Thieves of Weirdwood

by Christian McKay Heidicker

  Arthur racked his brain of everything he knew about the author. His lonely lifestyle. His adventures. His desire for fame and fortune.

  “You were once an adventure writer,” Arthur said with Garnett’s lips, “leading a swashbuckling life—albeit from the comfort of your writing desk. But then you were forgotten. And now you have an emptiness in you. A need to be loved and celebrated. Believe me when I say that I know this feeling all too well.”

  As Garnett spoke, the daffodil on his hat bloomed. And Arthur knew he wasn’t talking about the Gentleman Thief, but about himself.

  Moore squeezed the Quill so tight his knuckles turned white. “You know what it’s like for your creator to discard you? To cut off the ink that is your lifeline?”

  The Gentleman Thief laid a hand over his heart. “Look who you’re talking to. I’ve been lying bloodless in a sewer for years.”

  A sadness fell on the author. “You were my invention. But now you’re here to skritch me out like nothing more than a clumsy sentence.”

  “Quite the opposite,” Garnett said. “I’m here to write the grand ending to your story.”

  Moore’s hand started to shake. He pressed the tip of the Quill to the page, ready to summon more monsters.

  Garnett laid his hat on the ground. Then he laid his sword and dagger beside it. “If you intend to replace heroism with nightmares in Kingsport”—he opened his palms toward the author—“then I’m afraid you’re going to have to kill me, Mr. Moore.”

  “Arthur, no,” Wally whispered from the doorway. “Your soul will be lost!”

  Garnett gave him a sad smile, eyes sparkling as bright as the sun. “Who is this Arthur you speak of?”

  Wally bit his lip.

  Garnett turned back to Moore. “With the world what it is today, people are forgetting our adventures. Perhaps it’s time you and I made one last grand gesture, saving Kingsport from the monsters and unrealistic expectations we’ve created. Perhaps, Alfred, it’s time you and I retire.”

  Moore’s expression softened. “Is it as simple as that?”

  “It’s as simple as that.” Garnett took another step forward. “You’re afraid to discover what happens when a character retires? So am I. What if we were to find out together?” He held out his hand. “You need only give me that Quill. And I can write a fitting conclusion for the both of us.”

  Moore’s face began to tremble. Arthur continued to smile with Garnett’s lips, even though he could feel his own lips shaking with fear back in the Stormcrow’s basement.

  The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. But then Moore lifted the Quill from the page, leaving nothing but a harmless dot. Arthur used the Gentleman Thief’s fingers to reach out and take the Quill. A cold wind made him blink … and Arthur found himself enveloped in the stale air of the Stormcrow cellar, staring at words on an eviction notice.

  “Arthur!” Harry said, hugging him. “What happened? You went into some sorta trance like—”

  “Shh!” Arthur hissed at his dad.

  He stared at the page, which continued to fill with words.

  Garnett rested his hand on the author’s shoulder and began to write. “Having performed their great work in the city of Kingsport, inspiring one young thief at least to become a better person, Mr. Alfred Moore and his marvelous creation, Garnett Lacroix, the one and only Gentleman Thief, walked arm and arm into the sunset.”

  Arthur blinked tears. The moment Garnett Lacroix touched Moore’s Quill, he had taken over his own destiny.

  The air around the author and his creation began to glow. The light grew so bright, Wally closed his eyes. Even Breeth’s tentacles shrank away. The light grew and grew like an exploding star, enveloping Garnett Lacroix and Alfred Moore …

  And when it faded, the author and his creation were gone.

  Arthur set down Huamei’s Claw Quill. And he collapsed into his father’s arms.

  * * *

  Back in Mirror Greyridge, Wally blinked at the space where Garnett and Moore had just been—now mere sunspots in his vision. A splattering made him peer around the corner just in time to see the tentacle monster melt into a wave of ink. Breeth’s shocked face appeared in the doctor’s desk.

  “I’m sorry, Breeth,” Wally said. “I couldn’t get him to tell me who gave him the Quill.”

  Breeth giggled. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? We just won a sky battle against a freaking monster hospital!”

