by JA Andrews
Mags came back and set a small oil lamp on the kitchen table past the door. She brought in three torches and placed them into sconces on the wall, filling the room with light. Tomkin thanked her, and she nodded before going back to stand near the door. He gave the boat a little shove. It dipped and clunked into the far wall before bobbing back into place. Gingerly, he stepped into it.
Mags gasped as the little boat sank deeper into the water. It wobbled a bit under his feet, but held.
Tomkin lowered himself onto the seat, causing the boat to rock slightly. Water seeped in through a crack in the left side of the hull. When he leaned over to the right to lift the crack above the waterline, water rushed in from that side as well. Tomkin sat still and tall, but the water pooled deeper and deeper in the boat, seeping in from unseen holes, swirly cold around his feet.
“Get out, get out, get out,” Mags pleaded quietly.
He shook his head. “The water’s shallow. If the boat sinks, I’ll just climb out.”
She clamped her mouth shut, but he could still hear her humming something between a chant and a whimper.
Tomkin leaned forward, trying to figure out where the water was coming from. He pushed on a piece of wood at the bottom of the boat. His finger pushed straight through, like pressing through damp paper.
A gush of water rushed in. Tomkin yanked his hand back and Mags made a squeaking, strangling noise.
Tomkin clambered out of the sinking boat, and cold water swirled and splashed up to his knees before he got his foot on the step and sloshed his way up to Mags.
The boat listed toward them, farther and farther until the rim of it dipped below the waterline, then water swirled in and it sank to the bottom in a breath.
Tomkin’s heart sank with it.
Underwater, the boat wavered in the torchlight.
“Well,” Mags said brightly, “looks like we need to find a different way out!”
Tomkin spun around to face her. “There is no other way out!” He flung his arm at the channel. “This tunnel is the way out. The only way out.”
Mags scowled at him. “You think our way out is up a channel flowing too fast for us to swim? And then through a thick metal grate?” She stepped away from the wall enough to get right in his face. “Have you forgotten that big stick you dropped? Anything in that water will be ripped downstream and fall a hundred feet to be crushed on the rocks below.” She tossed a scornful look at the water. “It was a stupid plan even before you sank the boat.”
Fury rose inside him like a physical burning wave. “You’re right, Mags, every single thing that touches this channel is going to be killed instantly.” He stomped back down the steps into the water.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mags reach for him, her eyes wide and her face draining of color. He waded in to his waist, grabbed at the rope securing the boat, and yanked at the knot, trying to untie it. The rope was rough and sharp hairs kept stabbing into his fingers, but he wanted to fight against it, to make something bend to his will. Even if it was only a stupid rope. With a final tug it untied. He turned and gave the broken, useless boat a shove.
It moved slowly underwater toward the channel, until the current wrenched the front edge into the tunnel and out of sight.
Tomkin turned to find Mags shrunk back against the wall, staring terrified at the empty water.
“Go back to your crumbling tower.” Tomkin splashed his way back to the stairs and up into the kitchen. “You’re not the one scheduled to be killed in a few hours. You can continue in naive bliss until Vorath eats you. And I can search for a way out in peace.”
He stormed over to the edge of the channel again, grabbing the iron ring and leaning over the water to see the grate.
“Stop doing that!” Mags commanded.
Tomkin ignored her. The top of the grate disappeared up into the rocks. If people had ever used that boat to bring supplies into the kitchen, there must be a way to lift the grate. He pulled himself back into the kitchen. On the wall next to the boat room door sat a square cabinet door. Tomkin pulled it open.
Inside was a large, wooden wheel with long, smoothed posts sticking out of it, like the steering wheel of a ship. Iron chain glinted from behind it. Part of the chain snaked up into a hole above the wheel, disappearing into the wall.
It was a winch.
Tomkin put his torch in a sconce next to the door and grabbed one of the spokes. Bracing himself, he pulled on the spoke.
