by Heidi Lang
Lailu shrugged. “If you say so.”
Greg narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Fine. If you can come up with a good plan for taking this guy out, and I mean good, then I’ll be all for it. But if you can’t, then I say we find one a little smaller.”
That felt too much like defeat to Lailu. She’d already failed to get her target once this week during that disastrous griffin hunt. She was not about to fail a second time. She just needed a plan . . . something that wouldn’t get her killed. Or get Greg killed either, she decided reluctantly. She’d need his help carting the hydra back to the carriage.
As she stared at the vines dripping down around them, a plan slowly formed in the back of her mind. “Help me braid and twist these vines into a strong rope,” she said, pulling some of the weeping willow vines toward her.
“Why?”
Lailu grinned. “Because we’re going to lasso the three heads together and trip this hydra in one fell swoop.”
A slow smile spread across Greg’s face. “Now, that’s the kind of plan I’m talking about.”
Lailu lay across a branch of the willow tree, waiting. Her breeches were soaked, her boots each felt like they held a gallon of water, and her clothing clung to her like an extra layer of skin. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the hunt, and it would all be over soon.
The lasso she and Greg had made was tied loosely to the branch beneath her. It should pull tight as a noose around the hydra’s three necks. Once the beast tripped over the second rope strung tight below it, the noose should break free from the branch.
“Are you sure this is completely necessary?” Greg asked. He stood just on the other side of their trip line so he wouldn’t accidentally fall when trying to outrun the hydra.
“Of course it’s necessary,” Lailu said. “The hydra has to hit our loop dead-on, or else it won’t work. That’s why you get to be our bait.”
“What happens if our trap doesn’t work?”
“Run. Real fast. Almost like a hydra’s chasing you.”
“Not funny.” Greg ran a hand nervously through his hair again.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be here to take the hydra out whether our trap works or not, and if I fail, I guess you can call us even for that whole fyrian chicken hunting trip.”
“Really?”
Lailu took a deep breath, remembering the sound of chicken feet scraping the stone behind her, the feeling of intense heat, and suddenly her scar hurt. “I take that back. We’ll never be even for that.”
“I figured as much.” Greg grimaced. “Even though it was just an accident—”
“An ‘accident,’ my butt.”
“So it is true about the scar.” Greg smirked.
Lailu shifted impatiently on her branch, eager to change the subject. “Are you just going to stand there all day?”
“Says you who gets the easier job.” His eyebrows drew together like a pair of anxious caterpillars clinging for safety. “O God of Cookery, protect me from this most foolish of plans.”
“It’s not that foolish,” Lailu grumbled. “Now quit stalling.”
“Easy for you to say.” Greg took a deep breath, then called out, “Here, hydra, hydra! Here, hydra!”
Long seconds passed, and then they both felt it: the vibrating steps of something massive moving quickly. The hydra poked its heads out of the den, the crests on each head quivering in rage.
“Yeah, that’s right, you ugly beast,” Greg said loudly.
Roooaaarrrrr!
The heads reared back, front legs lifting off the ground and slamming down hard enough to shake the earth. And then it charged.
“Now!” Lailu yelled at Greg.
He turned and sprinted through the bog. Lailu swung her lasso, preparing to toss it, when she saw a snag in their plan. A huge snag. A snag of epic and disastrous proportions. And she knew even the God of Cookery might not be able to get them out of this stew.
Because this hydra didn’t have three heads.
No—it had seven.
11
IN THE HEAT OF THE BATTLE
Lailu threw the lasso, slamming three of the heads together. The hydra stumbled forward, hitting the trip line exactly as she’d hoped, but already Lailu could see her plan crumbling to pieces in front of her.
The beast’s massive neck split in two near the base, just like a great redwood tree, the front half separating into the three familiar heads while the back half divided itself into four more, each angrier-looking than the last as they tore easily through Lailu’s homemade lasso.
Lailu spared a quick glance at Greg, who was already doubling back, heading straight toward the hydra. “Butter knives,” she swore. Didn’t he notice the extra heads? Didn’t he see their plan was dissolving faster than sugar in water? Was he trying to get himself killed?
Already the hydra was struggling back to its feet, the lasso nothing but scraps of vine. With a quick prayer to the God of Cookery, Lailu ripped a few more vines free and leaped from the safety of her willow tree. She landed with her knees bent and immediately launched herself into a forward roll, coming up mere feet from the largest head, her knives in her hands.
The hydra snapped at her, those tomato-red eyes glowing with anger. Lailu fended it off with one of her knives, then ducked past it. She knew her only chance was to be small and quick, to dart straight into the center of the tangle of heads and count on the hydra’s own confusion to buy her the precious seconds she’d need.
Another head lunged at her, so close she could feel its hot breath against her skin, but she was already moving past it.
Smack!
Two heads collided above her, and another got itself tangled with its neighbor. The hydra roared in frustration. It lifted its massive front legs and slammed them down, shaking the ground.
Lailu stumbled, caught herself, and moved in closer, so close she could reach out and touch the beast’s chest. All around her, the air was alive with snapping, snarling heads. She could hear someone yelling her name, but she ignored it. She ignored all of it because now she could see the spot where the front of the hydra’s leathery skin came together in a big, ugly seam, and just under that . . .