  Outside, the whoosh of bat wings fell quiet. The objects in the room—the chair, the paper, and Breeth’s desk—started to lift, weightless. Wally lifted with them. Now that Moore was gone, so were his imaginings. The hospital was just a hospital floating in the sky.

  And now it was falling.

  Wally’s pant cuff tore from the dagger as he flew upward, slamming into the ceiling. He covered his face as the objects in the room rushed up and struck the boards around him. Everything hurtled down, down, down.

  “Hang on, Wally!” Breeth’s terrified face swirled to life in the wood Wally was pressed against. “I can save you!”

  Her form leapt around the office, trying to create wings from the floorboards. When that didn’t work, she tried to find something that would cushion Wally’s fall. But there was nothing in sight.

  “I don’t know what to do!” she cried. Then she gasped. “Wally, Moore’s Quill!”

  Wally saw it glowing red in the corner, but the force of gravity had glued him to the ceiling. He was having trouble staying conscious. Fighting with every ounce of his strength, he crawled across the ceiling. He managed to grab the Quill, but he didn’t have anything to write on. The wind made papers whirl through the air.

  But then a single page fluttered to him like a butterfly. “Write on me!” Breeth screamed.

  Wally dabbed the Quill in a glob of spattered ceiling ink and tried to think of a solution. Blood was rushing to his head. Nothing came to him. Why hadn’t Graham prepared him for this escape as well?

  Or had he? Wally remembered the last thing his brother had yelled to him.

  “What goes best with Graham?”

  Wally scribbled the answer.

  24

  TWO THIEVES

  The gurgling had finally ceased, and Breeth was feeling like Breeth again.

  It had taken her a long time to crack into the tentacle monster’s tangled mind. When the manuscript she’d been possessing was swallowed into the creature’s belly, she’d found nothing but nightmares. But by drawing from her experiences with the mouse thing, she had focused on monstery things—roars and slurps and snapping bones—until she was able to control the tentacles, one by one.

  At first it was freeing, having so many appendages. But then she’d discovered that the more parts a creature had, the more pain she felt. And she had feared another horrible death. But when Alfred Moore crossed over, his monster had vanished with him—sloshing back into the ink that created it. It hadn’t felt like a death so much as an untangling. And the tentacle monster’s pains and fury were laid to rest.

  Now that Breeth was back to her old self, she felt a little restrained, only being able to stretch four ghostly limbs through the Manor instead of dozens of tentacles. But she felt good—good enough, in fact, to head into Kingsport with Sekhmet, who had recently returned to the Manor with a bump on her noggin, to help retrieve Arthur.

  The Stormcrow Pub was barely more than rubble, but it didn’t take Breeth long to clear the splintered boards to reach the Rook’s office in the back. The trapdoor that led to the cellar was open. Sekhmet found Arthur sleeping on the floor next to his snoring father.

  “Arthur?” Sekhmet said, gently touching the blood on his head.

  Arthur barely stirred. It seemed he and his father had been knocked unconscious.

  Breeth possessed a loose board and gently sat Arthur upright. She stroked his head with the board—this boy who had saved her from electrocution.

  Arthur snorted awake and then rubbed his head. “Garnett?”
r />   “He’s gone, Arthur,” Sekhmet said. “He and Alfred Moore crossed over to the other side.”

  “Oh,” Arthur said, deflating. “Right.” His eyes went wide. “And Wally? Did he make it out okay?”

  Sekhmet hesitated. “After Moore disappeared, all of his creations returned to their original forms. Greyridge lost its bat wings and fell out of the sky.” She hung her head. “Wally fell with it.”

  Arthur swallowed.

  Sekhmet lifted her face and smiled. “Fortunately, he was able to grab Moore’s Quill and transform the hospital into marshmallow right before it hit the ground. It was a soft landing, if a bit sticky.”

  Arthur grinned. “That kid’s a genius!”

  “You should tell him yourself,” Sekhmet said.

  Wally took that opportunity to descend the stairs into the cellar.

  “Wally!” Arthur said, running to his friend and embracing him. Then he pulled away. “I thought you were dead! Why didn’t you just come down with Sekhmet?”

  Wally smiled. “Consider us even for abandoning me in Weirdwood.”

