“I could have caught you. I just didn’t feel like it.”
“What do I do now? Grigory the Red looks like he wants to eat me alive.”
Grigory Bunge had removed his shirt and was flexing his hairy red arms for everyone to see. Janner thought for a moment. “Well, if you dodge him the whole time, it’ll just make him mad and he’ll get you later. And if you fight and win, it’ll just make him mad and he’ll get you later. I think your only way out of this is to let him eat you alive.”
“Like I said, some Throne Warden you are.”
“Kal, listen.” Janner grew serious. “Don’t use your teeth. Or your claws. You have to forget you have them. You can’t give them any reason to call you a Fang. If you’re going to fight him you have to fight him on his terms. If you can help it, don’t even growl.”
Kalmar nodded.
The guildmaster blew his horn.
“Guildling Wingfeather, there’ll be no punching in the head area, no kicking in the head area, and absolutely no tickling. The first one to leave the ring loses.”
The boys stepped into the circle. Wimble said “Go!” and Grigory charged.
Time after time Kal spun away from Grigory’s lunges, but every time he tried to shove Grigory out of the circle he was grabbed and tackled and thrown closer to the edge of the ring himself. Janner could tell that Grigory was getting tired, while Kalmar looked as if he could keep at it for hours if he chose.
After several minutes, Kalmar looked at Janner with a little shrug, moved in to push Grigory, and let himself be caught. Grigory grunted with triumph, spun Kalmar around, grabbed his tail, and slung him as hard as he could. Kalmar went tumbling out of the circle, and the guildlings cheered.
“Takethat, Fang!” Grigory sneered, and many of the other students sneered with him.
Janner’s stomach lurched. If it was his duty to issue a challenge every time someone called his brother a Fang or a dog or some other awful name, their time at school would be one never-ending fight. Was he supposed to say something? Was he supposed to dive into the ring and pummel Grigory, even if he got beat up or disciplined by the guildmaster? What would Artham have him do?
Fortunately, Guildmaster Pwaffe blew his horn for silence, marched into the ring, and grabbed Grigory Bunge by the nose. “You’ll apologize to the Wingfeather boy or you’ll be disciplined before the class. I’ll have no dishonorable talk under my watch. I don’t care if you fight a Fang or a ridgerunner, a ratbadger or a bloath, you’ll not gloat over your victory. Win quietly or not at all.”
“Snnnnry, Gnnnndmsstr.” Pwaffe released Grigory’s nose. “Sorry, Guildmaster.”
“And to your opponent?”
Grigory could hardly conceal his loathing, but after a moment he said, “Sorry,Kalmar.”
Janner helped his brother to his feet and whispered, “Nicely done, King Kalmar.”
After that, the rest of the students took turns facing each other in the ring. Janner’s opponent was a boy about his size and weight, so the match seemed to last forever. No matter how hard he tried, Janner couldn’t push the boy hard enough to get him outside the ring, and neither could the boy budge Janner. In the end, Janner managed to twist the boy’s arm behind his back long enough to push him, then gave him a good kick in the rump that sent him staggering out of the ring. None of the other guildlings cheered for Janner, but they didn’t jeer either.
When the horn blew for lunch, the guildlings and teachers dropped whatever they were doing and ran like mad for the dining hall. The dogs, which had already been unharnessed, barked and bolted for the houndry. Janner, Kalmar, and Leeli were the only ones left on the field. The boys were dirty and drenched with sweat, even in the cool air. Leeli was beaming.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Kalmar said, wagging his tail.
“It was wonderful,” Leeli said. She twirled her hair and watched the dogs bound away.
“It could have been worse,” Janner said. “And how bad could lunch be?”
Lunch turned out to be much worse than Tackle Smash, and not because of the food.
27
Late for Guildmaster Clout
The moment they walked into the noisy dining hall, it fell quiet. It wasn’t the same as yesterday, when Nia and Head Guildmadam Groundwich escorted them and provided some protection. Now there wasn’t an adult in sight. The teachers chattered together in an adjacent room, oblivious to anything that happened in the dining hall, which was the domain of guildlings and guildlings alone. Janner would rather have faced twenty of their fists in the ring than several hundred of their eyes in the room.
