if we keep marching through the night, he’ll likely catch us.”
“Maybe we can slow him down, at least,” said Carter. “I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but luckily we have the perfect person to make it work.”
At that moment, the little kobold, who’d been digging furiously at the splinter in his toe, let out a cry of pain. “Ow! Now it’s in my thumb!”
Bandybulb stuck his wounded thumb in his mouth and glanced up at them. “Why is everyone looking at me?”
Kobold magic was small magic. So small as to be easily overlooked, which was often the point, as most kobolds worked hard not to be seen. While it was true that kobolds produced no great magicians, it was well known that some were knowledgeable in charms, illusions and even minor curses.
Bandybulb, it turned out, was not one of those kobolds.
While King Tussleroot accounted himself a powerful sorcerer, so powerful that his own magic was so imperceptible as to be ineffectual, poor Bandybulb simply didn’t possess the gift. But he did possess another gift, one that Carter had witnessed back in the Chillwood, in the home of the kobold family that had sheltered them. For whatever reason, Bandybulb was well liked by other kobolds, even respected. Carter was counting on that now.
As the sun set in the western sky, Carter and Leetha hiked south along the road, not bothering to make camp. Carter’s legs felt like they were made of wobbly rubber, and his eyes stung from lack of sleep. Leetha didn’t look much better, and from all the grumbling she’d done throughout the day it was obvious she didn’t think much of Carter’s plan. But she didn’t have a better one. Everything now depended on Bandybulb.
They hiked for several more hours, and the evening, unlike the past several, was quiet and cloudless. No wind blew, not even a breeze to ruffle the tall prairie grass. Everything was still, as if the Summer Isle was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come. For a little while, Carter dared to hope that they would pass the evening safely.
That hope was dashed when a bank of storm clouds rolled in from the north, driven toward them by music on the wind. The Piper was close. And this time, along with the storm came the rats. The clouds hung heavy in the sky, but the flashes of lightning revealed several sleek bodies scurrying their way, not far behind them on the road. The rats weren’t bothering with stealth anymore; this was an open charge into battle.
“How many can you see?” asked Carter.
“Seven, eight,” said Leetha, her eyes shining, cat-like, in the dark. “No, wait, there are more…a dozen at least.”
Carter’s stomach did a turn. A dozen? Up until now, Carter had actually felt somewhat confident that his plan might just work. But he hadn’t
anticipated a small army to contend with.
“Do you see the Piper anywhere?” he asked.
“No….Is that a good thing or bad?”
“Bad,” answered Carter. “If we don’t know what he’s up to, then it’s definitely bad. Come on.”
They turned their march into a run. All they could do now was make for the Deep Forest, still miles away, and hope that Bandybulb did his part well. Leetha offered her arm to help Carter along, but he brushed her away.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I can keep up. Just keep moving!”
The clouds darkened the sky overhead almost to true night, and even though the storm was blowing in from the north, throwing rain and pellets of hail at their backs, great gusting headwinds would suddenly shift and slam into them from the south, slowing their progress and at times knocking them off their feet. There was definitely sorcery at the heart of this storm.
The rats were gaining on them, and Carter could hear their rasping voices calling taunts and jeers at their prey. Soon they would be upon them. He took out his little carving knife. He wasn’t much good at violence, but he wouldn’t let Leetha fight alone.
“Where…,” gasped Leetha. “Where is the kobold?”
Carter shook his head. Bandybulb should have been here by now.
The rats were thirty yards away….Twenty.
“Bandybulb!” Carter shouted against the storm.
A small furry head poked itself out of the tall grass on the side of the road. “Yes?”
Carter stared at the little kobold for a moment, dumbfounded. “Bandybulb! The rats!”
“Oh! Now?”
“Yes, now!” cried Carter.
Bandybulb disappeared again into the grass and for another moment nothing happened, except the rats closed on them until they were within spitting distance. Then they slowed down and began to stalk forward on all fours, teeth bared.
“Can’t keep running, children,” snarled their leader, a big black one with a scar across his snout. “Time to pay the—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because at that moment the tall grasses around them erupted with a chorus of squeaky little voices as a shower of small rocks and sticks was launched at the rats. The leader rat was hit in the eye with a stone the size of a strawberry. He cursed and shook his snout and pawed at his eye.
“Ambush!” he cried.
Then the grass parted, and the rats were met with at least thirty naked little butts. Carter had experienced this himself once, being mooned by kobolds, and it wasn’t a pretty experience.
“Don’t worry,” Carter said to Leetha as she scrunched up her face in disgust. “Those butts are on our side!”
“Kobolds,” she muttered.
The rats, outraged and in pain from the assault of tiny projectiles, dashed into the grass after the kobolds, but the kobolds were faster and, in the grass, nearly impossible to spot. Fewer than half the rats heeded their leader’s orders to stay put and capture the children, and as those loyal few started forward, a new wave of kobolds led by Bandybulb himself dashed out from the grass, carrying long twines of ropewood. They ran beneath the rats’ feet, tangling them up in the ropewood and tripping them over themselves. More rats fell as the kobolds cheered.
But the leader deftly dodged the ropes and kept on coming. Lightning flashed overhead and a peal of thunder rang in Carter’s ears as the rat stood back on his hind legs and produced a long leather whip in his hands. Thorns were tied into the lash like barbs.
Leetha stepped forward, a knife in each hand and a wicked elfish grin on her face. Her canines were bared.
“Go, Carter—keep running,” she said.
“I won’t leave you here,” he said.
