Thieves of Weirdwood

by Christian McKay Heidicker

“You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you run!” the woman shouted.

  “I’ll take my chances!” Wally said and sprinted back the other way.

  He skidded to a stop halfway between the kid with the calligraphy brush and the others. They had him surrounded. Wally looked around helplessly, trying to puzzle this place out like he had the sprout hallway. Or thought he had, anyway.

  “Vorry not, fräulein,” the baby-faced giant said in a thick accent. “Zat boy is going novhere. Ze exit is currently behind us.”

  The exit was behind the giant? Wally hadn’t seen one. And what did the man mean by currently?

  “Huamei!” the woman called. “Can you flood him to us?”

  Flood me? Wally thought, heart racing even faster.

  He needed to get out of that hallway. Searching for clues, Wally looked at the floor and found that he was standing between a III and a IV set in the marble. He remembered the VI beneath the dragon boy’s feet. If the circular hallway was shaped like a clock face, then maybe the hands on the grandfather clocks pointed toward an exit.

  A sound like ocean waves came rushing from the direction of the boy with the calligraphy brush. Wally had to act fast. All the clocks in the hall read 7:42. Wally was standing closer to the III, roughly at the 3:15 position. Was there a way to get the exit to come to him? He tried opening a clock face to spin the hands, but the glass was sealed shut.

  A cuckoo bird sprang from the opposite side of the hall, missing Wally’s ear by an inch.

  “I told you not to get caught!” it sang with its wooden beak.

  “Breeth!” Wally said. “Thank goodness. Can you change these clock hands?”

  The cuckoo bird turned on its spring and pointed its beak at the clock. “Only if there are wooden parts in the gears.”

  “Well, try!” He double-checked the number at his feet. “Change it to three o’clock!”

  The cuckoo bird hung limp on its spring.

  “Breeth?” Wally said.

  A four-foot wave of foaming water sloshed around the bend, crashing toward him. Wally braced for impact.

  But then the clock hands started to spin. They struck three, the bells chimed, and Wally felt a great rumbling. The clock in front of him clicked, and its pendulum folded back. Wally threw open the door to the main case just as the wave splashed over the spot where he’d been standing. He slammed the door behind him, heard the hands spin and the lock click, and then ran down the dark passage.

  “Ze door is locked!” the giant cried. “Did zat urchin just make ze clocks to change?”

  “Curse it!” Amelia said. “He is a mage.”

  “He von’t get far,” the giant said. “I vill change ze time.”

  The passage was dark. Wally found himself walking down a slim path that was growing slimmer by the second. It continued to narrow until he was forced to turn his feet sideways and shuffle along it, keeping balance.

  “Breeth?” he whispered. “Are you here?”

  The darkness was silent. There was nothing nearby for her to possess. He remembered the theme of this wing—time—and realized that he was balancing on the arm of a giant minute hand. It was the only thing between him and a pit of darkness. He would be fine so long as the minute hand didn’t—

  It started to jiggle back and forth beneath his feet.

  “It von’t allow me to turn it!” the man said behind the locked door. “Somesing is fighting me!”

  “I’m trying to stop him, Wally!” Breeth shouted in the distance. “But it’s like arm wrestling, and I was never good at arm wrestling!”

  “Is it the boy’s magic, Ludwig?” Amelia asked.

  “I do not know,” the giant said. “He should not be able to do zis! Ze gear feels stuck, like it does not vant to turn ze ozer way. If I can just—” The giant grunted with effort. “Zere!”

  BONG!

  The hour hand ticked beneath Wally’s feet. His arms wheeled as he wavered on his arches, trying to keep balance.

  It didn’t work.

  He pitched forward, falling into nothingness.

  * * *

  Wally awoke on a large pillow. He was in a room with cinnamon-brown walls that were decorated with weapons and artistic instruments, like paintbrushes and pencils and typewriter keys. The ceiling was plastered with what looked like maps of other worlds.

  The pillow’s feathers rustled beneath him. “Um, Wally?”