The wheel groaned, the chain clinked, but nothing moved.
He adjusted his grip and tried again.
Nothing happened.
“You might want to move the locking pin.” Mags pointed at a spike of wood set through a hole in the wheel. She reached past him and pulled it out, flourishing the long, thin piece of wood at him.
Tomkin shot a glare at her that he hoped she could feel. “I would have seen it.” He pulled again and this time the wheel turned slowly, the iron chain shifting and snapping taunt.
The wheel felt as though it were mired in a pit of sludge, but it moved. Slowly. Besides the small clinking of the chain, it moved quietly. He grabbed the next spoke and pulled until he had turned the wheel one full turn.
“Go see if it’s moving,” he grunted, reaching for the next spoke.
Mags’ eyes grew wide and she shook her head nervously.
The muscles in his arms were aching with the effort of pulling the wheel. “Just go stick your head around the corner and look!”
She backed away from him, pale and shaking.
“Brave enough to domesticate a dragon, but terrified of a little water.” He glared at her. “Put the locking pin in.”
Mags shoved the pin back in. Gently, Tomkin let up on the wheel. It groaned, but the pin held.
Snatching the torch out of Mags’ hand, Tomkin stomped to the channel. “I’m going to make you turn the wheel next time!” He grabbed the ring and leaned out over the water again.
The lowest bar on the grate was covered in dripping moss. Finally, something was working. He felt a twinge of despair when he saw how much more he needed to lift the grate, but he pushed that thought out of his mind. He pulled himself back into the kitchen and took a moment to think through his situation. There was a way out, if they could find a boat.
Tomkin walked back over to Mags. “C’mon. I need to talk to the brave dragon-charmer girl. I assume she’s hidden inside there somewhere.” He led her back away from the water. When they reached the far end of the kitchen he took her shoulders in his hands and looked into her face.
“I need your help. If you stay this far from the water, can you calm down enough to help me?”
Mags’ eyes flicked over his shoulder toward the channel, then back to his face. She nodded tersely.
“Good.” Tomkin patted her shoulder and walked over to the nearest cabinet, opening it to look inside. “We need to find something that floats.”
There was no sound from Mags behind him. He glanced at her. She was standing with her arms crossed, shaking her head.
“Look, Mags, I don’t want to drown in the channel and be tossed over the waterfall either.” Mags’ eyes widened and a whimper escaped her. That might not have been the best thing to say. “But we either spend a couple minutes on the water pulling ourselves out of this place, or we’re killed by a dragon.”
Mags still said nothing.
“Killed by a dragon!” he shouted.
“Shh!” She glanced at the kitchen door.
Tomkin gritted his teeth, but forced his next words out quietly. “No one intelligent would think this was a hard choice.”
At his tone, her eyebrows shot down into a scowl and she dropped her arms to her side.
He took a deep breath and tried to make the next words come out calm and reassuring. “I will keep you safe on the water, Mags. We just need to get out of here before Vorath kills us.” He looked at her, hoping she’d hear what he was saying. “Or, at least, kills me.”
Mags kept scowling,
but nodded.
“Great.” Tomkin turned away from her. “Let’s see what we can find that floats. A cabinet door?” Tomkin walked over to the biggest cabinet door. He could pull it off, but it wasn’t going to float very well in the surging water of the tunnel.
“Will that huge copper cauldron work?” Mags asked.
Tomkin turned to find Mags looking in the gaping oven. A deep, copper pot, big enough to stew an entire pig in, sat against one wall.
“That’s perfect!” Tomkin slapped her on the shoulder enthusiastically, ignoring the sick expression on her face.
“Won’t it be too heavy to float?”
