The Monster in the Hollows

by Andrew Peterson

  Just before she and the sleepy boy pushed through the doors to the food hall, she risked a glance over her shoulder. The door swung shut on the sight of the Maintenance Manager standing in the middle of the aisle, chain in hand, staring right at her.

  It was all she could do to stifle a scream. There were no Maintenance Managers in the dining hall, and no Mobrik, so she sprinted for the doors to the factory floor. If the boy raised an alarm there wouldn’t be time for Borley to do what had to be done, but she had to try.

  Just as she reached the factory door she felt a hard grip on her elbow. She spun around and came face to face with the Maintenance Manager. He was out of breath from chasing her down and his lips were curled back to reveal his missing tooth.

  “I knew it!” he breathed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sara cried.

  “What are you up to?”

  The dagger slipped from her sleeve and clanged to the floor.

  43

  Muzzled and Bound

  Janner saw a blur of bows and swords and spears, all of them aimed at Kalmar, all in the hands of bloodthirsty Hollowsfolk. Some of the men wore the black uniforms of the Durgan Patrol, and others were farmers who had lost livestock. Kalmar bared his teeth and spun in every direction, his tail whipping a circle in the snow.

  In seconds, their hands would be on Kalmar, and if he fought they would happily put their weapons to use.

  “Please, Kal, don’t fight,” Janner said, and he dove on top of his brother. He didn’t think the Hollowsfolk would hurt a regular boy, and he hoped Kalmar wouldn’t hurt him either—but even if he did, Janner had survived Kal’s teeth and claws before; he could live with more scars if it saved his brother’s life.

  The little Grey Fang twisted in Janner’s arms. The hands of the mob fell upon the boys and tried to pull them apart. Kalmar fought to get loose and defend himself while Janner struggled to hold him tight and protect him, even though in a way it wasn’t just Kalmar he was trying to protect—the Hollish mob was in danger of Kalmar’s claws and the cloven that might try to help him.

  One of the men shoved a muzzle over his snout and cinched it tight. When Kalmar’s arms and legs were bound, Janner heard the sound of swords and daggers snapping back into sheaths and saw disappointment on several faces, and he knew that he had just saved his brother’s life.

  Kalmar lay in the snow, huffing and twisting against his bonds. Someone jerked Janner to his feet and tied his arms behind his back. Janner scanned the mob for Danniby, or Guildmaster Clout, or even Rudric, but of course Rudric was gone. He had set out for the Outer Vales and had taken his best men with him. There would be no help among the scowling crowd.

  “So this is where the Grey Fang’s made his den, is it?” said a voice Janner recognized. Nibbick Bunge, Grigory’s father, stepped forward and threw his cape over his shoulder. Janner hadn’t realized that Grigory’s father was a Durgan Patrolman. “Grigory! Duck in there and tell us what you see.”

  With a cruel smile at Janner, Grigory crawled into the cave.

  “No!” Janner said. “Don’t go in th—” Someone punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  “Quiet, you!” snapped Grigory’s father. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re as guilty as that mongrel brother of yours.”

  Janner didn’t like Grigory Bunge, but that didn’t mean he wanted the boy to be killed by the cloven. He tried to regain his breath so he could warn him, but before he could muster a word, Grigory wriggled out of the cave, gagging and waving a hand in front of his face.

  “It reeks in there!” he said, sputtering.

  “What did you see, boy?” asked Nibbick Bunge.

  “Bones, Pa. Bones everywhere.”

  “You was right, Nibbick,” said one of the other Durgans. “It was the dog boy all along. And Rudric wouldn’t believe you.”

  “Oy, Sackby,” said Nibbick Bunge. “And it’s a shame the fool isn’t here to see me proven right. Take him—it—to the Keep. Send word to the chiefs. Time to muster the council.”

  Janner wanted to tell them everything, but one look at his brother stayed his tongue. The little wolf’s eyes pleaded with Janner not to say anything. And even if Janner had wanted to, he lost his chance when Nibbick Bunge pulled a strap of leather out of his pocket and gagged him.

  The biggest of the men heaved Kalmar over his shoulder, and they shoved Janner back up the hill, past the old barn and Freva’s cottage, and straight to Chimney Hill. When they arrived, one of the men timidly approached the front door.

