Thieves of Weirdwood

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  Arthur’s head lay heavy on the pillow. “Every time I’ve tried to do something heroic, I’ve only ended up hurting people. I should just go join stupid Garnett and rot with him in his stupid sewer.”

  Before Wally could respond, the door to the Healing Room opened. Wally stood as Arthur sat up. Sekhmet entered and walked straight toward them.

  “Go ahead,” Arthur said. “Do what you need to. Beat me up. Lock me in the Abyssment. I deserve it.”

  But when Sekhmet reached the bed, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Arthur looked shocked a moment, then he hugged her back.

  Wally went to the other side of the room to give them some privacy.

  * * *

  Once their tears were spent, Sekhmet pulled away and wiped her eyes. For the first time since they’d met, Arthur waited for her to speak first.

  “It was my first mission as a Warden,” she said. “We were in the Neon Pastures, fighting demon-possessed lambs. I was told to guard my mentor Rose’s back.” She sniffed. “I was new and hungry for the fight. I saw a lamb hissing on the other end of the pasture, and I knew I could take it. My swords were thirsty. So I went after the lamb. I exorcised it. And when I came back, Rose was—”

  Sekhmet’s voice broke. Arthur waited for her to continue.

  “Rose, my mentor, whom I swore to protect … was dead. She didn’t realize her back was undefended … and she died. Because of me.” Sekhmet stared at the ceiling, trying to keep more tears from spilling. “Rose had a son who died when he was very young. At least now they’re reunited … somewhere.”

  Arthur touched his chest. The warmth of Sekhmet’s hug was still there. So much about her made sense now. Her brooding. Her cutting way of speaking. Her insistence on following the rules—locking him up and being as brutal as possible with her enemies.

  Sekhmet sniffed. “When we returned to the Manor, I hid in the darkest corner I could find. But Lady Weirdwood found me, of course. You can’t keep secrets from her in this place. I thought she was going to banish me from the Manor. But she only hugged me. She said I may have been promoted from Novitiate a little too soon, and she told me to return to my duties.”

  Arthur placed his uninjured hand on Sekhmet’s and squeezed. They were so much more similar than he’d realized—both trying to rise in the ranks of a punishing system, constantly tumbling back down because of their imperfections.

  “After that,” Sekhmet said, staring at Arthur’s hand over hers. “I started following every rule of the Manor. But I wanted nothing more than to be a Warden and fight again. I got greedy and let the rules slip. And now, because of my actions, Huamei is dead.”

  It took Arthur a moment to realize what she was saying. “Wait,” he said. “It’s my fault Huamei died. I’m the one who insisted on talking to Moore and then made him realize what that Quill could do!”

  “No.” Sekhmet pulled her hand out from under his. “I abandoned the mission. A mission I shouldn’t have been on in the first place. I left two people who are new to this stuff alone in the Mirror. If I’d brought you with me to find Wally, none of this would have happened. With my swords, Huamei’s magic, and your Wordcraft, we might have restrained Moore together.”

  Arthur grew a different kind of teary. It sounded as if she actually valued his presence.

  Sekhmet sniffed. “I have to remind myself of what Lady Weirdwood told me in that dark corner of the Manor. She told me I didn’t kill Rose. The demon sheep did.” She stared at Arthur. “We didn’t kill Huamei, Arthur. Alfred Moore did.”

  “But—” Arthur began.

  “We did not kill Huamei, Arthur,” Sekhmet said again slowly. “It was Alfred Moore.”

  Arthur closed his mouth and looked away. She didn’t understand.

  “If Moore had killed you instead,” Sekhmet said, “would you want me and Huamei blaming ourselves?”

  It finally sank in then. Arthur shook his head.

  “Besides,” Sekhmet said, wiping her cheek, “Huamei knew he was still fragile from turning into porcelain. But he chose to go into battle anyway. He was stubborn. But he was honorable.” Sekhmet stood from the bed with purpose. “We’ll grieve for our fallen comrade. And when the Wardens return from the Mercury Mines, we will bring Alfred Moore down.”