  Breeth. He remembered where he was. The Manor. The impossible corridors. The ticking hallway. The pit …

  He sat up. Three figures stood in a half circle around him. Weston, the slight, hairy man was there. As was the baby-faced giant, Ludwig. Amelia, the woman with the eye patch was absent, but in her place was a pretty, smirking woman with short green hair. She was grinding something with a mortar and pestle.

  “You’re quite the slippery one,” a voice said behind him.

  Wally turned and found an elderly woman, her shoulders wrapped with a caramel-colored boa constrictor. She wore a decomposing wedding dress and sat in an ornate chair made of candle wax. Her hair was wild and weedy, and she resembled one of the many bag ladies in Kingsport—the kind you’d avoid when she asked you for change. But this woman held herself with dignity.

  “I had to contort my Manor so the fall wouldn’t kill you,” the old woman said, a starry glint in her eye. “Its hallways will be healing for months.”

  Wally rubbed his head, remembering his great fall. He was still in one piece.

  “How’d you pick my imp locks?” Weston asked in a gruff voice.

  “And how did you escape ze spiral hallvay?” Ludwig asked.

  “You use magic?” Weston asked. “Huh?”

  The woman with the mortar and pestle only giggled.

  “I…” Wally was at a loss for words.

  That started a flood of questions.

  “Are you a spy for the Order of Eldar?”

  “How did you know to rotate ze clock hands? Unt how did you rotate zose clock hands?”

  “Did you bribe my imps with nectar?”

  “Vhat art did you use?”

  “Wally?” The pillow beneath Wally bristled with Breeth’s voice. “You won’t tell them about me, will you?”

  He gave his head a little shake, and the robed figures took this as a refusal to answer their questions.

  “I don’t think this boy works for the Order,” the old woman said. “He has too much color in his eyes.” She petted her snake. “In fact, I don’t believe he has a magical bone in his body. He used … other methods.”

  Wally clamped his mouth shut as Breeth’s pillow fell flat.

  The door opened, and Amelia entered and bowed. “Sorry to interrupt, Lady Weirdwood. But we need to get back to work. The Wardens are struggling to fight the Order without our assistance.”

  Ludwig’s hands startled as if he remembered something. He took small square pieces of paper out of his cloak and started folding them into little birds. The woman with the mortar and pestle continued to grind, giggling.

  Lady Weirdwood sighed. “Well, we can’t return to the Mercury Mines until we’ve neutralized the threat to Kingsport. What’s our status with the Fae-born?”

  “A sort of contagious porcelain doll has made its way into the city,” Amelia said. “I haven’t been able to track it or the Rift it escaped through yet. I’ve been too busy sending supplies to the Mines.”

  “Contagious doll, eh?” Weston said, scratching his scruff. “Wonder which degenerate dreamt that up.”

  “Could’ve been anyone,” the old woman said. “The Veil grows as thin as webs in cities. Too many hungry people dreaming of a better world.”

  “Vhat do ve do wis ze boy?” Ludwig asked, nodding to Wally.

  “I say we turn him loose in his city,” Amelia said. “It isn’t our place to interfere with their lives.”

  “He broke into the Manor,” Weston said. “Who knows what kind of damage he could’ve done?”

  The giant hugged himself. “Alre
ady did, really.”

  “Hee hee hee.”

  Wally gently nudged his pillow and whispered, “Can you get us out of here?”

  “I’m trying!” Breeth said. “But this room’s made of metal. All I can possess is this pillow’s goose down. Oh! I could tickle them if you want?”

  Wally frowned.

  “We can’t leave the Fae-born loose much longer,” Amelia said. “We don’t want another Daymare on our hands.”

  The giant shuddered. Wally did too. Daymare? Was another catastrophe headed to Kingsport? One that involved monsters from another realm?

  “Perhaps it’s best if we don’t discuss such things in front of our guest,” the old woman said, then smiled at Wally. “My name is Lady Weirdwood. I’m this Manor’s architect.” She gestured to the others. “This is my staff.”

  Only the giant waved.

  “Before I decide what to do with you,” Lady Weirdwood said, “I want to have the pleasure of knowing the name of the boy who bested my Manor’s security.”

  “Um…,” Wally said.

  Before he could respond, the door banged open again, and Weirdwood’s staff spun around. Wally’s heart leapt. Arthur Benton stood in the doorway, pants slung over his shoulder.