  “Go on, then,” barked Bunge. “We don’t have all day!”

  Sackby banged on the front door and waited. The sun had broken over the horizon, and Janner knew Nia would be awake and making breakfast with Freva. He couldn’t imagine what she would do or say when she answered the door. She thought her sons were asleep in their beds. She had probably woken happy, with wedding plans on her mind.

  The door swung open and there stood Podo Helmer, squinting in the sunlight with a biscuit in one hand. He shaded his eyes and said, “Mornin’ to ye, Sackby. What brings you out this early?”

  “We’re, er, here for—for Her Highness.” Sackby cleared his throat. “Queen Nia Wingfeather is under arrest.Turalay, Podo. I’m sorry.”

  Podo looked past Sackby at the mob, then at his grandsons. His eyebrows shot up and he roared, “WHAT DO YE THINK YOU’RE DOIN’ WITH ME LADS? IF YOU THWAP-GROUNCING SISSIES DON’T UNTIE THEM I’LL POUND YE DEAD!”

  Sackby scampered back to the protection of the mob while Podo limped out into the snow, swinging his legbone.

  Nia appeared at the door.

  “Get her!” said Nibbick Bunge. Two men stepped out of the mob and seized her.

  Nia looked at Janner with confusion as they bound her wrists and led her down the steps. “Papa, drop that bone! There’s been some misunderstanding.” Podo gave one last swipe with the legbone and trembled with rage as Nia descended the front steps and looked over the gathered crowd. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “Nibbick Bunge, at your service.” The man gave a mocking bow. “I think you know my son, Grigory. One of your boy’s victims, remember?”

  “You’re a fool, Nibbick. As soon as Rudric returns, this will be set right. You know that.” Then she saw the smear of dried blood on Janner’s forehead and Kalmar beside him, muzzled and whining, and doubt washed over her face.

  “It’s me who’s setting things right,” said Nibbick Bunge. “We caught the Grey Fang in the act. Tracked him all the way to his den of bones. Seems he prefers raw goat to your cooking.”

  He laughed, and Podo leapt forward and shoved him so hard that he landed on his back in the snow. The mob fell on Podo and bound him too.

  “For our protection,” Nibbick said, brushing himself off as Podo’s ropes were tightened. Then he turned to the crowd. “Take them to the Keep!”

  Leeli appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on? Mama! Grandpa!” Her dog Baxter stood at her side.

  “It’s going to be all right, dear,” Nia told her. “Where’s Freva?”

  “Making breakfast. Bonnie’s still sleeping.”

  “Go wake Oskar. Tell him what’s happened. We’ll be at the Keep.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Leeli said.

  “No,” Nia said. “Stay here and wake Oskar.”

  “But you’re going to need me,” Leeli said in a matter-of-fact tone as she put on her boots.

  Bunge shrugged. “Bring the limper. Might as well.”

  Leeli took Baxter’s face in her hands. She whispered something to him in dogspeak, then grabbed her crutch and joined her family. Baxter didn’t follow. He barked once, then bounded around the corner of the house.

  As Bunge and his mob marched the Wingfeathers down the hill, Janner saw the tracks he and Kal had made the night before. The things he had seen and the secrets he had learned in the last few hours made him feel old and ill of heart. He wished he had never woken in th
e night. He wished he hadn’t climbed out the window and followed Kalmar to the hencoop. But if he hadn’t, there was a good chance that his brother would have been killed already, slaughtered like a hunted beast. Janner wouldn’t have been there to protect him from Nibbick Bunge and the bloodthirsty gang; no one would have stopped them from putting a quick end to the monster in their midst.

  It was still early, so few people were on the streets of Ban Rona to see the procession. But those few stopped and stared, then ran to spread the word that the Grey Fang had been muzzled and bound.

  When the Wingfeathers got to the Keep, they passed into the great hall where the ancient tree loomed, bare of leaves or fruit. Bunge led them through another set of doors and down to the dungeon. It looked like every dungeon Janner had ever read about: iron bars, dripping ceilings, shackles hanging from walls.

  Bunge held a torch in his hand and smiled at them. “We’ll muster the seven chiefs and hold the council at sundown. In the meantime, you get to spend the day in our finest quarters.”