  Arthur suddenly felt overwhelmed. “But how? Moore has the dragon-bone Quill. And I taught him how to use it. He’s invincible, and we’re just a bunch of—”

  Sekhmet grabbed him by the chin, angling his eyes toward hers. “We need solutions. Not self-pity.” She whisked toward the exit. “Let me know if you come up with anything.”

  And with that, she was gone.

  Something white caught the corner of Arthur’s eye. He looked at Garnett’s hat, hanging on the bed’s poster. The daffodil was in full bloom. Arthur connected all of the moments the flower had wilted or bloomed, and he finally understood what the Gentleman Thief had been trying to tell him in his sewer hideout.

  When Arthur asked Garnett how he managed to be a gentleman and a thief, Garnett had tapped his head, too drained to realize he wasn’t wearing his hat. The daffodil in his brim was a living moral compass. When it bloomed, it meant Arthur was on the path of becoming a Gentleman Thief. When it wilted, it meant his lies had led him astray.

  He just wished he’d realized this before trying to take on Alfred Moore.

  * * *

  After Sekhmet left, Wally wandered back to Arthur’s bed. “Did you hear that? Sekhmet wants our help.”

  Before Arthur could respond, the door opened again, and Amelia entered.

  “I’ve contacted Huamei’s family,” she said quietly. “His mother will arrive shortly to collect his body. Normally, we would bury one of our own in the Manor, but dragon bones are sacred, powerful things, and they must return to the Cloud Kingdom.”

  Arthur gave a miserable sigh, drawing Amelia’s eye to him.

  “I think it would be best if you boys don’t mention how Huamei died,” she said. “I’m worried the duchess of the Tian Empire will hold the Manor responsible for her son’s death. Lady Weirdwood is our diplomat, but she’s still comatose from the Golden Scarab’s venom. If she doesn’t wake soon, I’m afraid Huamei’s death will trigger a war with the dragons.”

  Wally sat in shock. A dragon war? As if things weren’t bad enough.

  “I have something to confess,” Arthur said. “That Scarab came from the Temple of Kosh.” He twirled the bloomed daffodil between his fingers. “And it wasn’t from the Order.”

  Amelia gave him a severe look. “How do you know that?”

  Arthur avoided looking at Wally. “I … can’t tell you.”

  Wally softened. Arthur really did want to keep Graham safe. Even if it got him in trouble.

  “I’ll have Pyra mix up an antidote,” Amelia said. “If it works, then you’ll have some explaining to do.” She grabbed the door handle. “If you want to say goodbye, Huamei’s body is in the Room of Fathers on the second floor. The wallpaper weather is quite pleasant today.” With that, she closed the door.

  Wally felt a tingle of recognition. The Room of Fathers was where Lady Weirdwood had buried the mouse thing. His heart squeezed when he thought of Breeth’s smiling wooden face. Two of the three people he’d connected with since he came to this Manor were gone now. The last was in a coma. And that was his own brother’s fault.

  Arthur’s eyes twitched toward the ceiling. “Just knowing that Huamei’s mom is about to see her son’s dead body…” His face broke and he turned away.

  Wally wanted to yell at him. To ask why he didn’t wait for Sekhmet. Why he always had to dive in and be the hero. But it seemed their fates were set in stone. And there was nothing Wally could say that would make Arthur feel any worse than he already did.

  Wally patted Arthur’s leg. “You were trying to do the right thing.”

  “Do you really think that?” Arthur asked.

  “Yeah,” Wally said. “Yeah I do.”

  * * *
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  After heading to the Room of Fathers and saying goodbye to Huamei, whose body was being closely guarded by Weston and his doorknobs, Wally and Arthur returned to the Healing Room, where Arthur collapsed from exhaustion.

  But sleep eluded Wally. He tried closing his eyes, but his thoughts writhed with tentacles and puppet strings and cracks through scaled skin. So he watched shadows dance on the ceiling instead.

  How were they going to bring down a mad author who could create anything with a scribble of his Quill? He and Arthur could return to Kingsport, leaving Weirdwood’s staff to solve this problem themselves. But if the staff failed, Moore would continue writing his horrors, and there might not be a city left to live in. If that happened, maybe Wally would take Lady Weirdwood up on becoming a Novitiate. Maybe she’d let Arthur join too. No more days as lowly pickpockets.