“Come on,” Janner said, making his way toward the food table at the front. The Wingfeathers crossed the hall in silence, and every eye followed. Janner had never wanted so badly to disappear. After an eternity at the back of the line, they reached the long table loaded with a giant bowl of fruit salad.
As they filled their bowls, Janner’s neck tingled under the weight of all those eyes, and when they turned to find a table, no one moved an inch to make room for them. The Jewels of Anniera crossed to the back of the lunchroom and, with no other place to go, sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.
“Just eat,” Janner whispered. “Ignore them.”
He ate a few pieces of the chopped fruit, though he was too nervous to taste it. Leeli scooted around so her back faced the watching eyes and popped a grape into her mouth. Kalmar stared at his bowl of fruit without taking a bite. The students gradually lost interest in the Wingfeathers, and the noise of the dining hall rose to its initial pitch.
“You should eat, Kal,” Janner said.
“I’m not hungry.” Kalmar pushed the bowl away and leaned against the wall. “Not for fruit, anyway.”
“What’s wrong?” Leeli asked.
“Nothing.” Kalmar scratched behind one of his ears, and Janner couldn’t help thinking about how much he really did look like a dog. “I just feel bad that all this is happening. It’s my fault that I look like this.”
Janner didn’t know what to say. Itwas his fault. Running to the Stranders was Kal’s decision. And running to the Stranders was what got him kidnapped by Fangs.
“No it isn’t,” Leeli said. “The Fangs did this to you.”
“I wish that were true.” Kalmar gave her a sad smile. “But it isn’t. This is my fault.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know you’d be kidnapped by Fangs,” Janner said. He ate the last bite of fruit, wiped a drop of cantalime juice from his chin, and asked, “Are you sure you aren’t hungry? I’m starving.”
Kal shook his head and pushed his bowl across the floor to Janner.
“You didn’t know they’d send you into the Phoob dungeons.” Janner crunched into an apple wedge. “The fur is the consequence of a bad decision. That’s it. You didn’t ask for it, so don’t worry about it, all right?”
Kalmar looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
The horn blew, and the guildlings cleared their tables and filed out to their respective guilds. Janner heard wisps of conversations about woodwrightery projects underway, cookery dishes the students planned to perfect, and even one student bragging about the quality of her latest book at the bindery. When he heard the words “book” and “bindery,” he clenched his teeth to keep from complaining.He wanted to make a book. If he couldn’t be at the library reading, he wanted at least to be around books, learning to work the leather and fashion the pages. Instead he was about to get another lesson in pummelry at the Durgan Guild.
As the Wingfeathers pushed their way out of the dining hall, they were elbowed and jostled often enough that Janner was sure it wasn’t accidental. The students were making it clear that the Wingfeathers weren’t welcome.
Janner glanced at Kalmar, the unlikely young king with the whiskers and tail, watching the floor in order to avoid the fear and hatred on every face that looked his way. Janner’s anger faded a little. The students stared at Janner because he was a strange
r, and maybe because of the bright red scars on his neck, but they stared at Kalmar because they thought he was a monster, something evil in their presence. Kalmar’s was the heavier burden, and he bore it in silence.
The problem was, his silence wasn’t just honorable—it was also impenetrable. More and more it seemed that Kalmar was hiding inside himself, which troubled Janner. He wanted to know what his brother was thinking and feeling.
“Leeli!” said a grinning boy whom Janner immediately recognized as Thorn O’Sally. His hair was slicked back, his thumbs were hooked under his suspenders, and he leaned against a post in front of the houndry, trying, Janner could tell, to look nonchalant.
“Hello, Thorn!” Leeli waved and limped over to him. They immediately fell into conversation about dogs and puppies and leashes and houndricks, and Leeli was so excited that she followed him into the houndry barn without a word to her brothers.
