Nick slid the knife back inside the keyhole. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what to do. The horde was halfway there. They were getting bolder, coming faster. Their whispers grew fiercer, and some giggled with excitement.
Nick found the pin with the knife’s blade. He held the handle tight and lifted his feet off the floor to put all his weight into the task. The pin moved and the bolt popped.
With a chorus of squeals, the spider-heads dashed forward in a chaotic mob, the fast hopping over the slow. It sounded like a storm of hailstones sweeping toward them across the wooden plain.
Finch shoved the cage door with both hands. Nick was on the other side and the door slammed into him as it swung open, knocking him back and down. The little knife fell out of the lock and stuck upright, twanging, in the table’s surface.
Finch snatched up the knife. He looked at Nick lying at his feet and paused for a moment. Then he saw the spider-heads closing in fast, and thought only of escape. He tucked the knife into the sheath at his calf, and reached through the bars of the cage for the bone with the thread wound around it. The other end of the thread was still knotted to Nicks cage. Finch ran backward to the edge of the table, holding the bone loosely so that it rolled in his hands and the thread unwound.
Nick got up, rubbing the back of his head, and turned in time to see Finch step back off the tables edge, just before the first of the spider-heads reached him.
“Thanks for the escape, Nick. You’re on your own!” called Finch as he dropped out of sight. The thread snapped taut between him and the cage.
A small group of spider-heads broke ahead of the pack and swarmed upon Nick. He jumped and grabbed the bars of his cage, drawing his legs up beyond the reach of the clutching legs and stabbing fangs. He pulled himself up the bars and onto the solid roof of the cage and then turned, ready to kick the first ugly head that popped up.
The smooth, slender bars were an obstacle for the spider-heads. They tried to climb but lost their footing and slid back to the tabletop. For a moment Nick thought he’d found safe refuge from the monstrosities. But dozens more were arriving, and they crawled on top of their siblings and gripped the bars. The next to arrive climbed on top of those, and the heap of ugly heads and writhing legs piled up rapidly against the side of the cage. They would reach Nick in moments.
Finch looked something like a spider himself as he turned the bone in his hands and let the thread out slowly to lower himself from the table. When it was completely unwound, he would be close enough to drop to the floor without injury.
When Finch looked down, preparing to let go, he saw a group of spider-heads waiting for him, surrounding the spot where he would land. Above him, he saw three more beginning to follow him down the thread. Something splashed on Finch’s cheek from above. It was a tiny drop of poison from one of those fangs. An instant after it landed, his cheek went cold and numb.
Finch swung his legs forward, then back, and started to swing. The spider-heads below scuttled back and forth to match his motion. Finch continued to thrust and kick, and the arc of his swing grew longer. The creatures below scrambled to keep up. Above him, the trio of spider-heads descended quickly.
Finch timed his release as best he could and flew out beyond the creatures. He laughed as he landed on his feet with athletic grace, while the abandoned thread and bone swung back and forth in the air. Only two spider-heads were on it now.
The pile of spider-heads had reached the top of Nicks cage. They spilled over the edge and ran at him. Nick hopped across to the other cage.
The spider-heads had not anticipated this, and none was waiting on top of the second cage to intercept the boy. He slid down the bars to the tabletop.
There was no way to follow Finch down the thread; the spider-heads blocked that path. Now the frantic horde was coming at him, spreading out to block every escape. Nick did the only thing left to do. He turned and sprinted to the end of the table, and when he reached the edge, he leaped out as far as his legs could propel him.
He was airborne forever, it seemed, running in space, and he thought for a moment that he would not make it over the wall surrounding the pool. The tip of his shoe even clipped the stone as he went by, and then he slapped the water hard. It stung every inch of him. He plunged deep into the cold black pool, and when he stopped sinking, he brought himself to the surface with a few hard kicks and a broad sweep of his arms.
Nick saw the spider-heads gathered along the edge of the table, wailing miserably. He shook his fist at the creatures and whooped in triumph. “Ha!”