  A tiny squeak made Wally sit upright.

  Lady Weirdwood’s caramel-colored snake slithered into the Healing Room, making S’s across the checkerboard floor. Its head swayed back and forth, tongue flicking toward the beds to its left, then to its right. Wally pulled his knees in tight. Lady Weirdwood wasn’t awake to feed the snake, and now it seemed to be hunting.

  As the snake wound its way toward the far corner of the Healing Room, its movements grew slow. Its tongue flicked. It had spotted something. Wally squinted at the dark space between two beds. There, at the base of the wall, was a drawing of a mouse. It resembled an ancient hieroglyph that you’d find inside a pyramid … only it had purple stripes—just like the mouse thing Breeth had possessed.

  The snake coiled its body, poising to strike. Then it lunged at the hieroglyphic mouse. To Wally’s surprise, the picture of the mouse bounded to safety at the last moment. It scampered along the baseboard, leaving the snake to shake off the pain of biting into solid wall. Having failed in its hunt, the snake slithered out of the room.

  Wally blinked. He remembered what Lady Weirdwood had told him during the mouse’s funeral—how the Manor was a living thing that would absorb the bodies buried in it. He never thought it would manifest as a picture in the wallpaper.

  Wally leapt out of bed and chased after the mouse. It hopped down a series of dark passageways, leading him to a room as bright and sultry as a desert. The walls were slanted sandstone, converging in a sharp point. Fires crackled in wide bowls, making more hieroglyphics waver. The walls were covered with images of people with the heads of birds and jackals, holding pots and spears and pieces of fruit.

  A coiled image at the top of the pyramid caught his eye. He looked up … up … up …

  “Oh,” he said. “Hi, Huamei.”

  21

  FIGHTING A FICTION

  Wally sprinted back to the Healing Room, nearly slipping on the tile.

  “Arthur! Wake up!”

  Arthur sat bolt upright. “What? What is it? Is Huamei’s mom here to eat me?”

  “No! I know how to stop Moore!”

  “What?” Arthur rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “How?”

  Wally held up the thing he was holding.

  Arthur’s face went pale. “What is that?”

  “It’s … Huamei’s claw.”

  “What?” Arthur grabbed the claw, stuffed it under the pillow, and hissed, “You heard what Amelia said! Huamei’s mom will pick her teeth with our bones!”

  “Calm down, okay?” Wally said. “Huamei gave it to me.”

  Arthur gave him a dumbfounded look. “He…”

  Wally nodded. “I talked to him. In this weird pyramid room. He’s in the walls of the Manor. Or, he was.”

  “Can I see him?” Arthur said. “I need to apologize. I need to tell him that—” His voice faltered.

  “I think I’m the only one who can see him,” Wally said. He remembered Graham telling him about all of the things people couldn’t see just because they didn’t have words for them. “My brother—I think he cast a spell on me. Not the sort of spell you read about in books with a wand and weird chanting. A real spell. With regular words. A spell that opened my eyes to ghosts.”

  Arthur swallowed. “Did Huamei mention me?”

  Wally gave Arthur a sympathetic look. “I think because he died as a dragon, he’s stuck that way and can’t speak human languages. But I’ll bet if he could’ve said something, he—”

  Arthur held up a hand. “Don’t try to make me feel better.”

  Wally reached under the pillow and pulled out the claw. “Huamei’s ghost looked more like a painting than anything. Like something he would make with his brush. I told him that his mom was so upset about losing him that she’s threatening a war with the Wardens. He cried when I told him that. His tears leaked down the walls like paint. I think he died believing she didn’t care about him.”

  Arthur’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s really sad.”

  “Yeah.” Wally sighed. “He led me down a secret passage to the Room of Fathers. That gardener Weston was standing guard over Huamei’s body with an army of doorknobs. Huamei pointed his ghostly whiskers toward his body’s claw. Then he rattled the doors, distracting Weston and his doorknob army, while I snuck in and took the claw. It came off easily because it’s still kind of made of porcelain.”