  Arthur looked like he wanted to strangle his friend, but instead he hugged him again.

  Sekhmet picked up the piece of paper lying on a cask lid. “Where’s Huamei’s Claw Quill?”

  Arthur turned in a circle, patting his pockets and searching the floor. “I don’t know. It was right here.”

  Sekhmet stared up through the trapdoor. “Someone knocked you out and took it.”

  “Who?” Arthur said, rubbing his head.

  Sekhmet sighed. “I’m guessing we’ll find out sooner than later.”

  Harry snorted awake, then squinted and cradled his head. “Did I get knocked out again?”

  Arthur helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you to an inn, Dad.”

  * * *

  The sun rose on two thieves, a swordswoman, and a suspicious shudder in the shop fronts, as the four traveled back to Hazelrigg.

  The people of Kingsport were finally creeping out of their homes to clean the streets and move on with their lives. On the corner, a newsboy hocked copies of the Kingsport Gazette, whose headline read of a tornado that had swept a flock of ravens and a squid from the sea. People were already explaining away the monsters, and the part of the Veil that wove through Kingsport was becoming whole again.

  “How ya feelin’, Arthur?” Wally asked.

  “Mixed,” Arthur said. “I just led my hero through his greatest adventure yet. But Garnett will never pick up a sword again.” His breath fogged in the morning air. “Still, it feels right, I guess. It was time for the Gentleman Thief to take one last bow to Kingsport. By saving it for real this time.”

  Sekhmet threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Garnett Lacroix will not be forgotten. By us at least.”

  Breeth studied the people of Kingsport, who would never realize that two thieves, a Novitiate, a fictional character, and a ghost girl had saved their lives.

  “Poetic justice,” Arthur said with more pep in his step. “I wonder where the Merry Skeletons are now. Are they still causing mischief in the Mirror City? Or did they disappear with their creator, moving on to the afterlife?”

  Sekhmet winced. “They probably vanished like the rest of Moore’s creations.”

  Arthur’s head hung heavy, but then he smiled. “Maybe Gus, Tuck, and Mim are currently in the Punderworld.”

  Sekhmet giggled and pushed him. “Terrible!”

  “Yeah, boooooooooo!” Breeth said. “And I don’t mean a ghostly boo.”

  For the first time, Wally laughed out loud at one of Breeth’s jokes. Unfortunately, Arthur thought he was laughing at his terrible pun.

  “Y’know, Cooper?” Arthur said. “I think I’m done with being a thief. It’s time to pursue a new career.”

  “As an author?” Wally asked.

  “Yeah! How’d you know?”

  “I’ve known since the day I met you. I was just waiting for you to figure it out.”

  Arthur smirked. “The moment of revelation came when I realized it’s much easier to write about a sword fight than it is to actually be in one.”

  Sekhmet snorted. “Why do I feel like I already tried to tell you something similar in the Mirror City?”

  “Arthur only learns stuff when it almost kills him,” Breeth said. “Or if it can get him rich.”

  Wally laughed again, and Arthur looked to the shuddering shop fronts, trying and failing to lock eyes with Breeth. “Is that the ghost girl? Whatshername? Breathe? Breeze? Briefs?”

  “Breeth,” Wally said.

  Arthur smoothed his hair. “Does she think I’m cute?”

  Sekhmet rolled her eyes. “He’s only asking because he can’t get attention from anyone with a pulse.”

  Breeth studied Arthur’s face. “He’s better than a tentacle monster, I guess.”

  Wally laughed again.

  “What?” Arthur said. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing,” Wally said, fighting a smile.

  Now that’s cute, Breeth thought, but kept it to herself.

  * * *

  Back in the Manor, Amelia told them that she’d returned Moore’s red-veined Quill to Huamei’s family. She’d explained to Huamei’s mother that her son had died trying to restore honor to his ancestors. But Amelia could not explain why one of Huamei’s claws was missing. She did not notice the look exchanged between Arthur and Wally.

  “In any respect,” Amelia said, “the war with the dragons has cooled to a simmer for the time being.” She opened a door onto a hallway made of silver. “Now, if you three would follow me…”

  “Four!” Breeth said.

