The Monster in the Hollows

by Andrew Peterson

  She grabbed Janner’s chin and turned his head left and right, saying, “Oy, oy.” Then she squeezed his arms, appraising his muscles. He flexed so she’d be impressed, but she shook her head and said, “Oh, dear, dear.” When she was finished she took a step back and folded her arms. “Your name, young man?”

  “Janner Igiby. Er, Janner Wingfeather.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  “I guess it’s both.”

  “You guess.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I only found out I was a Wingfeather this summer. So I feel like I’m mostly Igiby.”

  She dismissed him with a grunt and moved on to Leeli. “Your name, young lady.”

  “Leeli Igiby Wingfeather.”

  “Very good, very good. And what is this?” The headmistress indicated Leeli’s crutch.

  “My leg doesn’t work quite right.”

  “Fangs, I suppose. Yes?” Olumphia looked at Nia, who nodded.

  “And you,” she said to Kalmar, narrowing her eyes. She leaned close to his face and sniffed. “What areyou? A dog?”

  Janner moved to Kalmar’s side and clenched his fists. He didn’t care if the woman was ten feet tall, she couldn’t call his brother a dog. Leeli hopped a step closer to Kalmar and pointed her chin at the woman. Kalmar stared at Olumphia with an unreadable face. No ear twitched and no muscle flinched. Janner wondered what was going on in his little brother’s mind. What was the guildmadam doing? It seemed there was no end to the meanness of the Hollowsfolk.

  “Olumphia, I’ll not have you speak to my son that way.” Nia’s voice was steady, and Janner heard an edge of anger in it.

  “I’m not a dog,” Kalmar said. “My name is Kalmar. KalmarWingfeather.”

  Olumphia Groundwich held his eyes for a spell, and finally nodded. “I’m sorry, lad. I meant no offense. Nor to you, Nia. I wanted to see how he would react. And I wanted to see how his brother and sister reacted. Well done, children.” She patted Kalmar’s shoulder and didn’t seem to notice the way he squirmed away.

  “Why?” Janner demanded.

  “Because you can expect that the students here will call him worse.”

  “Can’t you do something about it?” Nia asked. “Can’t you discipline them?”

  “I’ll do what I can. I’ll make sure the other guildmasters do as well. But to be honest, they may be a problem too. At least in the beginning.” She turned to Kalmar. “I was treated like I was a beast when I was a girl. Your mother here was one of the few people who were kind to me. I know how you must feel—”

  Kalmar stiffened and started to speak, but she cut him off.

  “I don’t mean I knowexactly how you feel. I know your situation is unique. But I can relate to your fear, your anger, and your frustration. I can even relate to your whiskers.” She winked at him, and Kalmar smiled. “So listen to me closely, Kalmar Wingfeather. You’ll need to be tough. Tougher than you’ve ever been.”

  “He’s already pretty tough,” Leeli said. The dog in the corner had crossed the room and sat beside Leeli with his head against her shoulder. “He usually wins when he wrestles Janner.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Janner said under his breath.

  “I mean a different kind of tough, Leeli. Wrestling is what Idon’t want him to do. He’s going to have to bear up when they throw their words, and you’re going to have to bear up with him. It’s the only way this will work. There will be time to punch in punching class. Outside of that, you must give them no reason to fight you. Understand, Kalmar?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kalmar nodded.

  “Now. Let’s talk about classes. Do any of you know which guild you’d like to start with?”

  The children looked at Nia uncertainly.

  “I was hoping you might show them around,” Nia said. “Let them see what they’re getting into.”

  “Oy. We’ll start in the Guildling Hall. Leeli, you’re welcome to bring Brimstone with you. She seems to like you.”

  They followed Guildmadam Groundwich out of the office and down the long hallway. Nia walked beside her, and they reminisced about their school days. Olumphia’s lanky gait looked especially strange next to Nia’s queenly grace, but it was easy to imagine the two as girls roaming the streets of Ban Rona. They stopped at the end of the hallway before a set of wooden doors.

  “Ready?” Guildmadam Groundwich asked the children, and without waiting for an answer she swung open the doors.

