Three of the ogres lay unconscious, unable to rejoin the fight. The three that remained circled Franklin again before attacking in unison. Franklin fought them back, but without the club, he had trouble keeping them at bay.
“Get him!” the traveler shouted. “Get him—”
The traveler stopped short, his eyes suddenly wide. Charlie followed his gaze, wondering what could have possibly spooked him in the midst of such chaos. He turned and saw it immediately. Behind them, up in the tree line, there was something moving on all fours, and it was moving fast.
“H-h-hold on, wh-wh-what is that?” the traveler stammered.
The figure looked like a wolf, the biggest Charlie had ever seen, bigger than Mrs. Winthrope’s form and much bigger than Ringo. The wolf paused at the top of the hill, let out a long howl, and then sat back on its haunches, which appeared slightly more human than lupine.
“No, no, no.” The traveler struggled against Rohmetall’s grip. “Let me go, please . . .”
In response to the howl, a pack of wolves appeared from the woods behind the creature and ran down the hill toward the scattered ogres. The large wolfish animal rose higher, extending its front limbs to the ground. They were armlike but covered with thick straw-colored hair.
“You don’t understand! We have to get out of here!” the traveler cried.
The beast howled following the wolves down the hill. It was faster than the others, its gait closer to that of an ape than a wolf, and it leapt onto the closest ogre, knocking it to the ground, and then turned to the next. One ogre tried to race back up the hill, but Ringo and the pack of wolves ran it down; the others were soon subdued by the sight of Franklin’s brutal fists and this new beast’s snarling teeth.
The wolflike beast stood again on its crooked hind legs and stepped forward, showing its claws.
“Stop! Stop!” the traveler cried.
Two of the ogres broke away, but the howling wolflike creature followed them into the heavy timber.
“P-p-p-please stop,” the traveler repeated.
Franklin dropped the ogre he was pummeling with a grunt and turned to the traveler.
“I-I-I-I’m sorry. With the hood before, I didn’t recognize you for what you were,” the traveler pleaded.
“And if I were not what I am, you would deem this caper acceptable?” Franklin snarled.
“Ah, no.” The traveler cracked a weak smile. “But if you were not what you are, I do believe I would have found this caper to be more of a . . . heh . . . heh . . . a success—”
“I see that mark on your face, malefactor,” Franklin said, pushing him aside.
“Mark?” The traveler tried to cover the branded X with his hand. “What mark?”
“Not uncommon here. We are all running from something, but your actions make its point. Charlie, fetch the rope from the wagon.”
“Rope?” the traveler cried. “What on earth would you need that for?”
Charlie brought the rope back, and together they bound the traveler and ogres by the wrists, attaching them to one another in a long line. The ogres moaned and groaned, their lumps and bruises already showing. The traveler continued to whine.
“Come now,” Franklin said, pulling on the end of the rope. “You have quite a journey ahead.”
“Journey?” the traveler whimpered.
With Charlie at his side, Franklin led the sorry group up the hill and back to the road. After some persuasion, Franklin extracted the bandit’s name, noting it in his pocket ledger.
“So, Lester Mortlock, with this step your new life begins. Start walking,” Franklin ordered.
Lester pulled at the rope, looking up in disbelief.
“You can’t just send us off like this. Our hands bound? Not here. Not in this place!”
“If you stay on the road, you should meet a party who recognizes you for what you are; hopefully they will bring you to a proper justice. Now, on with you,” Franklin said, clearly restraining himself.
The ogres staggered forward, dragging Lester with them.
“Ya can’t just leave me like this. Show mercy . . .”
“I have shown mercy. If it were not for the boy’s presence, you would have received a much different fate,” the Monster growled.
Charlie and Franklin stood on the hill and watched as Lester Mortlock and the ogres crossed the meadow and disappeared into the high trees.
“A weak mind preying on the weaker-minded,” Franklin spat. “Come now, we must see to the horses.”
— chapter 21 —
A Boy Named Dwight York
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the stream, they found a tall, lanky boy in a floppy, wide-brimmed hat sitting under a tree with Rohmetall. The boy couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Charlie, almost Billy’s age, and he held a long blade of grass in his teeth. Ringo licked the lanky boy’s hand and nipped at his ankles. As they approached, Charlie noticed that the boy did not seem shocked or repulsed by Franklin’s ghoulish features. He simply stood and extended his hand, which Franklin accepted.
“Dwight York,” the older boy said with an accent that reminded Charlie of the British spy films that Old Joe liked to watch.
“Franklin. Franklin Prometheus.”
Charlie smiled at his use of the name, though Franklin seemed to avoid meeting his gaze.
“A fine name. A fine name indeed, and although I recognize your face, it’s not a name I’ve heard in these parts,” Dwight York replied, turning to Charlie. “And you?”
“Charlie Cooper.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
“There is something familiar about you as well, Dwight York,” Franklin said, examining the sutures along his wrist that had opened in the fight. Charlie looked at the boy’s shaggy hair and noted that it was the same straw color as the wolf creature.
“And you too, sir,” Dwight York said to Franklin.
“Well, I have been here a long time.”
“Perhaps that is it . . .”