  “Oops!” Arthur said. “Heh heh. Wrong turn. Could someone point me to the exit?”

  The robed people only stared, clearly trying to puzzle out how this boy had managed to break into the Manor yet again, let alone find his way to this room. Arthur saw Wally and his eyes widened. But only for a split second.

  “You see,” Arthur said. “I have a pet ferret. Audrey’s her name. She’s the last thing my sweet mother gave me before she died, but she can be a scoundrel. The ferret, that is—not my mother. Audrey has a penchant for slithering into places she isn’t wanted: restaurants, houses, even had to fish her out of a bank vault once. So when she scampered into this fine home of yours, my friend there volunteered to help me catch her. Hey there, Wilberforce.”

  Wally nodded numbly.

  Arthur hefted his pants higher on his shoulder. “The one place I know Audrey feels most secure is bundled up in my very own dirty laundry. I had no choice but to remove my pants to catch my beloved pet.” He gave the robed people a wary look. “But, um, don’t ask to see her. She’s a biter.”

  At the end of Arthur’s speech, everyone sat in silence. Then the pretty woman giggled and Lady Weirdwood started to clap. A couple others followed, but it quickly died away.

  “Now this one,” Lady Weirdwood said, pointing at Arthur. “This one has something. Wordcraft, is it? And he doesn’t even realize he’s casting a spell. Not to mention the fact that the Manor’s enchantments seem to have no effect on him.”

  Arthur beamed. Even in a situation like this, he couldn’t reject a bit of praise.

  “Still,” Lady Weirdwood said, petting her snake, “we can’t have this child compromising our security. Seize him.”

  Amelia drew out a whip, cracked it at Arthur, coiling it around his body, and yanked him into the circle.

  “Unhand me, you slimy villain!” Arthur screamed. “I will not bow to your demon god!”

  Amelia upended his pant bag, dumping coins and the onyx door knocker across the floor, before returning the pants to Arthur.

  Arthur slipped them back on and sat next to Wally. “How you holding up, Cooper?”

  “Oh, y’know,” Wally said. “Just struggling to survive in an evil Manor where I was abandoned.”

  Arthur’s smile twitched.

  The door opened again, and Sekhmet and the boy with the calligraphy brush entered.

  “Ah!” Lady Weirdwood said. “Our multitalented Novitiates. Excellent timing.” She steepled her fingers. “The Manor is spread thin. Our Wardens in the field require so much assistance that we’ve had to enlist the help of our doctor, chef, and groundskeepers.” She gestured to the Manor’s staff members. “Amelia, Pyra, Ludwig, and Weston must remain here to send supplies to the Mines and protect the Manor.” She looked at Sekhmet and the boy with the calligraphy brush. “I need you two to secure the Fae-born in Kingsport and sew up the Rift.”

  Sekhmet stood tall. The boy’s face remained expressionless.

  “Sekhmet,” Lady Weirdwood said, “this is your chance to make up for old mistakes. If you complete this mission, I will advance you to full Wardenship.”

  Sekhmet bowed. “I’ll do my best, Lady.”

  “Huamei,” the lady said to the boy. “I’m hoping you can rise high enough in our ranks to help us mend the Manor’s relations with the Court of Sky. Things have been tense ever since one of my Wardens stole a bone from the grave of your royal ancestor. I also know your relationship with your stepfather has been less than ideal lately.”

  Huamei’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

  “Kingsport is a large, confusing city,” Lady Weirdwood said. “Locating the Fae-born in the Real and the Rift in Mirror Kingsport will be difficult. But I believe in you.”

  Wally gave Arthur a look. Did she just say Mirror Kingsport?

  “I expect you to complete this mission by dawn,” Lady Weirdwood said to Sekhmet and Huamei. “Then we can all return to the Mercury Mines and help our Wardens in need.” She gave the Novitiates a surprised look. “Why are you still here?”

  Huamei turned as Sekhmet bowed again. And with that, they left.

  “Ludwig and Weston,” Lady Weirdwood said to the baby-faced giant and the small hairy man, “I need you to figure out why your defenses didn’t stop two street urchins from breaking into my Manor.”

  The two bowed and left.