“Not if it’s wide enough,” Tomkin said, reaching into the oven and pulling it out. The surface of the pot was covered in a green and brown patina. He knocked on it with his fingers and it rang dully. “Elton and I took all the pots from the kitchen one summer and organized pot races with the other kids on the fish pond. We forgot to bring them back inside when we were done.” Tomkin laughed. “The cook thought she’d been robbed and raised such a commotion.” Tomkin glanced at Mags. She was staring at him, pale faced. “Anyway, some pots sank, but some floated quite well. It’s not about the weight, it all depends on the shape. We didn’t float any this large, but it looks good. The base is thick and heavy, which will keep it from tipping. The sides are tall, to keep water from sloshing in, and they’re thin, to keep it from being too heavy. I think it’s going to work great.”
“We can’t both fit,” Mags said.
Tomkin nodded. “We’ll have to go one at a time. See if you can kneel in it.”
Mags glared at him, but threw one leg into the pot, then the other, shimmying down until she knelt on the bottom. The edges of the pot came up to her armpits.
“Excellent!” Tomkin walked around the pot, finding two large handles on the sides. “We’ll tie a rope around this handle and I’ll keep ahold of that. Then you can climb in the pot and pull yourself out of the tunnel along the railing that runs along the wall. When you get past the grate and around the corner, there’s sure to be a place to dock. You can climb out of the pot and just let it go, I’ll draw it back to me with the rope, then I’ll do the same thing and meet you out there.”
Mags just stared at him. “That is the most horrifying plan I’ve ever heard.”
19
Tomkin lifted the pot and carried it to the boat room. “Let’s see if this floats.” Gently, he set it on the water. The pot sank until the base of it sat beneath the waterline, but stayed upright.
“This is a great boat, Mags.” Tomkin pulled it back onto the bottom step. “Let’s find a rope before we do anything. We don’t want to lose this beauty down the channel.”
Mags nodded and went back into the kitchen. He felt a pang of pity for her, being so terrified. But he had to admit it was nice to have a break from her scathing tongue.
They did find a cabinet full of coiled ropes, but they were all in various stages of disintegration. Under a sink, though, Tomkin found a long chain attached to an oddly shaped bucket. Instead of being round, it was a long, thin rectangle, no wider than Tomkin’s outstretched hand.
“What do you think this is for?” Tomkin held the bucket so Mags could see it.
She cocked her head slightly. “It would fit out the arrow-slit window.”
“You’re a genius!” Tomkin took the bucket over to the wall to check. Sure enough, the rectangle just fit through the window. When he turned, Mags looked pleased, the expression softening her face. It took Tomkin a moment to realize it was because of what he’d said.
He paused, realizing how few times he’d said anything kind enough to make her happy. Her small smile made the room feel less threatening, and he found himself smiling back. “You should try to look happy more often,” he said, climbing off the box and nudging her shoulder with his as he passed her. “It does wonders for your face.”
She snorted at him, following him back to the boat room.
The awkward rectangular pot turned out to be perfect. Tomkin was able to thread the chain through the handle of the copper pot all the way to the bucket, which was too large to fit through. He looked around and found a hook on the wall. He yanked and pulled on it with all his might, but it didn’t budge. Satisfied that the hook would hold, he hooked several links of the chain onto it. Tomkin picked up the copper pot and set it in the water at the edge of the stairs.
“Okay, the chain’s well attached here, and I’m going to keep hold of it too,” Tomkin said, turning to Mags. “You’ll get in the…” He glanced at the copper pot, which now listed toward the side with the chain knot. “…boat, and grab hold of that railing on the wall.
“You’re going to pull yourself along that rail out of this room, around the corner into the channel and out past the grate. I’ve seen the rail, it goes all the way out. I’ll stay right here and hold the chain so that if anything happens, I can pull you back in here.”
Mags shrank back a little farther against the wall, tiny and frightened. He set the chain down and went over to her. He set his hand on her shoulder and could feel her quaking.
“It’s going to be alright. Let’s go raise the grate.”
He went to the winch, Mags right on his tail. She pulled out the locking pin and Tomkin strained against the wheel. The first few turns were easier than last time, but then the winch slowed, forcing Tomkin to fight for every inch.
