Bonifer appeared at the door and said, “Ah, but in the words of Gumphrey Half-Toe, ‘If it’s all right with your mother, of course.’”
Oskar adjusted his spectacles and looked at Bonifer with dumbfounded delight. “Too true! It was inMorbidity, Fluidity, and Bile! Not my favorite of his works.”
“Agreed!” Bonifer said. “Not nearly as concise, necessary, or timely as—”
“Glavinpoole’s Gander,” they said in unison, then burst into chortles. Oskar’s belly shook, and Bonifer’s top hat nearly toppled off his head.
“It’s fine with me,” Nia said, knowing the two old men weren’t listening, “as long as he finishes his T.H.A.G.S.” Janner groaned, but Nia shushed him. “No complaining. I’ve been lax with all three of you, but now that we’re here and your Hollish education is underway, it’s time we focused on your Annieran studies too.”
The carriage pulled away as the first sunbeams broke the horizon and bridged the land from hilltop to hilltop with gold. The trip to school that morning was very different from the previous day. This time there were children everywhere. Some rode with a parent, as the Wingfeathers did, and others stood in clusters at street corners, where they were picked up by a long community wagon pulled by a six-horse team.
The children on the carriages and wagons chattered and shoved and called to one another and laughed, but they stopped and stared when the Wingfeathers passed. Janner did his best to pretend he didn’t notice the way they snickered and pointed and whispered. He couldn’t wait to get away from all the school traffic.
But when they rolled deeper into Ban Rona, which burst with activity of all kinds, the whispers and stares continued from the adults. Nia ignored them and wove the carriage among other wagons carrying fruits, bread, tools, rope, and barrels to the harbor market. Janner saw shopkeepers hanging Open signs in their windows while dogs bounded from storefront to storefront, carrying rolls of parchment in their mouths or in packs on their backs. There were men with wheelbarrows and women with donkeys, but as the Wingfeathers neared the Keep, they saw more and more guildlings, many of them with dogs of different colors and breeds, and all of them big.
By the time they reached the school, the Wingfeather carriage was one of many in a train that stretched from the gate of Guildling Hall back around the corner of the Keep and down into Ban Rona. The carriages and wagons moved slowly, but they never stopped, even when they drove through the school gate and rounded the statue in the courtyard.
“Have a good day, children,” Nia said. “When you hear the horn blow, you’ll have three minutes to get to the main hall. Don’t be late or Olumphia will waggle her whiskers at you.” She looked each of them in the eye and smiled. “Remember who you are. I love you so.”
Janner waited for her to stop the wagon, but she only slowed it and said, “Out you go.”
With a stomach full of butterflies and a head full of bees, Janner hopped out of the moving carriage. Kalmar sprang to the ground. The boys trotted beside the carriage and helped Leeli down. In seconds, Nia’s carriage washed away in the river of horses and wagon wheels and barking dogs.
Among hundreds of other children in the chaos of the courtyard, the Jewels of Anniera huddled together: a boy with scars, a girl with a crutch, and a little Grey Fang. They were surrounded by students, but the Wingfeathers felt terribly alone.
Before the first horn blew, Janner had his first chance to protect his brother.
25
Taunted by Grigory Bunge
I guess we should get this over with,” Janner said, leading Leeli and Kalmar through the crowd to the door of the main building. Even in the bustle of students he felt conspicuous, and though he made a point of not looking at any of them directly, he knew that they were all staring at him and his siblings. He heard whispers, felt their eyes, noticed the way the crowd parted as they passed.
All they had done was arrive, and already they were a spectacle. Janner told himself that it had to improve over time. They would get used to Kalmar, just as Janner had (though a voice in his mind reminded him that he knew Kal better than anyone and still had moments of doubt). Kalmar and Leeli followed Janner so closely that he worried their feet would get tangled and they would trip, which wouldreally give the other kids something to laugh at.
“That’s a good trick,” someone said.
Janner was staring at the ground as he walked, so he wasn’t sure at first who said it. He wasn’t even sure it had been directed at him.