  Janner saw the backs of a hundred heads, all facing a man on a platform at the front of the room. The hall was crowded with children of all shapes, sizes, and ages. They sat on furs spread on the stone floor, just as the adults had sat on the floor of the Keep at the council.

  The man on the platform, who held a green apple in his hand, stopped talking when he saw them. Every head in the room turned, and every eye fell on Janner, Kalmar, and Leeli.

  The silence was thick with fear—Janner and his siblings’ fear, and the fear of a hundred Hollish children.

  It hung in the hall like smoke.

  18

  The Further Fate of Sara Cobbler

  Smoke filled the Fork Factory. It was always smoky there, but one of the pipes on the furnace had ruptured, and the children—the tools, as the Overseer called them—scrambled to repair it while black smoke spewed into the chamber.

  Sara Cobbler covered her face with the front of her shirt and crawled under tables cluttered with shards of metal, past carts laden with coal and stone, around barrels of swords, forks, daggers, and arrowheads, dodging the feet of other children who were either running toward the broken pipe to repair it or away from it as Sara was doing.

  Tears streaked her sooty face. She was trying to reach the bunkroom so she could lie down and rest for the first time in more than a day. Maybe the chaos created by the broken pipe would provide enough distraction that she could slip away unnoticed. If they caught her she’d be punished—probably with even more work and less sleep, and she might be thrown into that horrible coffin again—but she didn’t care. She was so tired that even ten minutes of sleep was worth the risk.

  Through the smoke and the red glow of the furnace she saw the door to the dining hall just a stone’s toss away. She looked left and right to be sure that none of the maintenance managers were watching, then she mustered the last of her energy and sprinted to the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked a flat, gravelly voice.

  She skidded to a halt at the door and hung her head.

  Crack! A whip snapped beside her face, and her ears rang. “Turn around, tool.”

  Sara Cobbler turned and beheld a short man in a black, tattered suit. A bent top hat slumped on his head, and he grinned at her with yellow teeth while he coiled his whip. He wore fingerless gloves. Behind him the smoke roiled and children ran to and fro, fetching tools and lengths of pipe and buckets of water to cool the metal they had to handle.

  “You again,” the Overseer said. “You’re the one who helped that boy escape. What was his name?”

  “Jan—”

  “Wrong! He had no name. And neither do you. You have been abandoned by the Maker—if there is one—and left to me to use for my own ends. Get back to work.”

  Sara sighed and tried to take a step toward the filing station where she’d been working since the night before. But her feet didn’t obey. She had been standing for more hours than she could count and had used the last of her strength to run for the door. She crumpled to the ground and lay there, unable to get back up.

  “Tool!” the Overseer cried, grinding his crooked teeth. His eyes were wild and wheeling with madness. He cracked the whip again, this time so close that it rustled Sara’s hair. The Overseer limped forward and howled at her, cracking the whip again and again, seeming to enjoy the fact that the other children in the factory had stopped whatever they were doing to watch his fury.

  Sara lay in the ashes, staring through the strands of her hair at a furnace grate, imagining it was a fireplace in a quiet cottage lik
e the one she had grown up in. She ignored the Overseer and his cruel whip and floated in the music of memory: her mother singing her to sleep, her father whistling in the barn, and the sad cry of Janner Igiby calling her name while he rode out of the Fork Factory and into the torchlit streets of Dugtown. He had reached for her. Pleaded with her. His hand had been just inches from hers as he begged her to join him. Oh, how she wished she had found the courage to follow.

  Crack! went the whip, and the fire was no longer in a cottage but in the red maw of the furnace grate. Janner was gone and with him all hope for—anything. Sara felt the Overseer’s grip as he dragged her, dimly saw the dull eyes of the children watching her pass, and heard as if from a great distance the Overseer’s voice: “Another day in the coffin for you, tool.”

  Good, she thought. She would finally be able to sleep.

  19

  A Tour of the Guildling Hall

  Head Guildmadam Groundwich!” said the man at the front of the room. “Whom have you brought to visit?”