Lailu lunged, driving her knife down just before another head slammed into her. She managed to twist at the last minute, avoiding the teeth, but the force of the impact threw her back.
She hit the ground hard and tumbled feet over head before sliding to a stop. For a long second she couldn’t move; she could only gasp as spots danced in front of her eyes, her ears filled with the roaring of her own blood. She managed to struggle to her side, the world swimming around her. The hydra stomped closer, closer, and she could see teeth, so many teeth, and all those red eyes. She knew she needed to run, but it was like she was moving through gravy, every movement slow and painful.
The hydra roared, its largest head lunging straight at her, and there was nowhere to run, no way to avoid those razor-sharp teeth.
She was going to die. She was going to die, and she’d never complete her apprenticeship. Slipshod would be stuck running Mystic Cooking without her.
She would never cook again.
Lailu lurched to her feet and staggered back. The teeth snapped inches in front of her face, another ravenous head closing in from the other side.
And then Greg was in front of her, shoving her backward, a knife in each hand as he fended off the heads.
Lailu sucked in as much air as her bruised lungs would take.
“Run away, you idiot!” Greg screamed as he dipped and ducked, staying just one second in front of the heads. His movements were growing sluggish, though, his shirt soaked with sweat. As he twisted too slowly, one of the heads managed to graze his left shoulder, blood blossoming and dripping down his arm. He kept fighting, but Lailu knew it was just a matter of time. Just as she knew he was trying to buy her time to get away.
As if she would run and leave him there.
She looked past him and saw it: her knife stuck up to the hil
t in the hydra’s chest, just next to its heart.
“Lailu!” Greg yelled. “Go!”
The hydra reared back, all heads pulling together in a wave of fury, its front legs lifting off the ground. Lailu recognized that posture from her textbooks: it was preparing to charge.
They’d never be able to outrun a charging hydra, not in the swamp, not at this close distance.
Lailu looked down at the forgotten vines still clutched in her hand. Without stopping to think, she tossed the end of the vine to Greg. “Catch!”
He dropped one of his knives and caught it. “Lailu, what—” he began, but she was already moving, racing around the back of the hydra, fear spurring her to move faster than she’d ever moved in her life.
The hydra stopped, confused by the sudden movement behind it. It lowered its feet to the ground, its heads writhing in and out to follow Lailu, the red flap on top of each head standing straight up in extreme agitation.
Lailu sprinted full circle, racing past Greg, the vine tightening around the legs of the hydra.
Greg finally caught on and raced in the other direction, both of them running and pulling with everything they had.
The hydra shrieked as its legs were yanked together. It wobbled, and Lailu changed course, running flat out at the hydra and charging it shoulder-first.
It wouldn’t have worked, except that Greg caught up to her just in time to launch himself at the hydra with her. Together they managed to knock it off-balance enough to send it crashing to the ground.
Lailu didn’t waste time celebrating, her eyes focused the whole time on her knife. She lunged for that handle, her fingers wrapping around the slippery hilt and yanking it out, then slamming it as hard as she could directly into the heart of the hydra.
The hydra’s roar seemed to go on and on and on . . . and then it was over, the red eyes in all its heads rolling up.
Lailu dropped to her butt, not even caring about the mud squelching up her pants and into her boots. Her body ached everywhere, but she was alive.
Greg slumped down next to her. “You look terrible,” he said.
“Yeah, well . . .” Lailu was too tired to think of a comeback. “You have mud on your face,” she said.
“You do too. Only I can’t see it underneath the layer of blood.”
Lailu halfheartedly wiped a sleeve across her face, but it didn’t really help; her sleeve was just as bloody as the rest of her. Pushing herself to her feet, she carefully stepped around the fallen heads of the hydra, then put her foot on the beast’s chest. Bracing herself, she yanked her knife free.
Lailu studied the blade that had saved her life. It was disgusting; she needed a clean patch of cloth to wipe it down. Her clothes were completely drenched and filthy, but Greg’s sleeve looked clean enough. Reaching forward, Lailu grabbed his arm and pulled it toward her.
Greg’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Lailu pinched the cloth of his white shirt and folded it over her gory knife, scraping it clean.
Now Greg’s eyes narrowed. “You’re cleaning your knife.”
“Yep.”
“On my shirt. You’re cleaning your bloody, disgusting knife on my shirt.”
“You catch on quick. No wonder you were near the top of our class.” Lailu glanced up. “Why did you think I was grabbing your shirt?”
Greg’s face reddened. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he mumbled, adding something about the heat of the battle under his breath, or some such nonsense, but he wouldn’t look at her, and Lailu decided to ignore it. After all, they had much bigger fish to fry—or rather, hydra to cook.
Speaking of large hydra . . . Lailu frowned. “Um, I don’t suppose you’ve thought of how we’re going to get this thing back with us?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” Greg picked up the box he’d been wearing on his back earlier and flourished it. “I did.”
It wasn’t that big, maybe twice as wide and thick as a large book, with weird levers and buttons on the sides, the whole thing gleaming a burnished copper. Greg looked so proud of it, Lailu almost felt bad letting him down.