“Please join us for a meal this evening,” Franklin offered. “A show of our gratitude.”
“From the look of things, I am not sure I was needed.”
“I insist.”
“Well then, if you insist, it would be an honor,” Dwight York accepted. “There’s a pleasant spot ahead.”
After they retrieved the horses upstream, Charlie went with Rohmetall to bring back the cart. When they returned, they found Dwight York and Franklin surveying the campsite, which they had started to lay out against the side of the mountain.
“With the stone to our back, it should be easy enough to defend,” Franklin said, looking up at the great trees.
“Agreed,” Dwight York said, securing his satchel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back with something for the pot.”
Charlie watched as he disappeared behind the rocks and then went about his camp chores with Rohmetall. Franklin took out a large roll of maps, spread them across the back of the cart, and busied himself writing dispatches of their progress to the Prime Minister. After he gathered the firewood, Charlie joined the Monster at the cart. He looked at the map of the previously charted territories, easily spotting the Prime Minister’s castle, and realized that their journey was really just beginning.
“Ah, you can see it on this old map, can’t you? We’ve a ways to go still,” Franklin said. The wooden box that contained the bulk of his surveying equipment was open and holding the charts down in front of them. “Now, if you notice here, we’ve already entered what they call the wilds.”
Charlie could see that the border of the area was clearly outlined.
“So, while not quite off the map yet, we should be prepared to start making some corrections along the way. I expect that you will help me with these cartographer’s duties.”
“Yes, sir. I can help.”
Franklin grunted softly at Charlie’s response, then turned to point at the contents of the wooden box. “That right there is a sextant, here is a compass, and this is what they call a theodolite, and that is the Gunter’s chain, you got it?”
“I think so,” Charlie said, looking back at the path that Dwight York had taken out of the campsite.
“What is it?” Franklin said, following his gaze. “Out with it. It’s obvious there’s something on your mind.”
“Aren’t you suspicious of him?”
“Suspicious?”
“Yes, of another stranger?”
“Who? Dwight York?” Franklin said, shutting the wooden box and securing it beneath the tarp. “He extended us a great kindness. It should be returned, should it not?”
“But it could be a trick. The man on the hill, he started out helping with the wheel. Lester . . .”
“Mortlock. Yes, and this was my mistake. It was foolish for me to think you could lift it on your own, and this led to our ambush. It seems I have grown a bit rusty.”
Charlie thought about their encounter with the ogres, and standing next to Franklin, he felt small and weak.
“Besides, I know this boy Dwight York, somehow. I am not sure from where, but I have seen him before,” Franklin said, shifting his weight and pushing his loose arm back into its socket. “I’m certain he’s the one who has been up in the trees following us these last few days, not those dimwits. With the current lack of security, I’d bet this Lester Mortlock and his companions just lie in wait, preying on poor fools who pass through this meadow. And for what, a few coins?” Franklin scoffed. “More than likely loosened the gravel that damaged our wheel themselves. I am afraid that the Prime Minister and the Council have underestimated the situation. It is worse out here in the wilds than we thought.”
“What do you mean, you know Dwight York but you don’t remember him?”
“So many faces, Charlie. When you have been alive as long as I have, maybe you will understand. Now, I must return to the Prime Minister’s correspondence. See to the fire. Ask Rohmetall for help if you need it.”
As Charlie gathered the kindling, he thought about their conversation and wondered how old Franklin was. If the rumors of the Monster were the inspiration for Mary Shelley’s book, then Franklin would have been alive when it was written. Charlie did the math in his head: Rohmetall said the book came out in 1818. So that would make Franklin, well, almost two hundred years old. Or older, depending on how long he had roamed the hills before Shelley started her tale. It was a lot to take in.
JUST BEFORE SUNSET, DWIGHT YORK RETURNED WITH SOME fat pheasants and a grouse.
“It might be wise to keep our wits about us tonight,” he said, laying out his catch. “Strange goings-on in these woods, my brothers, strange goings-on indeed.”
They prepared the game birds for the fire, and as darkness fell, the aroma filled the camp. Ringo and the wolves that accompanied the lanky straw-haired boy were restless through dinner. They stood with their eyes fixed on Dwight at the edge of the firelight and were only calmed by his attention.
After they ate, Charlie and Rohmetall cleaned the dishes at the stream before joining Franklin and Dwight York by the fire. The wind picked up as they settled in, whipping through the treetops overhead.
“It’s coming off the mountain,” Dwight York said. “It’ll be a cold one tonight.”
Franklin sat on a thick saddle blanket by the fire, examining his loose stitches. He dug into his worn leather bag and pulled out a small box that looked to Charlie like his mother’s sewing kit.
“So, Dwight York, what brings you to these woods?” the Monster asked.
“I tend to roam these hills. It’s far away from the majority of the populace. So besides the wolves, I usually have the run of it to myself.”
Franklin opened the box and removed a long, thick needle and coarse string. With his fat fingers, he had trouble threading the eye but, after several tries, managed to get the string through.
“Stumbled upon that Lester Mortlock fellow and his cohorts a few days back, so when I saw your party traveling in their direction thought I would turn round,” Dwight York added. “It gets to me, their general disrespect of this place. It’s just not supposed to work that way.”