  “Good morning, Guildmaster Fahoon.” Olumphia smiled, and then as quick as the turn of a page she scowled at the students. They all winced as if she had looked each of them in the eye at the same time. Her whiskers trembled like little snakes about to strike. “I came to introduce you and the guildlings to our three new students. They’re the children of Nia Igiby Wingfeather, who happens to be the queen of Anniera.” She paused. “Isaid, she’s the queen of Anniera!”

  Fahoon jumped and dropped the apple. “Sorry, Guildmadam. It’s unusual for us to have guests of such station. Guildlings! Rise and bow.”

  The children did so, and Nia motioned for them to sit.

  “The eldest son is Janner, the daughter is Leeli, and the one wholookslike a Grey Fang is, in fact, Kalmar Wingfeather, who is, in fact, the High King, since his father fell to the Fangs many years ago. Oy!” Again, Guildmadam Groundwich paused. When the students didn’t move, she lowered her voice to a frightening tone. “Rise. And. Bow.”

  The students scrambled to their feet and bowed again, and Janner could hear whispers among them. Kalmar stared at the floor and flattened his ears. Nia nudged Kalmar, and he said, “Thank you.” His growly voice carried through the hall. “You may, uh, sit.”

  The whispers rose in volume as the children settled on the floor again.

  “Proceed,” said Olumphia after another long glare, and she closed the door.

  The tension vanished when they were cut off from the hall, and Janner’s shoulders slumped with relief.

  “There. That went better than I expected.” Groundwich smiled at the children and led them out the door and down a covered walkway, Brimstone padding happily beside Leeli.

  Vines wrapped around the columns and clung to the roof; grapes dangled like dollops of candy everywhere they turned. Olumphia plucked a few as she passed and told the children they were welcome to snack as well.

  “Leeli, your mother tells me you’re going to like this,” said Olumphia. “Brimstone, as you can see, is already excited about it.”

  The dog barked and bolted ahead of them to the next stone building. The shingle hanging over the door was carved with the silhouette of a dog; Houndry, it read. Brimstone wagged her tail and pawed at the entrance.

  Olumphia pushed open the heavy door, and a chorus of barks, whines, and howls poured out. With the noise came the smell of dog and hay, tinged with the odor of animal waste. Kalmar winced and covered his face, but Leeli’s eyes widened. She looked at Nia in disbelief. Guildmadam Groundwich’s dog bolted through the door, and Leeli hurried after.

  The inside of the chamber was as full of dogs as the Guildling Hall was full of children. But unlike the students, the dogs were glad to see them. They barked happy barks and circled the Wingfeathers, wagging tails and sniffing at boots and whining to be petted. Leeli dropped her crutch and hugged the first dog that approached her. It put a paw as big as a saucer on her shoulder and panted in her face. Another dog nosed his way under her other arm, and she stood supported between them, smiling so wide that her face turned pink. Then the dogs trotted forward and dragged her along. Leeli squealed with delight as they paraded her around the room, pursued by a train of barking dogs, most of which were as tall as Leeli.

  Janner and Kalmar laughed. It was as if the Maker had prepared a place just for their sister. Guildmadam Groundwich and Nia left Leeli to her glory and led the boys across the room to the office door.

  “Hello? Biggin?” Groundwich knocked on the door as she opened it. “Biggin O’Sally?”

  “Biggin’s gone. Just us.” A boy swaggered into the doorway and leaned against it as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He wore a white shirt without sleeves, and his pants were held up with suspenders. He tilted his head a little so the lock of his long black hair that wasn’t slicked back didn’t cover his eyes. A strip of dried meat hung out of his mouth, and he chewed it as he observed the visitors without even a nod of greeting.

  “Who is it?” came another boy’s voice.

  “Head Guildmadam Groundwich and some others. One’s a furry kid.”

  The way he said it didn’t bother Janner for some reason. The boy was stating a fact, not hurling an insult. Kalmar didn’t seem bothered by it either.

  “I wanna see.” Another boy, a little taller but dressed the same, with the same slick hair and unimpressed expression, appeared at the door and looked Kalmar over. “Oy. He’s furry,” he said, then he went back to whatever he had been doing.