“I said, that’s a good trick.”
A few feet ahead stood a boy with shaggy red hair. His arms were folded, and Janner couldn’t help but notice that they were big for a boy his age. Big and hairy. The boy’s nose was flat, his forehead was flatter, and his jaw was square. On one side stood several other boys of roughly the same size and ugliness, and on his other sat a huge dog with a narrow black head. When it saw Kalmar, it curled its lips and growled.
“Did you hear me?” the boy said.
“I heard you,” Janner said. He decided to try being friendly. “My name’s Janner. And I don’t know what trick you mean.”
“Getting your dog to walk on two legs. And getting it to wear breeches and a jacket. It’s a good trick.”
Janner couldn’t think of anything to say. He was wrestling with his fear of the boy’s big, hairy arms and big, hairy dog, his anger that the boy had insulted his brother, his worry that a fight in the courtyard with so many kids around would get out of hand, and his frustration that he hadn’t even made it to the building before having to deal with a bully.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to think of anything to say because Kalmar said it for him.
“I’ve got another trick I can show you.” Kalmar growled and stepped in front of Janner. “How about the one where I warn you not to call me a dog ever again?”
“Oh! It can talk too!” said the boy.
Kalmar took a threatening step forward, and the boy’s smile vanished. He made a clicking sound with his mouth, and the dog at his side raised its hackles and readied itself to pounce.
“If you take a step closer, I’ll loose Graw on you. My pap warned me that I might see a Grey Fang at the Guildling Hall today and told me to defend myself from it however I liked.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself against anyone,” Janner said as he stepped in front of Kalmar, trying to ignore the crowd that had circled around them. “We don’t want to fight you or your dog.”
Janner wasn’t as worried about getting beat up as he was about looking like a fool in front of every child in Ban Rona. He wished they could slip to the back of the hall undetected and creep their way into class without anyone noticing they were there. But with every passing moment the dog and its owner looked closer to attacking, and the crowd grew in number.
“Oh, stop it!” Leeli said. She marched past Janner and walked straight up to the dog. She let it smell her hand, then she scratched it behind the ears while she hummed a whistleharp tune. The dog’s snarl vanished. It wagged its tail and rested its head on Leeli’s chest.
“Graw, get him!” the boy said, but the dog ignored him.
“I said stop it!” Leeli snapped, and she whacked the boy in the leg with her crutch. “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t call my brother a dog.”
The boy sputtered and looked from Leeli to his dog to Kalmar.
“What’s this business?” said a welcome voice. Olumphia Groundwich appeared and the crowd dispersed, including the redheaded boy.
“Grigory Bunge! Come back here this instant.”
“Yes, Head Guildmadam?” Bunge said.
“What just happened here?”
“Nothing, guildmadam. Just welcoming the new students.”
“Ah! Good. I wondered who might be the first to volunteer.”
“Volunteer for what, guildmadam?” Grigory asked with a wince.
“To show them around.”
“No!” Janner said. “I mean, nothank you, guildmadam. We’ll
be fine. We don’t want to be any trouble.”
Janner didn’t want to spend another second with the boy. He didn’t want to think about what would happen as soon as Olumphia turned her back. Grigory looked as worried as Janner felt but said nothing.
“Janner, that’s very thoughtful of you,” Olumphia said. “But I think Grigory would like to get to know you. You’re to stay together until second horn, then I want Grigory to escort you to lunch. Is that clear, Mister Bunge?”
“Yes, guildmadam,” muttered Grigory Bunge.
“Is that clear, Wingfeathers?”
“Yes, guildmadam,” they answered.
Olumphia left the Wingfeathers and Grigory Bunge to glare at each other in the now-empty courtyard. Grigory’s dog wagged its tail and panted. Grigory appeared to be weighing the misery of escorting a Grey Fang against whatever punishment he would receive for disobeying the head guildmadam.
Finally, he shrugged and made for the main door. “Come on,” he said, as if it sickened him to talk. “I’ll just have to get you after school.”
With that encouraging thought, Janner began his first day at the Guildling Hall.