  “Pyra, see if you can mix up a concoction that will cure porcelain skin. A nice gazpacho, perhaps?”

  The woman with the mortar and pestle giggled and departed.

  Lady Weirdwood stood from her chair. “Amelia, lock these thieves in the first floor of the Abyssment.” She quirked an eyebrow at Arthur and Wally. “I would send them back to Kingsport, but I wouldn’t want their precious thieving fingers to turn into porcelain and shatter.”

  Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Wally quickly pinched his arm and gave him a look: I can get us out of here. Breeth would be able to possess the doors and help them escape.

  As Amelia led Wally and Arthur out of the room, Lady Weirdwood cleared her throat. “Barring any magical ability, Wilberforce here seems to have found a way to get the wood of the Manor to cooperate. Make sure to lock them in the iron cells.”

  And with those words, all hope of escape was lost.

  7

  BREETH

  Breeth had never creaked so wonderfully in her life—er, death.

  During her time in the Manor—a year? three?—she’d grown used to the stuffy rooms and drafty hallways. But she could also feel herself growing old with it. Her bones were the groaning walls, her hair the shedding shingles, the floorboards her trembling knees. She’d started to forget what it felt like to be that ten-year-old girl in the periwinkle dress catching frogs on her family’s estate.

  But then she’d met Wally. He could see her face in the woodwork. He could respond to her creaks. And for the first time since that masked figure had taken her life, Breeth felt alive—or as alive as a dead girl could feel, anyway.

  Unfortunately, Wally was currently being held in an iron cell, made of nonliving materials Breeth could not possess. She creaked down the wooden railing that ran along the basement steps until the railing ended. Then she peered down the tunnel to the first level of the Manor’s Abyssment. It seemed Wally was locked up with a boy who was quite full of himself.

  “Could be worse,” the boy named Arthur said. “At least they didn’t sacrifice us to their demon god.”

  Wally grunted, trying to force open the bars.

  “Oh, come on,” Arthur said. “You can at least laugh.”

  No response.

  “I find,” Arthur continued, “that remaining lighthearted in intense situations keeps you clearheaded. Panic and anger cloud the mind, leaving you as help
ful as a wolverine in a sewing class. Clear thoughts bring clear solutions.”

  “Oh yeah?” Wally said. “Is keeping a clear head how you got us into this Manor? Is it how you got us both out of that spiral hallway? Oh, wait. I solved the door knocker thing, and you abandoned me.”

  “It was all part of the plan, Cooper,” Arthur said. “You distracted those weird robey people, and I escaped with the treasure, only to triumphantly return and rescue you! Now we just have to find our way out of this cell, score another pant- load of coins, and then we’ll be on our way home to fame and glory!”

  Breeth’s railing groaned in irritation for Wally.

  Arthur stroked his chin. “Maybe if I make a rope out of my shirt and pants, I could create a lasso and toss it around that loose bar on the floor. Then you could use the bar to pick the cell’s lock!”

  Wally huffed. “Removing your pants doesn’t solve every problem, Arthur. Besides, that bar clearly won’t fit in the lock. I need something small and spindly.”

  Arthur’s eyes went wide as he patted his vest and pulled out a Golden Scarab. “Will this work?”

  “Where did you get this?” Wally asked, taking it.

  “I, um, stole it from upstairs,” Arthur said.

  Wally stuck one of the Scarab’s thin legs into the lock and wiggled it up and down. There was a small metallic click, and Wally triumphantly pulled the Scarab out. Then he grimaced. Its leg had snapped off.

  Arthur shook his head. “I knew I should’ve found a better lock pick.”

  Wally suddenly jerked, dropping the Scarab, which pinged across the stone floor.

  “That thing just moved,” he said.

  The boys stared at the golden insect, lying on its back, its five remaining legs sticking into the air. The Scarab twitched again, and their eyes went wide. It started to struggle, spinning in shrieking circles, its metal wings grinding against the stone. Finally, it was able to flip itself over. The Scarab buzzed once and then marched like a mechanical toy toward a crack in the wall where it disappeared and did not come out again.

  “Let’s maybe be careful about what we steal from here,” Wally said.

  Arthur gulped and nodded.