  “These are the O’Sally boys,” said Olumphia. “There are two others. Where are they?” She craned her neck to look inside.

  “With Pa. Training. Out back.” The first boy sniffed and swallowed a chunk of meat.

  “You can tell him, then,” said the guildmadam. “He has a new student. I won’t hear any complaint about it. Her name is Leeli Wingfeather, and I wager she’ll know dogspeak better than either of you by the end of the week.”

  “No, she won’t,” said the boy with a hint of a shrug. “Nobody can train better than me and my brothers. Not even Pa, though he won’t admit it. Don’t mean any disrespect, ma’am.”

  “I took none, Thorn. But you’re wrong.”

  “That’s always possible, ma’am.” Thorn took another bite of meat and looked past them at Leeli for the first time. She sat on a bale of hay, scratching a gray horse of a dog behind the ears and singing to it. Behind the gray dog, a dozen more stood patiently in line, as though waiting their turn. “Very possible,” said Thorn with nod of surprise.

  A herd of puppies swarmed into the room on the heels of a skinny man with a beard so long he tucked it into his belt.

  “There’s Pa,” said Thorn with a lift of his chin, though it was obvious who the man was. He swaggered just like his sons, wore the same kind of sleeveless shirt and suspenders, and even slicked back his black hair.

  The man leaned against the door and nodded at the guildmadam. “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Guildmaster O’Sally. I’d like you to meet the high queen of Anniera and her children.”

  O’Sally bowed without question and stayed there until Nia released him.

  “Your Highness,” he said. “It’s my honor. Welcome to the houndry.”

  “My daughter Leeli is to be your new charge,” Nia said. “She’ll work hard and do as she’s told. I don’t want you treating her differently than any other nine-year-old student. If that means she has to take her turn shoveling waste, then so be it. But don’t treat her worse, either.”

  Leeli had recovered her crutch and joined them.

  “Oy.” O’Sally smiled at Leeli. “It’ll be good to have a girl around. I’ll put her in charge of the puppies. I’ve twelve this week that need tending. How does that suit you?”

  Leeli’s mouth hung open. She tried to say something but instead crumpled to the floor. She had fainted with joy.

  When they had woken her and settled her in the puppy wing of the houndry, Olumphia Groundwich continued the tour with Janner and
Kalmar. She showed them the juicery, where the various juices of ermentine, blue grape, apple, and berry were squeezed and mixed and boiled and sweetened and canned. They went from there to the woodwright’s cabin where a guildmaster gave them a quick tour of the tools and projects underway. Students were building things like wagons, mallets, bowls, fences, and skullwhackers. Then they visited the rockwright class, the bookbindery (which Janner especially liked), the boatery, the cookery (which Kalmar especially liked), and the needlery, where one learned to make dresses and quilts (which both boys especiallydisliked).

  “Your father loved to sail, or so I’ve heard,” Olumphia said. “I’d show you the sailery, but it’s held at the waterfront and is reserved for our oldest students. Maybe in a few years. There’s one more thing to show you. Come.”

  Olumphia walked them up a stair that led to the roof of the main building. From there they could see the field between the Keep and the school. The field had been empty that morning when they first arrived, but now it was crowded with children. Some were running laps, while others leapt over barrels. Some had as many as ten dogs harnessed to small wooden chariots and were racing each other down the length of the field. Another group stood in line before an instructor who appeared to be teaching them how to punch, while the opposing line was learning how to block. A whistle blew. The punchers punched, the blockers blocked, and those who got it wrong got a fat lip or a black eye. The guildmasters broke them up and repeated the drill.

  Janner was suddenly unsure that he wanted to go to school. Wrestling Kalmar was one thing; fist-fighting a school full of students who hated them was another.

  “Do we have to do that?” he asked.

  “You don’thave to,” said Guildmadam Groundwich. “But it’s either that or the needlery.”

  Janner sighed.

  “What’s the matter?” Kalmar asked, jabbing Janner in the ribs. “Afraid you’ll have to fight me?”