Biggin O’Sally, beard once again tucked into his belt, rounded the corner of the building with four puppies on leashes. They pranced along on either side, wagging their tails and sniffing at everything in reach. When one of the puppies pulled ahead, Biggin made a sound with his mouth—part whisper, part click, and part whistle—and the puppy held still and looked up at him.
Biggin bowed his head to the boys. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. Hello, Throne Warden. Your sister inside already?”
“Yes sir,” Kalmar said. “With Thorn.”
“She’s good, you know.” He stared at the houndry door and clicked again. The puppies sat and wagged their tails. “Real good.”
“Good at what, sir?” Janner asked.
“Dogspeak.” Biggin stroked his beard. “She never had any training?”
“No sir,” Kalmar said. “She’s always been good with animals.”
“Real good,” Biggin O’Sally repeated, then turned his attention back to the boys. “What about you two? Either of you speak dog?”
Janner knew Biggin wasn’t being mean. The man hardly seemed to notice that Kalmar looked quite a bit like a dog.
When the boys didn’t answer, Biggin said, “What I mean is, if you wanted these pups to lie down and roll over, how would you get them to do it?”
“I’d say, ‘roll over,’ I guess,” Janner said. Then he tried it, in a high voice like he had heard Leeli use. “Roll over, puppies! Roll over!”
The puppies stopped panting and cocked their heads at Janner, but they didn’t lie down or roll over. In fact, Janner had the feeling they felt sorry for him.
“What about you, Highness?” Biggin asked Kalmar.
Kalmar tried waving his hand in a circle, and when that didn’t work he dropped to all fours and rolled over. The puppies wagged their tails and looked at him like children watching a clown at a carnival.
“I suppose not, then,” said Biggin. “This is dogspeak, boys. Watch and learn.” Without even looking at the dogs he made another series of sounds, and all but one of the puppies dropped to the ground and rolled over. The one who didn’t chased his tail. “Still trainin’ ‘em, but you get the idea. Your sister could get them to do that and more. When she played that whistleharp yesterday, every dog in the houndry stopped what it was doing and would have knitted her a sweater if she’d asked. As I said, she’s good.Real good.”
Biggin O’Sally dropped the four leashes and swaggered into the houndry. When the door opened, whistleharp music drifted out, and the four puppies yipped and padded inside after their trainer.
“She’s good,” Kalmar said.
“Real good,” Janner said, and they laughed. Then a horn blew and Janner realized there wasn’t a student in sight. “We’re late! Come on!”
The boys ran down walkways and dashed around hedges. They burst into the Durgan Guild courtyard and skidded to a stop. Guildmaster Clout stood glowering at the boys with his arms folded. The rest of the guildlings sat on the floor behind him, doing their best to mimic their guildmaster’s look.
“Lateness won’t be tolerated,” he said.
The brothers nodded.
“Laps around the courtyard till I tell you to stop. Commence.” He turned back to his class and began his lesson.
Janner’s ears were hot. It was unfair that they were being punished for lateness when it was another guildmaster who had made them so. If O’Sally hadn’t been talking to them about dogspeak, they would have made it in plenty of time. Janner clenched his jaw, shook his head, and began his laps.
He started out at a steady pace, conscious of Kal just behind him. He could hear his brother’s claws scraping the flagstones with every step. Out of the corner of his eye, Janner watched Guildmaster Clout barking commands, lecturing the students, and demonstrating fighting stances. Now and then he called two students to the center of the circle to spar, stepping in from time to time to correct their technique.
By the seventeenth lap around the courtyard, Janner started to think Clout had forgotten about them. His lungs were on fire, and his pace had flagged to a trot. Kalmar whispered encouragement from behind and eventually moved to the front. He didn’t look tired in the least.
Janner lost count of the laps. His legs felt like jelly. His feet felt like bricks. Kalmar edged farther and farther away until he was a half a lap ahead, running toward Janner on the opposite side of the courtyard. Kalmar gave him an encouraging nod when their eyes met, but it did no good; it only added frustration to Janner’s exhaustion. He willed his legs to wake up. He was the older brother. He may not be able to outrun Kalmar in a sprint, but he had always told himself that endurance was his strong point. Now it was clear that he was outmatched again.