Finch didn’t see the smallest of the brood leap off the rope after him. Before he took his first step for the door, the leggy thing landed on his back and sprang for his neck, and he screamed and twisted as the tiny fangs pierced the skin behind his ear.
He reached over his shoulder and clawed at the spider-head. His fist closed around one of its legs and he whipped it over his head and dashed it to the floor. The skull broke in two against the stone, but the legs went on twitching and crawling, dragging the halves in opposite directions before their strength began to ebb.
Finch cursed, but the words came out in a mumble. The fangs had been in him for only an instant, but suddenly his neck and face were numb, and he couldn’t feel his legs or arms anymore. He tried to lift his hand but it barely responded. Looking down, he saw his legs wobble, but it was like watching someone else’s legs. He toppled over onto his back. He expected pain when his head struck the floor, but there was none—only the dull thock of head on stone.
The venom was selective. Finch could hear and see and breathe, but otherwise could barely move. He had fallen face up, staring at the ceiling. The other spider-heads were coming now. He could hear their little feet scrabbling across the floor. And then they were on him. He knew they were there, could vaguely sense them crawling over him. He tried to shake them off but could only manage a little twitch. One of the creatures climbed right onto his face and stared into his eyes for a moment before dipping its fangs into Finch’s cheek.
Nick climbed out of the water and onto the wall at the edge of the pool. His stomach went sour as he saw Finch prone on the floor, with spider-heads all over him and more on the way. Then the door to Gnasher’s room swung open, and the little creatures hopped off of Finch’s body and ran for the shadows. Nick slipped back into the water. He let himself sink deep, then swam underwater to the other side of the pool where he would be out of sight behind the wall.
Gnasher was already in a foul mood from battling the flames, but his anger redoubled when he saw the open cages, the hanging thread, and Finch on the floor. Some of the spider-heads were slow to run away. Gnasher lifted his foot and squashed them flat. “Nettlesome bugs! Look what you’ve done to my captive!”
Gnasher scooped up Finch’s limp body and stuffed him into the pouch he kept tied around his waist. Then he called out, in no particular direction, “Little morsel! Listen to me! I know you are here, hiding somewhere.
“I have no time to sniff you out, as much as I would like to. It is time to begin my conquest. But here is what I will do for you instead: Whenever I catch a child in the world below, I will tell them your name. Then I will crush them in the palm of my hand, in memory of Nick. Your name will be the last thing they hear.”
Gnasher cocked his head, listening, hoping perhaps that his words would cause Nick to cry out. Then he strode to the door. “Farewell then!” The door slammed shut behind him.
Nick climbed out of the water again and stood dripping on the wall His chest was heaving, and his teeth and fists were clenched.
“Its not farewell. Not yet, you devil.”
Chapter 19
Nick dropped to the floor and raced for the door. The spider-heads gave him no trouble. Most were still on the edge of the table, weeping for him, or climbing back down the legs. The ones that ventured back from hiding gathered around their smashed brethren and lapped up the ooze. Nick kept a wary eye on them as he passed by, but they were intent
on their meal. He was grateful to leave Gnasher’s hellish room behind.
In the corridor, Nick took the knife from his pocket. It was a small weapon, but holding it made him feel a little braver.
Nick ran down the hallway. A thin haze collected at the ceiling high above. The closer he drew to the great hall, the thicker it became. The smell was pleasant compared to the castle’s ambient reek.
He approached the great hall with care, in case Gnasher was lying in wait for him. But the ogre was not there. Although the fires in the hall were mostly out, heavy smoke from a second fire gushed from the opposite corridor.
There was no way to get to the treasure room now, but Nick did not care about the gold or jewels any more. He crossed the hall to the front door. Outside, it was liberating to see the open sky once again, and a steady breeze brought welcome fresh air. Nick breathed in, deep and long. Then he turned to the left and followed the wall around the perimeter of the castle.
He intended to put a slice in the rope—somehow.