  Arthur took the claw and rubbed his thumbs across it. “We can turn this into a quill and write anything we want into the Mirror.”

  “We’ll be evenly matched with Alfred Moore. We can save Kingsport.”

  “All because of Huamei’s sacrifice.”

  The two fell silent.

  “What will we write?” Wally asked.

  Arthur breathed deep and thought a moment. “We could write an army of steel soldiers. Or an army of armored lizards.”

  Wally snorted. “An army of steel soldiers riding armored lizards! Moore won’t know what hit him.”

  The boys smiled, but then concern crossed Arthur’s eyebrows. “Moore’s been writing adventure stories for years. He’ll come up with better ideas than we will. He could write a volcano that melted our steel soldiers. It’ll be like sword fighting a fencing master.”

  The boys were considering this problem when the door opened, making both of them jump. Wally quickly hid the dragon claw under the covers as Sekhmet entered the room.

  “You guys look suspicious,” she said.

  Wally and Arthur looked at each other. Arthur nodded.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Wally asked Sekhmet.

  “That depends,” she said.

  Wally showed her the dragon claw. Her mouth fell open.

  “Before you say anything,” Wally said, “I talked to Huamei.”

  He told her the story. When he was finished, Sekhmet took the claw, holding it gently. A confusion of emotions played across her face. She and Huamei had always seemed at odds, but they were still partners.

  “If Huamei’s mom knew we had this…,” she said.

  The three imagined the awful fate that could befall them. What good was having a magical quill if the odds were still hopeless and merely having the thing could get you eaten alive?

  “Should we show this to Amelia?” Wally asked.

  Sekhmet sighed. “No. She would confiscate it and turn it over to the dragons. If you think I’m a stickler for rules…”

  There was a commotion outside the Healing Room. Wally, Arthur, and Sekhmet snuck to the door. Wally had the terrible feeling that Alfred Moore had discovered their plans and was already storming the Manor with a nightmarish assault.

  As they exited the room, they almost bumped into Ludwig, who limped down the hall in his leg cast.

  “Sekhmet!” he said. “Ze tentacle monster is here! At ze entrance!”

  Wally covered his mouth. The monster was going to squeeze Hazelrigg like it had Valerie Lucas’s house, making it and the Manor inside splinter to pieces.

  Ludwig rubbed his head. “Amelia left me in charge vhile she and Veston try to smooze sings over vis ze dragons.”

  “Is the monster trying to break in?” Sekhmet said.

>   He gazed toward the entrance. “Nein. It just … gurgled at me vis zat awful mous and zen it tickled me under ze chin.” Ludwig’s cheeks shook with fear. “It vas horrible!”

  Wally’s eyebrows leapt. He sprinted to the entrance, and the others followed. The tentacle monster’s toothy mouth filled the doorframe. Sekhmet went to draw her swords, but Wally stopped her. “Wait!”

  The monster’s mouth started to shudder and choke, spitting gouts of green saliva onto the carpet. And then it coughed up a pulp of digested paper.

  Sekhmet approached the beast with caution, swords raised. She knelt and slowly picked up a slimy page of Alfred Moore’s manuscript. The ink was illegible, running with saliva. “So much for getting more clues on how to beat Moore.”

  Wally barely heard her. He was too busy hugging one of the monster’s tentacles.

  “Guys?” he said. “I want you to meet Breeth.”

  * * *

  Once Breeth had squeezed her tentacles through the entrance, like an octopus fitting itself through a space no bigger than its beak, they brought her to a cave-like room where they piled wet towels on her slimy body so she wouldn’t dry out. The tentacle monster’s toothy mouth gurgled with contentment.

  “This is your … friend?” Arthur asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Wally said.

  “But it’s also the tentacle monster we fought?”

  “Kind of. It’s hard to explain.”

  “And it’s going to help us fight Alfred Moore?”

  “She. And only if she wants to.”

  “Who is she again?”

  “A ghost I met in the forest wing.”

  Arthur threw up his hands. “Well, that answers all of my questions.”

  Breeth lifted two tentacles and tapped them against another tentacle over and over again.