“That’s . . . that’s really nice, Greg. It’s a nice, er, box. But I’m not sure the hydra will fit in it.”
“You doubt me?”
“All the time.”
Greg laughed. “I set myself up for that one, didn’t I? Well, watch this.” He set the box down in the mud, pulled one of the levers, and stepped back. With a series of clicks and whirls, the metal contraption unfolded, then unfolded again, the sides sliding down until it formed into a sturdy-looking cart. Greg pressed a button on the side, and a handle popped out. Another button revealed wheels folded into the base. Greg adjusted them, then stood back. “Still doubt me?”
Lailu looked at the cart, then back at him. “Definitely,” she said, but she couldn’t help smiling. “Where did you get that?”
“Starling had it delivered last week. I think she’s trying to curry favor after that whole . . . well, the whole Mr. Boss thing.”
“Yeah, I think so too,” Lailu mused. “I still don’t trust her.”
“Oh, me neither, absolutely not—but I have to admit, this thing is pretty amazing.” He tapped his cart.
“It sure is,” Lailu agreed. Maybe some of the noncooking inventions were okay after all.
12
SURPRISES IN THE SWAMP
I take it all back,” Lailu huffed. “This cart . . . is the worst.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Greg panted.
“The worst,” Lailu repeated, slogging another step, then another. It felt like she’d been pushing this hydra for hours. Days, even. She’d be an old woman by the time they reached Greg’s carriage. An old, broken, mud-covered woman.
“It’s better than that donkey cart we used last time for the dragon,” Greg said.
“I disagree.” Lailu shifted her grip on the handle. “That cart came with donkeys. I would kill for a donkey to help us.” She glanced sideways at Greg.
“Don’t say it,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking, and I am not a donkey.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to phrase it quite that way,” Lailu said sweetly.
“I know exactly how—oof! ” Greg lurched to the side, tipping the cart.
Lailu yanked back on the handle, overcompensated, and ended up dumping the full weight of the hydra on herself. She staggered, falling into the muck. “What the spatula are you doing?” she spluttered, pushing at the carcass until she could free herself.
No answer.
“Greg?”
Greg was kneeling in the mud nearby, his eyes wide and white in his dirt-streaked face.
“What is it?” Lailu asked, climbing to her feet.
“I . . . I tripped.”
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head.
“So . . . you’re just kneeling in the mud for fun?” Lailu pushed her wet hair back from her face.
“I thought I tripped over a log.” Greg’s voice was strangely flat. “But it wasn’t a log. It was . . . It was . . .”
Lailu moved closer. She could see something large in the shallow, muddy water, could see how it might look like a log from farther away, but as she got closer—
“O God of Cookery,” she breathed.
Greg looked at her solemnly. “I don’t think Chushi is going to be much help here.”
Lailu couldn’t argue. Because it wasn’t a log at all, but a dead body. And worse, Lailu knew him, had seen him alive just two nights ago.
She watched the water drip off the man’s bald head and felt like crying. True, Carbon hadn’t seemed like the best scientist, and his invention had almost killed her. But still, he didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.
“What happened to him?” Lailu whispered.
“I’m not sure,” Greg said. “I . . . I don’t really want to, uh, inspect him.”
Lailu couldn’t blame Greg for that. And with all the mud, it was impossible to see what had
killed him.
“What should we do?” Greg asked, his voice high-pitched, uncertain.
Lailu blinked, surprised. Even Greg—aristocratic, arrogant, confident Greg—didn’t know what to do. It made her feel somehow stronger. “Well, first we need to get him back to the carriage,” she decided.
“Are you sure we should move him?”
“We can’t just leave him here.” Lailu shuddered at the idea of touching him, but it had to be done. “No, we’ll take him to the carriage, then come back for the hydra. And then . . . then I think we need to take him to Lord Elister’s.”
“Elister the Bloody?” Greg’s face grew even paler. “Are you sure?”
Lailu nodded. “He needs to know first. The scientists are supposed to be under his protection. We’ll drop you and the hydra off first at your restaurant, then I’ll take Carbon myself.”
“That’s not fair. I can come with you.”
“You need to get started on the hydra prep work. You know there’s only a limited amount of time before it’ll go bad.” She narrowed her eyes. “Just make sure you don’t mess anything up.”
“When have I ever messed anything up? On second thought, please don’t answer that,” Greg added quickly.
“Are you sure? Because I can write you a list. It might take all day, but . . .”
“Ouch. Way to stab a guy when he’s down.”
“It’s the only way to make sure he’ll stay down.” Lailu forced a smile.
“I’m going to take that as a hint.” Greg stood and brushed uselessly at his muddy pants. “What will you tell Elister?”
Lailu stared down at Carbon’s face. His eyes were wide, mouth open. He looked like he’d been terrified. But of what? She remembered again that sound she’d heard, the figure moving through the swamp, then pushed that memory away. “Just the facts,” she said aloud. “Just the basic facts.” She would keep it simple.
Unfortunately, she knew that when dealing with Lord Elister, nothing was ever simple.