Guildmaster Clout ignored them, but the guildlings stole glances from time to time. When Janner saw them pointing to Kalmar and whispering, and when he heard Kalmar’s footsteps approaching from behind, embarrassment joined the other dark emotions.
The Wingfeather boys never joined the class that day. At one point Guildmaster Clout sent a guildling over with two canteens. The boys guzzled them dry, and then Clout ordered them to continue. They ran until the horn blew, signaling the end of school. By that time Janner could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and even Kalmar looked spent. The other students scattered, and Janner collapsed to the ground, feeling as if he would never walk again. Kalmar sat next to him and handed him another canteen.
Clout approached and studied them for a moment before speaking. “Don’t be late,” he said and strode away.
28
The Legendary Library of Ban Rona
Janner didn’t say a word the whole ride home. Leeli, on the other hand, talked the whole time. She told Nia all about the O’Sally boys, especially Thorn, who had taught her how to harness a dog to a houndrick, how to clean the kennel, how to prepare the dog food, and about the basics of dogspeak. She said Guildmaster O’Sally had spent most of the afternoon watching her interaction with the dogs, asking her questions about the various whistleharp tunes she played, and writing notes in a little book.
“I remembered how the whistleharp calmed the sea dragons, so I thought I’d try it out with the dogs,” Leeli said. “I figured out how to—I don’t know—tell them things with the music. It was easy. Guildmaster O’Sally said I was good,” she finished with a blush.
Janner felt Kalmar looking at him and glanced up to see him mouth the words, “Real good.” A hint of a smile pushed through all Janner’s grouchiness.
When the carriage arrived at Chimney Hill, all Janner wanted was a long, cool drink of water and a nap. His joints protested when he lowered himself to the ground and limped inside after the others. Instead of a drink and a bed, however, he was greeted by Oskar N. Reteep standing just inside the door with a satchel full of books.
“Janner! I’ve cleared it with your mother. To the library we go! Bonifer’s waiting.” Reteep squeezed through the door and mounted the carriage.
Janner looked at Podo, asleep in front of the fire with his feet up, and at Kalmar and Leeli snacking on bread and jam at the table
, then at Oskar waiting with the reins in his hands.
Nia called from the kitchen, “He’s been looking forward to showing you his work on the First Book all day.”
Janner heaved a sigh and grimaced his way back onto the carriage.
“My lad, you’re going to love the library! In the words of Omrimund, King of Something, ‘Get ready. It’s better than you think.’”
They wound down the hill, over the creek, and back to Ban Rona, turning away from the Keep and heading west, toward the harbor.
Without Kalmar on the carriage for all to see, Janner felt refreshingly anonymous as they made their way through town. For the first time, he was able to watch the Hollowsfolk go about their business as usual. When they weren’t scowling or cowering from a Grey Fang, they seemed pleasant enough—cheery, even. They greeted each other from front stoops, played with their dogs, chatted on street corners, and strolled the sidewalks in song. Janner’s spirits lifted. Oskar even stopped at a snack stand and bought Janner a jellymuffin and a cup of ermentine juice, which gave him a burst of energy and allowed him to forget his tired bones for a while.
Ban Rona was much more enjoyable when Kalmar wasn’t around, he thought, and as soon as he thought it he felt guilty. It wasn’t Kalmar’s fault, he told himself. But it was true.
“Here we are!” Oskar said as he reined in the horses in front of a majestic building with fat trees shading the entrance. The building was of reddish stone, streaked with age, and beautiful. It was several stories high, and each level had a balcony where people sat in the shade with pipes and mugs of cider, reading books among the leaves.
Since Janner was a boy, and boys always think of climbing things, he noticed how easy it would be to step off the balcony and climb along the thick limbs—then he spotted several people doing just that. They strolled along the branches of the trees, deep into the overstory where platforms were attached to the limbs. Comfortable chairs perched on the platforms, and feet dangled over the edge where people reclined, lost in stories or studies. The more Janner looked, the more people he saw in the trees.
The Monster in the Hollows Page 16