  Nibbick Bunge led them down a stone corridor and stopped at a low iron door. Sackby withdrew a ring of rusty keys from his coat and with a lot of rattling and wrenching managed to unlock it. The door creaked on its rusty hinges as Bunge shouldered it open. He pushed Kalmar inside.

  “Leave it tied up,” Bunge said. “This isn’t an inn.”

  Janner was relieved that he would finally be alone with his family. With some time to talk they might be able to come up with a plan, or maybe some old friend of Nia’s would break them out. At least they would be together.

  But Janner was wrong. Sackby slammed the door behind Kalmar, locked it, and moved on to an identical door beside it. In went Podo, despite the old pirate’s well-aimed barrage of insults. But the door was thick; as soon as it slammed shut, the sound of Podo’s voice was cut off. Nia was next, then Leeli, and finally Janner. They removed his gag and pushed him in. Nibbick Bunge smiled at him, slammed the door, and with a resounding click, locked him up.

  The cell was featureless and dark. A faint light filtered down through a grate near the ceiling. Janner didn’t poke around for more than a minute before he knew there was no hope of either communication with his family or of escape, so he sat on the damp floor and waited. His eyes drooped, and he felt the weariness of the long night seep into his bones. With his arms still tied behind his back, he curled up on the floor and went to sleep, thinking, for some reason, about his father, Esben, and the picture of him on a sailboat, handsome and young with his face to the wind.

  44

  The Case Against Kalmar

  When he woke hours later, his neck hurt, his arm was asleep, and he was hungry. There was no way to tell what time it was, but there seemed to be less light than before. His mind was full of cobwebs, as dull and musty as the cell itself. He felt as if he should be worried, but he was too groggy.

  Finally, he heard the key in the lock, and the door swung open. Torchlight stung his eyes, and he was yanked out by none other than Grigory Bunge, who looked pleased that his father had put him in charge.

  “Oy, is that dog boy brother of yours in trouble.” Grigory spat on the floor. “Let’s get the murdering mutt out of its cage.” The guards looked mad enough to explode as Grigory unlocked Kalmar’s door.

  Murdering? There was a big difference between stealing hogpigs and murdering someone.

  The guards readied their weapons and nodded at one another. Grigory shoved open the door and ducked out of the way as the men rushed in. Janner heard bone-crunching thuds and Kalmar’s muzzled screams.

  “Stop it!” Janner cried, and he lunged for the door.

  Grigory Bunge pinned him against the wall. “You can’t help him now. And I can’t imagine why you would want to.”

  The guards emerged with Kalmar. Janner could tell from the way his head lolled back that he was unconscious.

  “Why are you doing this?” Janner screamed. “He’s not going to hurt anybody!”

  “You don’t know, do you?” Grigory said.

  “Know what?” Janner cried.

  Grigory laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough. Come on.”

  The guards collected the rest of the Wingfeather family and marched them up the stairs to the great hall. Janner tried to speak to Nia and Podo, but the guards quieted them with dark looks.

  Night had fallen. Fires roared in the hall. Torches lit the walls. It seemed that every soul in Ban Rona was crammed into the Keep. As the Wingfeathers filed toward the mound at the root of the great tree, the crowd whispered to each other. Janner heard them murmur things like “I knew it all along” and “I can’t wait to be rid of the Fang” and “I hope they deal with the wolf sooner rather than later.”

  Oh, how he wished Rudric were here. If anyone could talk sense into the Hollowsfolk, Rudric could. But on their first day in Green Hollows, even Rudric had been unable to stop Kalmar’s arrest. And at the council, he lacked the authority to free Kalmar without the chiefs’ approval. If the Hollowsfolk wanted Kalmar to pay, even the Keeper’s presence might not be enough to stop them.

  Grigory Bunge led the Wingfeathers to the tree under Nibbick’s gaze and, giving Janner a demeaning shove, ordered them to sit. The guards carrying Kalmar shook him till he woke and sat him beside Nia. She whispered to him and rested her cheek on his head.

  The branches of the great tree no longer brightened the room with leaves and dangling fruit—the limbs were bare, and the room was cold and gray. Even with the great hall crammed full of people and fires lit in the four hearths, a chill haunted the chamber. The only color seemed to be the dry, rusty smudge of Nia’s handprint on the tree.