Grigory Bunge and his dog led the Wingfeathers to Lectures and Learning. It wasn’t hard to find a place to sit, because as soon as Kalmar approached, the students scrambled away. Some looked mean, like Grigory, and others looked terrified. Janner was annoyed at them all. He wanted to stand on the dais at the front of the class and announce that Kalmar wasn’t going to attack anyone, and he was actually considering it when the horn blew, signaling the start of class.
“Silence!” said a man behind a lectern at the front of the room. “Silence, guildlings!” The man was tall and thin, with a pale, narrow face. His mouth was drawn downward, and he looked out at them through half-lidded eyes.
“Today we shall learn,” he said with a yawn, “about the War of 189. It was terribly—” (he yawned again) “—exciting.”
Janner stifled a yawn, as did a hundred other guildlings.
“Imagine that you’re on the battlefield armed with—yawn—arms. You’re fighting someone, and they’re fighting back. There’s a big fight. That’s what happened in the War of 189. It was, as I said, terribly exciting.” The man looked at his notes. “Very well. Moving on.”
In this manner they learned about the War of 189, the Famine of 235 (“Imagine that you’re very—yawn—hungry”), the Ridgerunner Raid of 274 (“Imagine some things to do with raiding, guildlings”), and the Apple Riot of 312 (“Imagine it,” was all he said before informing them that they’d be tested on it next week).
Kalmar fidgeted. Leeli stared at the ceiling. Janner, since he enjoyed imagining, did his best to listen, but he spent most of the time studying the Hollish children who filled the room.
At last, when even Janner was ready to implode with boredom, a horn blew.
“Right. Well, that’s Guildmaster Nibblesticks,” said Grigory. His voice was dull and he didn’t bother to look at the Wingfeathers, but at least he wasn’t taunting them. “Next up is P.T., when the whole school is on the field.”
“What’s P.T. stand for?” Janner asked.
“Pummelry Training. It’s when everybody’s racing and wrestling and punching. The guildmasters can’t keep an eye on everybody out there, so I might go ahead and beat you up then. Come on. Bring your dog.”
“Hey!” Janner yelled, but Grigory kept walking.
Kalmar growled, and it took Leeli’s sweetest voice to calm him down again.
26
Getting the Boot
As soon as Janner stepped onto the field, he was knocked to the ground.
To be fair, the person who smashed into him didn’t mean to. She was hugging a boot to her chest and running from a riot of other guildlings. She yelled, “Sorry!” over her shoulder and left Janner to scramble out of the way of the stampede.
As Kalmar pulled Janner to his feet and brushed him off, a stocky man and a stocky woman approached, leading two stocky dogs.
“You’ll want to keep a watch out for whoever’s got the boot,” said the stocky man, introducing himself and his wife as the Guildmaster Pwaffe and Guildmadam Pwaffe. They seemed as wide as they were tall, but without an ounce of fat. Their arms were short and thick, their necks were as wide as their heads, and their fingers looked like sausages.
“Oy,” the woman said. “That’s basically all there is to Get the Boot. That’s what we call the game. Get the Boot. Someone has the boot and everyone’s supposed to get the boot. And when you’ve got the boot, everyone else is trying to get the boot. So you have to keep the boot. That guy over there is timing how long each guildling has the boot. Any questions?”
Janner had lots of questions, but before he could ask a single one, Guildmaster Pwaffe said, “Oy, guildlings. Off you go. Get the boot.”
Janner, Kal, and Leeli looked at one another.
“Now?” Kalmar asked.
“That’s what I said.” The man pointed across the field at the herd of children still chasing the girl, who appeared to be having the time of her life.
“But what do we do when we get the boot?” Kalmar asked.
“Keep the boot. It isn’t hard.” Guildmadam Pwaffe shook her head sadly. “Not too smart, these, eh, Wimble?”
“The whole game is right there in the title,” the man said. “‘Get the Boot.’ That’s it. So get the boot. Go!”
Kalmar ran and Janner followed. Leeli, without a word of complaint, flung her hair back and took after them as fast as her crutch would allow.