Then the rat lunged, snapping his whip at Leetha’s face. She was nearly struck trying to keep her own body between the rat and Carter. Carter tried to dodge away, but his leg tripped him up and he stumbled. His foot twisted beneath him, and he cried out in pain.
“I can’t fight and protect you at the same time,” Leetha shouted. “Go! I’ll catch up!”
Leetha was right. If Carter wasn’t a fighter, he would just be another target—one that Leetha could get hurt trying to protect.
He turned and started limping away from the fight, feeling cowardly and useless, even though it had been his plan to have Bandybulb summon the kobolds. A plan that had, so far, taken eleven rats out of the fight, but all he saw was his own leg, dragging through the mud.
If he hadn’t been looking down, he might have seen the hand reaching out of the darkness. He might have had time to dodge, or at least cry out for help before it wrapped itself around his mouth. He might have caught a glimpse of the pied cloak.
But it was too late.
As Max had hoped, being confined to quarters had turned into a blessing for Mrs. Amsel and Harold, who were finally able to rest. It was harder on Max, who’d already spent most of the voyage stuck indoors. She’d traded seasickness for an acute case of cabin fever. Meals were delivered by Dridge, although whenever the sailor served them, he looked like he would like nothing better than to beat everyone senseless with the dinner tray. But his fear of the captain must have outweighed his hate for Max and her friends, because the food was always hot and the plates were cleared promptly.
Max took advantage of their time together to tell Harold and Mrs. Amsel about the mysterious figure she’d seen on deck the night past. The news was worrisome, and everyone agreed that the presence of a crow this far out at sea was even more ominous. If it had simply been the pet of one of the sailors, then Harold or Mrs. Amsel would have seen it when they were working on deck. Max told them she suspected they were being followed by another ship, but all they could do about it was hope that the Leviathan was faster than its pursuer.
On the morning of the fourth day of their five-day voyage across the Atlantic, the ship’s engine died. A steady rain had pelted their cabin all through the night and into the morning, so it had taken Max and the others a while to realize that the once-constant hum of the ship’s engine had gone quiet. The first indications that something was really wrong were the anxious shouts and the stomping of footsteps outside their door. Max peered out the porthole and saw that they’d come to a complete stop. The ocean was dimpled by raindrops, but the Leviathan wasn’t making its own waves. It was dead in the water.
It wasn’t long before they heard a heavy knock at their door. When Harold answered it, Dridge stood outside, drenched and miserable-looking in the rain.
“The captain wants you,” he said, pointing past Harold to Max. “Just you.”
“What’s he want her for?” asked Harold, but Dridge ignored him and continued to stare at Max.
“He said come, now,” said Dridge.
“Whatever for?” asked Mrs. Amsel.
“Ship’s engine’s broke,” said Dridge. “And someone broke it.”
“Sabotage?” said Max, and the three friends exchanged worried looks. “He can’t think we had anything to do with that. We’ve been locked up in here.”
“Maybe you sneak out during the night,” said Dridge. “The captain will question everyone, passengers and crew.”
“Then we’ll all go together,” said Mrs. Amsel. “He can talk to all of us at once.”
“You think I want to come out into rain and fetch you?” snapped Dridge. “For two days I am cabin boy because of you. Clean this, Dridge. Scrub that. But I do it because captain says do it. Now you, girl, must come with me—alone—because captain says do it!”
Dridge snatched his red cap off his head and wrung the water out of it as he glared up at the rain. “I am soaked to come fetch you. But fine, you want to stay here, I will tell the captain you say no.”
“Wait,” said Max. “I’m coming.” The last thing she wanted to do was make the captain suspicious by refusing to be questioned, and he’d been right before when he’d said this was his ship. While they were out here on the water, his word was the only law.
“You shou
ldn’t go alone,” said Harold.
“We don’t have anything to hide,” said Max. “But look after my backpack while I’m gone, okay?”
Harold gave her a knowing nod. “I won’t let it out of my sight.”
Mrs. Amsel insisted she wear her jacket, and she wrapped one of her scarves around Max’s head. “You will catch your death out there in this weather!”
Dridge stamped his foot. “The captain is waiting!” he barked. They hadn’t invited the soggy sailor inside, and he was getting more and more drenched by the minute.
Max felt silly wearing Mrs. Amsel’s headscarf, but once she stepped outside she was thankful for it. Storm clouds darkened the sky and the rain was soon coming down in sheets. Max could see whitecaps among the waves as the wind picked up. The morning’s calm sea was turning rough. Men gathered around the engine room, and thick black smoke was billowing out of the hatch. The situation looked even worse than Max had imagined.
“Is the ship on fire?” she asked, alarmed.
“Engine, but is under control,” said Dridge. “Come.”
Dridge led her away from the smoke and around to the ship’s starboard side. This close to the railing, Max could feel the sea spray of the crashing waves mixing with the pounding rain. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by a rumble of thunder.
“Can the engine be fixed?” asked Max.
“Yes.”
“How long will it take?”
“Long enough,” he said.
Too late, Max saw the ugly grin on Dridge’s face, and she realized that they were alone at the railing. Everyone else was helping to put out the engine fire.
Before Max could call out, Dridge threw his shoulder into her and she hit the railing. For a moment, she tottered there, off balance, but then he put his hands on her back and shoved, hard. She toppled over the side of the Leviathan, but she didn’t hit water. She landed, stomach first, on something hard, knocking the breath out of her. She managed to roll over, gasping for air, just in time to see Dridge above her, using a rope to rappel down the ship’s hull.