  Nibbick Bunge posted four men to guard the Wingfeathers and conferred with Sackby and a few other townspeople in a far corner of the room. Leeli told Kalmar to turn around and began to unbuckle his muzzle. When one of the guards stopped her, she whipped her head around and gave him a look to melt stone.

  “We can’t allow it, lass. Too dangerous.”

  “He isnot!” Leeli seethed and continued loosening the straps.

  “I’m afraid he is,” said the guard. He grabbed Leeli by the arm and sat her down.

  Podo glared and curled his lip. “Keep your hands off me granddaughter, Galvin.”

  “Sorry, Podo. You can work those eyebrows all you want, but the wolf is going to meet his judgment today. The Grey Fang is guilty. You know the law.”

  Podo was too angry to speak, and his face turned red as a fireberry.

  Bunge stepped up to the mound and raised his hands. “Hollowsfolk!” he cried. The crowd hushed and sat on the floor. “I call the council to order.” Grigory stood beside him with his arms folded. “Let the ambassadors from Ban Hyn, Ban Rugan, Ban Yorna, Ban Finnick, Ban Verda, and the Outer Vales come forward.”

  “You forgot Ban Soran!” someone shouted as the chiefs approached.

  “Oy! Ban Soran, too.” Bunge cleared his throat. “The Keeper is absent and may be gone for weeks, but the situation demands action now, not later.”

  “And what situation is that?” said a voice from the back. Olumphia Groundwich pushed through the crowd to the front.

  “Ah! Guildmadam Groundwich,” said Nibbick with a smile.

  “Nibbick Bunge, you’d better think long and hard about what you’re doing,” Olumphia said. “Whatever happens to the boy happens to the Queen of Anniera. And that’s onyour head.”

  Bunge rolled his eyes. “There is no Anniera. She might as well be the queen of my fireplace. Sit down, Olumphia, and don’t interrupt the council again.” He spread his arms wide. “All of you know we’ve been losing animals. Most of you have lost some portion of your precious livestock. Well, you’ll be pleased to know we’ve discovered the monster in the Hollows.”

  “Oy!” cried several people at once, and many frowned at Kalmar.

  “You’re telling me this lad is responsible for the deaths ofhundreds of animals?” Olumphia wheeled around, whiskers atremble. Her hands were on her
hips and her eyes roved the room, just as she did when students got too rowdy at the Guildling Hall.

  “That’s exactly what we’re telling you,” said Bunge. “Madigan Olliver, are you here?”

  “Oy!”

  “Tell the council what you found at your chicken coop this morning.”

  “I found a pile of feathers and two hens missing. Blood everywhere.”

  The crowd gasped.

  “That’s not all,” Madigan Olliver continued. “I found tracks. Tracks in the snow leading right out of my alley and up the lane.”

  “And what did you do?” Bunge asked.

  “I ran straight to the Durgan Patrol office. Told Sackby here what had happened.”

  “That’s right,” Sackby said. “I alerted Bunge, and we followed the trail. Brought along several others, just in case.”

  Bunge paced the mound. “And where did the trail lead?”

  “It led to Chimney Hill.”

  “Past Chimney Hill,” Bunge said. “Right past the servant’s quarters, correct?”

  “Oy. Straight into the prairies.”

  “Tell them what we found,” Bunge said.

  “We found the Wingfeather boys in a cave.”

  “Correction!” shouted Bunge. “You foundone Wingfeather boy.” He pointed at Kalmar. “And one Grey Fang!”

  “Tell them about the bones, Pa!” said Grigory.

  “Oy!” Nibbick said. “The cave was full of bones!”

  The crowd erupted in shouts.

  Olumphia waved her hands for order. “I’ve had this young man in the Guildling Hall for months, and I’ve not seen a single instance of misbehavior! All three Wingfeathers have been exemplary guildlings—better than most of your children!”

  “I agree with Olumphia!” Guildmaster Clout moved to the front of the room and stood beside Olumphia, who blushed and pulled the sleeves over her lanky wrists. “That boy you call a Grey Fang has outperformed every student in my guild. He’s the finest Durgan guildling there is.” Guildmaster Clout smiled at Kalmar. “Just days ago he pulled off one of the finest sneaks I’ve ever seen.”