Mags stepped up to the other side of the wheel and began to push. Tomkin gave her a tight smile and the two of them grunted and shoved. The gears of the winch groaned and the iron chain complained over the use, but the noise was quiet enough to be drowned out by the water. At least Tomkin hoped Vorath couldn’t hear. It would be unpleasant to drag themselves outside just to run into the dragon.
Tomkin doggedly kept turning. This is the way out. He pulled the wheel an eighth of a turn. Another eighth. This is the way out. This was another job that Elton would have handled with ease. Probably with panache. Probably without any of this grunting and wheezing. When he thought he couldn’t turn the wheel another hair’s breadth, he paused. “Go see if it’s high enough.”
Mags nodded and gingerly let go of the wheel. She took a few steps and, clinging to the wall, peaked around the corner and up the tunnel. When she turned around her face was lit with that smile again.
“It’s almost all the way up! There’s plenty of room to fit under it.” She pushed the locking pin into place.
Tomkin groaned in relief and released the wheel. The wheel settled back to rest on the pin and the wood crunched. Both of them froze.
The wood shifted slightly, the iron chain groaned up inside the wall, but nothing else happened.
Tomkin sank back against the wall and gave Mags a smile. It felt weak and a little sickly. Heaving himself back up, he led the way back to the boat room.
“Okay, climb in.” He grabbed the sides to stabilize it.
When she didn’t move he glanced up. She was pressed back in the corner again, her face white, her eyes wide, hands pressed to her mouth.
“Mags,” he fought to keep his voice calm, “please come get in the boat.”
She shrank back farther.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over Tomkin. Why was she was still fighting him? Since he had met her, she had fought him every step of the way. Now he had a plan. A good plan. A plan that was going to work, and she was still fighting him. If Elton was here she’d be throwing herself into his arms, begging to be rescued.
Tomkin shoved that thought aside. It didn’t matter what his brother would do or what should happen if this were the kind of adventure story where the hero returned home to be immortalized.
What mattered was that he and Mags needed to leave. And this was the way out, if Mags could just be brave enough to do it.
Tomkin let go of the cold edge of the copper pot and walked up to Mags. He set his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face. Her eyes flicked to him, then returned to the water.
“Mags?�
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Her eyes flicked to him again. He had been shoving aside thoughts of the coming morning this whole time, trying not to think of what awaited him. Now he let the fear of it in through a little crack. “In a few hours the sun will rise, Vorath will take me, kill me, and drop my body at my home, before burning it to the ground.” The crack split open into a gaping hole and Tomkin’s voice wavered. “We need to get out and at least try to warn someone.”
Mags turned her gaze to him and locked on to his face. She was so frightened that Tomkin felt his heart twist in sympathy. “Can we please get out of here?” he asked.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can.”
She shook her head violently.
Tomkin’s patience broke with an almost audible sound. He pulled his hands off her shoulders and clenched them into fists at his sides.
“Lissa of Greentree,” he snapped, his voice sounding surprisingly like his father’s.
Her gaze flashed up to him and her eyes narrowed at his tone.
“You claim,” he continued, “to have left home, changed your name, and decided you were the one who would write the story of your life. Yet when it comes time to act, you’re cowering in the corner like a frightened child.”
Mags pushed herself off the wall, eyes blazing.
“You stood up to Princess Ellona,” he continued. He flung his hand in the direction of the great hall. “You stood up for yourself and made a deal with a dragon! It was a stupid deal. But you did it. That level of bravery is…is inhuman.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the combination of insult and compliment.
“You keep telling me you don’t need to be rescued. But this is the first time you’ve acted like you do.”
Her jaw dropped in indignation. “I do not need the younger son of some lesser duke to rescue me.”
“Really? Because you look too terrified to move. Shall I toss you over my shoulder and carry you from the dragon’s lair?”