  Amelia led Wally, Arthur, and Sekhmet to the War Room while Breeth creaked into the ceiling. Lady Weirdwood sat in her waxen throne, looking as starry-eyed and alert as ever.

  “You know,” the old woman said. “I only have so many days left in this old skin, and some were robbed from me by that vile Scarab.” She eyed Arthur. “Amelia tells me you were the one who knew that that golden insect originated in the Temple of Kosh, allowing Pyra to mix up my antidote. How did you obtain this information?”

  Arthur breathed deep, steeling himself. “I brought that Scarab into the Manor, ma’am. If I’d known that it would poison you, I would have thrown it into the gutter. As for where I got it … I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “It was my brother,” Wally said. “Graham Cooper. He gave Arthur the Scarab.”

  “I see,” Lady Weirdwood said. “It sounds like your brother might be a problem for my Manor.”

  Wally stared at his feet. “I hate to say it, ma’am, but yes.”

  Lady Weirdwood smiled. “It also seems you’ve been released of your duties to look after him.”

  “Ma’am?” Wally said.

  Lady Weirdwood nodded to Ludwig, who handed her a case of pink crushed velvet.

  “Wilberforce Cooper, I hereby invite you—”

  Wally cleared his throat. “It’s, um, Wally, ma’am. Bit of a miscommunication.”

  Lady Weirdwood raised her eyebrows. “Very well. Wally Cooper, I hereby invite you to join Weirdwood Manor as a Novitiate. You would begin training as a paladin immediately.”

  She opened the case, revealing two golden fists that could slide over Wally’s own. Sekhmet and Arthur beamed behind him. Wally seemed to have slid into shock.

  “Amelia tells me you’re quite good at fisticuffs,” Lady Weirdwood said. “And finding solutions to tricky situations. I would like you to join us as a war planner in training. Perhaps you can help that brother of yours see reason and get him on our side.”

  “I—I,” Wally began, then cleared his throat. “I’m honored, ma’am. Truly. But I didn’t do anything. It was all my friend Breeth.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “She’s a ghost.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lady Weirdwood said. “The Fallen Warden’s victim. I have some news for her too, but in good time. Mr. Cooper, does it matter where our talents come from? You made a friend,
and that friend helped you. Had you not formed this bond, your city might have been lost. Besides, I think you sell your talents short.”

  “She’s right, Wally,” Breeth said. “You came up with the plot to stop the evil author and saved a smelly baby and realized hospitals can be ticklish. Oh! And you’re good at charades! Decent, at least.”

  When Wally still didn’t move to accept the golden fists, Lady Weirdwood closed the case. “Think on it a minute. As for Breeth…” The old woman looked up at the ceiling, and Breeth shifted her position so they were looking right at each other. “We have identified your killer. And Arthur here already brought him to justice. Mr. Benton?”

  “Who, me?” Arthur said. “Right…”

  Arthur looked in the wrong spot and told the ceiling everything that he’d discovered about the Rook, including his fate at the talons of his own Mirror counterpart.

  “My killer is … dead?” Breeth said. “But—but … I didn’t ascend.”

  She would never get to avenge her death. Never see her parents again. The ceiling groaned with her sadness.

  Wally cleared his throat. “Breeth was hoping her killer’s death would let her, um, move on, ma’am.”

  Lady Weirdwood sighed. “That means there is yet unfinished business that Breeth must resolve before she can … move on.” The old woman looked at the ceiling again. “Breeth, I want to help you get to your parents. In the meantime, we would love to have you stay on as our honorary librarian. There are some books we can’t reach in our Bookcropolis. Your possession skills would be ideal for the job.”

  Breeth felt too shattered to answer.

  “She’ll think about it too,” Wally said.

  Lady Weirdwood nodded and stood with a grunt. “Approach, Sekhmet.”

  Sekhmet blushed bright and stepped up to the waxen throne.

  Lady Weirdwood picked up a blue sword and held it up, as if to knight her. “I think it’s about time you end your career as Novitiate.”

  Sekhmet did not kneel. “I cannot accept this promotion, Lady. I missed all the clues about the Fae-born. And to be honest, I still don’t feel settled about my time as Warden.”