“Wait!” said Guildmadam Pwaffe. “Not you, lass.”
Janner held back to be sure Leeli was all right.
“I can keep up,” she said with fire in her eyes. “I’m used to it.”
“Leeli’s right,” Janner said. “You wouldn’t believe how fast she is.”
“We’ve received instruction from Head Guildmadam Groundwich,” the guildmaster said, pointing across the field to a track where another group of students were busy harnessing dogs to little wooden chariots. “You’re to drive a houndrick.”
“She said you had a way with dogs. Is that true?” the guildmadam asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Leeli said. “I used to have one. He was as big as a horse.”
“Sure he was,” said the man. “Big as a horse. Did you hear that, Rosie?”
“Oy, I heard it, Wimble. I think this girl’simagination is as big as a horse.”
“No, really! He used to be small but we poured water from the First Well on him and he grew and grew. His name was Nugget.”
“Water from the First Well,” the man said with a glance at his wife. “Lass, the head guildmadam said you three had been through a lot. Sad to see it’s affected your brain.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” the woman said. “You don’t have to lie here in the Hollows.”
“But it’s true!” Leeli folded her arms and glared.
“I’m sure it is,” said the woman, laying a sausagey hand on Leeli’s shoulder. “Now let’s get to the houndricks. Is that all right? Can you understand the words I’m speaking? So sorry your brain is damaged.”
Leeli looked to Janner for help, but he could only shrug as the guildmadam led her away. He turned to find the game of Get the Boot, but the game found him first. The girl with the boot was huffing straight for him, just an arm’s length ahead of the mob.
“Here!” she cried and threw the boot.
Janner caught it without thinking, saw the students thundering straight for him, let out a yelp, and fled. He ran as fast as his twelve-year-old legs could carry him. He leapt over dogs and logs and barrels, skidded around younger guildlings, and didn’t think once of abandoning the boot—not because he wanted to win the game, but because he’d forgotten he had it. All he knew was the thumping of feet on grass, the burning in his lungs, and the shouts of “I’m gonna get you!” and “Give me that boot!”
He saw a gray shape out of the corner of his eye. Kalmar jogged up to him, g
rinning out of one side of his mouth. “You want a break?” he asked.
It took Janner a moment to understand what he meant, then he flung the boot at Kalmar as if it was a hot coal. Kalmar caught it, let out a happy howl, and sped ahead of him. Janner trotted to a stop and bent over, breathing so hard that he thought he might throw up.
Guildmaster Pwaffe appeared beside him. “Get the boot.”
“Can’t—run—anymore,” Janner panted.
“Can’t stop, either,” the man said with a smile. “The game isn’t over. Off with you. Get the boot.”
Janner inhaled all the air his lungs could hold, straightened, and chased the boot. He spotted Leeli at the opposite end of the field, kneeling in one of the houndricks as a team of six dogs tugged it along at a trot. She held her chin high, and her hair swayed with the motion of the rick. Three other teams sped past her, snapping their reins, urging their dog teams faster. Guildmadam Pwaffe shouted at Leeli and gestured wildly, but Leeli showed no interest in winning. She looked like part of a regal parade.
By the time Janner caught up with the crowd chasing the boot, Kalmar was so far ahead of them all that he looked bored, and he stayed out front until Guildmaster Wimble blew a horn. The guildlings caught their breath and guzzled water from canteens. Kalmar and Janner stood apart from the rest, doing their best to ignore all the scowls and mutterings. More than once Janner heard the words “dog” and “mutt” and “Fang.”
“You know the drill, guildlings!” said Guildmaster Pwaffe. “The winner of Get the Boot faces yesterday’s Tackle Smash champion. Master Wingfeather, that means you get to face Grigory Bunge. Circle up!”
The guildlings gathered around a white ring painted on the grass.
“Maybe that wasn’t the best way to introduce yourself,” Janner muttered with an encouraging pat on his brother’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Kalmar sighed. “Why’d you let me do that? Some Throne Warden you are.”
The Monster in the Hollows Page 15