Nick peered around the back corner. The cart was still there. Gnasher stood by it, looking around warily. Nick pulled his head back as the ogre glanced in his direction.
Nick wondered where Basher was, and then he heard the brutish ogre coughing violently. Risking another peek, he saw Basher emerge from the rear entrance, his arms heaped with weapons and armor. The brute ogre stumbled around, hacking and half-blind from the smoke inside the castle.
“Over here, fool!” Gnasher called impatiently. “Did you get all of it?”
Basher nodded. He brought the load to the cart and dumped it onto the flat area behind the spool. Then he leaned against the cart and tried to rub the sting out of his eyes with the back of his big fists.
“Come on, brother,” said Gnasher. “Were leaving now.”
“Uhh?” grunted Basher.
“We can’t stay here with Mother lurking about trying to ruin our plans, can we? Come on. We’re getting out of this rotten place. Let the conquest begin” The ogres went to the front of the cart and took opposite sides of the crosspiece to push the cart along.
Nick slapped the wall in frustration. He had to get onto the cart now. Once it was moving, there would be no way to climb aboard. But it was a long run across open space to get there. He would certainly be seen.
Gnasher took a last look at the castle. He peered up at the roof, and his lip curled in a snarl. “Of all the times!” he said.
A white haze engulfed the castle and began to obscure the cart. At first Nick thought it was smoke from the raging fire. But no, this was wet and cool—another cloud was passing over the island, a gift from the heavens. Seconds later, the ogres disappeared in the fog.
“It will pass soon enough,” he heard Gnasher mutter.
Nick did not know how long this good fortune would last. He sprinted for the cart. As he got closer, the shadowy figures of the ogres began to emerge. But the cloud provided adequate cover, and he slipped under the cart unseen.
Now that Nick was beneath the cart, he saw no easy way to climb aboard. The platform was far out of reach. He remembered that the giant wheels were as tall as the platform, and went to the rear wheel that was farthest from the ogres.
Nick found a large seam across the side of the wheel and used it to pull himself up. He felt higher, along the curve of the wheel, but found no other place to hold on to.
The cloud was beginning to thin out as its tail end passed over the island. Nick could clearly see the legs of the ogres now at the front of the cart.
“Good-bye, Mother! Thanks for all the good work,” Gnasher called back at the castle. Basher snickered. Together, they pushed on the crosspiece, muscles straining. The cart creaked and inched forward, slowly gaining momentum.
Nick saw only one desperate chance to get onto the cart. Before the seam in the wheel rose out of reach, he jumped and slid his fingers into the space. As the wheel turned, he was carried up. Soon he was at the top of the wheel, above the level of the platform. Praying that neither ogre would look back at that critical moment, Nick tucked his legs underneath him and sprang onto the platform. He scooted under the spool, out of sight.
The rope hung a few feet above the platform so the spool could rotate freely. Nick crawled into the narrow space like a crab. He looked at the knife in his hand. It was such a paltry tool for the task ahead of him: slicing through rope as thick and tough as a tree.
Nick got onto his knees and started cutting. The cart picked up speed as the ogres pulled it across the field, heading for the forest road. It bumped and jostled, making it hard to keep his balance.
Nick sawed furiously, but he was having little effect. Only a few of the threads split open under his blade. He wished he had Finch’s jagged knife with him. And he wondered what became of that man. Had the spider-heads poisoned him to death? Or was he now in the ogre’s belly?
The gash was a fraction of an inch deep after several minutes, and Nick’s arm ached from the effort. He looked at the knife. It was freshly sharpened when Nick found it, but now the edge was notched and blunted. Nick switched the knife to his left hand and went on cutting, pushing hard against the rope.
He looked out from under the spool and saw trees passing swiftly by. The cart rode over stones and stumps, shaking Nick’s hand as he cut, and making it hard to keep the blade inside the groove he’d started. The dull knife slowed his progress further, but he thought that, with luck, he might slice deep enough by the time they arrived at the edge of the cloud island. His left hand was cramping, so he switched to his right again.