“It irks me as well,” Franklin said, pushing the needle through the thick skin of his neck.
“Can I give you a hand with that?” Dwight York offered.
“While I thank you, no. I have become accustomed to this inconvenience,” Franklin replied, feeling his way along the seam. Though his hands seemed to be a hindrance, he slowly made progress stitching the gaping wound closed.
“And you? What brings your curious caravan this way?” Dwight York asked.
“Business out on the Agrarian Plains,” Franklin answered.
“Ah, you ride toward trouble. I hear that Tok and his marauders’ raids have taken a toll on the Mumiya’s holdings this year.”
“Yes,” Franklin said. “We have heard the same.”
“I was told it is over a land dispute. Some old family business between Tok and this Queen Tuya. They are brother and sister, you know.” Dwight York poked at the fire with a stick. “Well, not your concern just yet.”
“But soon enough.” Franklin turned his attention away from his stitching. “You seem to be well informed for such a young fellow.”
“I do what I can to stay abreast of the situation.” Dwight York threw the stick in the fire. “Read the Times Monthly, of course.”
Franklin paused, studying his face. “What is it about you, boy? I can’t put my finger on it.”
Dwight York looked over at the wolves and Ringo. Then took a moment before answering.
“I am afraid I have not been entirely honest,” he admitted. “About recognizing you earlier . . .”
“Is that so?” Franklin said.
Dwight York removed his hat.
“Yes, sir. I am afraid it is. We have met. Two summers ago, I believe. You were recruiting.”
Franklin’s furrowed brow relaxed. “Aye, now I see, it was at Ranger School.”
“Yes, sir, Ranger School orientation, actually. You spoke to the new inductees.”
“That’s right, along with the Prime Minister. That is it. Well, you’ve certainly grown.”
“As boys do,” Dwight York said, sitting up a little straighter.
“Ranger School?” Charlie interrupted.
“Yes, Ranger School. No proper university in my future. And to think, all I ever wanted was to be a professor like my parents. Literature, the classics . . . these were my interests.”
“It’s coming back to me now,” Franklin said. “Your class showed real promise.”
“Wait, hold on, I don’t understand,” Charlie persisted. “What’s a Ranger?”
“Why, Rangers are the peacekeepers here,” Dwight York said. “Empowered by the Council to ride the high-line, ensuring that the charming inhabitants of Vampyreishtat stay where they are supposed to stay and do what they’re supposed to do, as well as other policing duties.” He raised his hand in a quasi salute. “Entrusted with patrolling this land and all of its many inhabitants!”
“And there’s a school?” Charlie asked, trying to imagine Ms. Hatchet teaching social studies to a classroom of werewolves back home.
“Ah, yes, takes training to contain the world’s horrors,” Dwight York answered.
Franklin leaned forward, closer to the fire. “And why, may I ask, aren’t you at Ranger School now?”
Dwight York sat back a bit, intimidated by the Monster’s sudden proximity. “Well, if you must know, I have taken a . . . uh . . . a leave of absence.”
“A leave of absence, eh?”
“It just wasn’t my cup of tea, really, a bit too on the military end of things for me. Hup, two, three, four, an
d all that.”
“Your cup of tea?”
“I think I might be better suited for the Witches’ School, actually.”
“The Witches’ School,” Franklin muttered.
“Your Rangers haven’t given up, though. Saw one of them just the other day, actually. Tried to recruit me back into the program,” Dwight York said. “But enough about me, right?”
“Oh no, on the contrary,” Franklin said. “I think this conversation has just begun.”
Franklin told Charlie to break out his bedroll, which he did diligently. But instead of sleeping, Charlie lay in the firelight, reading up on werewolves in the encyclopedia and listening to Franklin and Dwight York talk well into the night. Ringo slept with the wolves at the fire’s edge, and when Charlie did sleep, he slept soundly, knowing that tonight, in this company, they would certainly be safe from whatever else might be watching them from the shadows.
— chapter 22 —
Travels with Dwight York
IN THE MORNING, Dwight York tracked Lester Mortlock and the ogres for a while, curious if they had tried to escape their bonds to double back for another ambush.
“Perhaps those big oafs learned their lesson,” Dwight York said when he returned to the camp. “They stayed to the road, as far as I can tell.”
Franklin was going over his maps while Rohmetall and Charlie finished tying down the loads in the cart.
“Might I join you for a spell?” Dwight York inquired. “I was going that way and know the terrain.”
“Please do,” Franklin said, rolling up the maps and eyeing the former recruit. “The current lack of Rangers in this region may warrant another set of hands.”
Dwight York walked next to Charlie’s horse as they rode. He ate clumps of grass, claiming it was good for his digestion, and would disappear with Ringo into the woods from time to time, sometimes leaving them and the trail for hours. He usually returned with information about what lay ahead or options for clean water—though other times he would silently rejoin them, almost as if he had never left. As they traveled along, Charlie explained to him that he was looking for his cousin Billy, who was lost, and Dwight York told Charlie more about why he left the Ranger School.
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