The cut was half an inch deep and Nicks hope began to grow—another inch or two might be enough to make the rope unravel—when one of the front wheels struck a large rock in the road. The cart lurched and came down hard. Nick bounced up into the rope and onto the platform again. The entire spool began to rotate above him, taking all the loops of rope with it. It did not stop until it made a full quarter-turn, and the little gash he had made was hopelessly out of reach.
Now there was no time to start a new cut, because the cart was emerging from the forest. In a few minutes they would reach the ridge at the edge of the cloud island.
With alarm, Nick realized how familiar the landscape looked. They were not far from where he’d first arrived, at the top of the beanstalk. Nick crawled to the front of the cart and peeked out. The massive backs of the ogres were in front of him. The brothers leaned forward, straining to pull the cart behind them. Basher seemed to have endless reserves of strength, but Gnasher was grunting and wheezing.
Up ahead the road disappeared into a cleft that the ogres had torn in the rocky ridge. The cart rumbled through the gap, into the sandy area beyond. Just a few hundred feet away, the low mists swirled over the coast.
There must be some way to stop them, Nick thought. He crawled into the machinery that would control the descent of the rope. He looked at the saw-toothed metal gears that meshed neatly together, searching for a way to foul up the contraption. But everything was so huge and solid, and all he had was the blunt little knife to work with.
The ogres struggled to pull the cart through the sand. Nick prayed that the wheels would become mired, stranding the rope just short of its destination, but the ogres heaved mightily, and the cart kept moving through the sand and into the mists with hard ground underneath.
“So close,” Gnasher panted. “Almost there!”
It seemed inevitable now: Gnasher and Basher would reach the world below There was nothing Nick could do but climb down the beanstalk and try to warn whoever would listen about the horror that was coming. At least he could return to Jacks fortress and give the old man Gullinda’s message.
But getting off the cart was a challenge that Nick had not considered. The platform towered high above the ground. Below him the mist hovered a few feet over the rocks. As breezes whipped along the edge of the cloud island, they made the vapors swirl. Part of the ground would be revealed for a moment, and it was treacherous, full of cracks and crater
s and sharp jutting stones. He was likely to break his leg if he jumped.
“Stop! Close enough! Were here!” Gnasher yelled. The cart rolled to a halt. Gnasher and his brother lay down to catch their breath.
“At last,” Gnasher said, panting. “All that planning. All that work. Now were going to do what our father tried to do and failed. We’re going to their world. Go on, Basher, secure the cart like I taught you.”
Basher got up obediently. When Nick realized what the ogre was doing, he saw his chance to get off the cart.
There were four chains heaped on the platform, each secured to a corner. At the other end of the chains were long metal spikes. Basher took the first chain and stepped back from the cart until it was fully extended. Then he used a hammer to drive the spike deep into the ground. As soon as the first chain was secured, he started on the second.
It would be easy for Nick to climb down one of the chains. The trick was to make sure he wouldn’t be seen. He looked out into the sky, hoping to see a cloud coming this way that might provide the safe cover of fog, but the horizon was clear. He’d have to wait until the ogres’ backs were turned and take his chances. If he reached the ground, he could stay low, and the mist might keep him out of sight.
Nick was shocked to see just how close the ogres had come to the peninsula where the beanstalk grew. It was hardly a hundred yards away. Nick could see the great boulder where the plant had attached itself, and even a few tendrils that wrapped around it. If the ogres looked in that direction, they would be certain to notice it.
While Basher drove in the spikes, Gnasher sat on the ground, still breathless. “You remember how it works, don’t you? I’ve told you enough times,” he said. “I get in the harness and go down first with the weapons. The weight of the rope is enough to make the spool turn, and the little wheels and gears control the speed of the descent. Now, while I’m being lowered, don’t touch anything. When the rope is completely let out, you reel it back in. Then all you have to do is get in the harness and drop yourself over the edge. Can you remember that?”
The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) Page 16
