A Grimm Legacy (Grimm Tales) (26 page)

Andi led him farther through the woods, skirting any developments along the river until they came to a deserted beach out of sight of the small town.

She flipped up her hood, disappearing again.
Her voice came floating out of the air. "See you on the boat."

He waited a minute before
stripping down, taking the time to fold each article of filthy, ratty clothing—his mother’s admonishments about neatness hard to shake, even now. He felt uncomfortable under the noonday sun in almost nothing and he shivered as he considered the wide, slow moving river in front of him. The water looked less than appealing, dirt brown and smelling of rotting seafood. He couldn’t help but think this plan was a bit vindictive on Andi’s part.

Up to his waist in the river, the cool water was a sharp
contrast to the heat of the sun baking the back of his neck. Taking a breath, he plunged under.

He swam to the middle of the river and drifted with the current to where the steamboat was docked. Low in the water, he kept one eye on the dockworkers, but none seemed to have time to be gazing at the passing river as they moved freight into waiting boats. He floated around the bend in the river and caught sight of t
he steamboat pulled into shore.

It was easily the largest boat on the river, dwarfing the fishing vessels dominating the docks. Rising from the water like a white-tiered wedding cake, the smoke stacks crowned the top and the wheels extended like wings on either side. Fredrick was approaching it faster than he anticipated. The river picked up speed on this side of the bend, and he stroked furiously to angle himself to intercept the boat at the side facing away from the shore.

Focusing on trying to keep himself from smashing into the boat and being sucked into the stationary paddles, he nearly missed the rope ladder Andi had dangled over the side. Only a hasty second swipe with his other hand found him clutching to it like a lifeline while the river continued to drag the rest of his body downstream.

The ropes of the ladder pulled taut and,
even as tired as he was, Fredrick knew the longer he hung there, the more likely it was someone would spot him. Finding the bottom rung with his bare foot, he climbed. The bottom most deck was only about 20 feet above the water, but his broken ribs protested at the pulling motion of his arms, making his progress slow.

Two feet from the top, invisible hands grabbed his arms and towed him headfirst over the railing where he collapsed on the warm, wooden deck. Fredrick
’s body shook from the cold water, and his chest felt like lightening bolts were shooting through it.

Without a word, Andi leveraged him from the floor and hustled him to the bow of the boat. He left a trail of water as she ran him through a lounge area past clusters of tables and chairs, and then into a hallway.

The numbered doors crowded together were probably cabins. Halfway down, a door flung open—seemingly on its own accord—and an invisible hand shoved him inside. Andi bolted the door behind them. There were bunk beds, a bolted down table, and little else in the cabin. Andi pushed him again, this time into a tiny bathroom. She turned on the shower to its hottest setting in an attempt to stop Fredrick’s shivering.

"In, before you freeze," Andi said. "And you look like you could use a few of these." She handed him his pain pills before sweeping out and shutting the door behind her.

By the time Fredrick thawed himself out, dried, and dressed, the knives in his chest had dulled to a throb. Andi was curled in the bottom bunk making tiny wuffing noises in her sleep. The previous night with no sleep made Fredrick’s eyelids drag. He patted his pocket to make sure he still had the ring before clambering up on the top bunk and joining Andi in dreamland.

The Fisherman and his Wife

“But the fish said, ‘Pray let me live! I am not a real fish; I am an enchanted prince: put me in the water again and let me go!’”

“You know how nuts that sounds, right?"

Dylan was home. The soft plink of water against wood, the steady rocking motion, and the briny smell of the sea sifted into his consciousness. He must have fallen asleep on
Whirlwind
.

He struggled to wake. A horrible headache drummed against his temples and a sick taste in his mouth made him want to hurl. Trying to sit up, he found himself soaking wet and bound by a pair of
strange handcuffs.

He had
n’t fallen asleep.

With a rush, he flashed back to the deserted wing of the castle, Molly, and the guards.

Picking up his head, he found himself in a boat… but not his boat. He lay in the bottom of a tiny fishing vessel, sloshing around in water. An outboard motor sat mounted above his head, but it was off. Twisting a little to the right, he could see the back of one of his attackers pulling a double set of oars, propelling them through the water.

"You sure it
’s been a half hour?" The reedy voice did not match the muscular man straining against the oars.

Another unknown voice drifted from the front of the boat and Dylan lay back down
, trying to look unconscious. "You've got a few minutes yet, keep pulling."

"Why are we taking this one to Dame Ilsabill
, anyway?” the first man complained. A dull thud was followed by and an indignant, “Hey! What was that for?”

“
Mind your own business,” the second guard sneered. There was a pause, but then the pleasure of gossip got the better of him. “They say the dame is unhappy with her lot.”

The guard rowing snorted
. “I should be so unlucky to live in a fine castle with lots of servants.”

“
They say the boy is her key to power,” the sneering guard said, lowering his voice.

That was news to Dylan.

The boat bumped gently against something and a deep male voice greeted them from above. "Took you long enough. Don't just sit there, get him up."

Dylan cracked open an eye to find a beard glaring down at him. On further inspection, there was a man hiding under the beard somewhere.

"Time to get up now, boy. Don't make us carry your carcass all the way down the docks,” the second guard said, poking him in the ribs.

Two sets of hands grabbed his bound writs and hauled. It was either stand and move or be dragged out of the boat face first. Dylan stumbled onto the dock of a small stone castle. Green hills rolled down from the gates creating a beautiful little park dotted through with fen
ced pastures of sheep and cows.

One of
the guards prodded him. "Stop gawking. Let’s go, then."

Plodding up the dock to the time of the pounding in his head, Dylan tried to clear the cobwebs so he could figure out where he was. There were no other boats or ships in sight, but stretching along the shore were enormous floating boathouses, and he could imagine the collection of yachts each held. The sky overhead was a flat, steel gray reflecting the calm sea. The sight gave him a pang of homesickness. The clouds pressed down like a heavy hand, making the sky short and ominous. T
he air felt damp with moisture.

At the gate of the castle a young man waited. A guard shoved Dylan forward and slapped a key in the man's hands. "Take care not to lose this one, or Herrchen will make his displeasure known. Personally."

They headed back down the dock, their voices fading as they continued to argue about whose turn it was to row. Dylan took in the young man who appraised him shrewdly. He was well built and held himself tall and aloof, but he was dressed in soiled, stained clothes like a gardener, with a cap pulled low on his head.

Dylan knew he didn't necessarily cut a fine figure either, in a filthy tux with his wet hair plastered to his head and the faint aroma of fish hanging on him from his ride in the bottom of a boat.

The younger man tossed the key from palm to palm and Dylan caught a flash of gold on one hand. On the next pass, Dylan saw his entire pinky finger was solid gold. These people had the oddest sense of fashion.

“
You are the one who has been causing Herrchen all the problems?" he asked.

"He's been no joy to deal with either." Dylan rattled the chains on his wrists. "But since we're even now, how about taking off the cuffs? I've got an itch on the back of my neck that's killing me."

"I don't think so." The man wagged the key at him. "We've been told you are a slippery one. The cuffs will stay on, I think."

"Herrchen never did play fair,
” Dylan said, just to throw the name around and see what kind of reaction he’d get.

"I don't think you know who he is,
” the young man said with a smile.

"No, we go way back," Dylan lied, mostly just to be annoying.

"Come, Dame Ilsabill does not like to be kept waiting.” He grinned at him and waved him on.

Dylan wondered if he knew everything coming out of his mouth was pure nonsense.

He followed the young man into a room that could have held two of Dylan’s houses, easily. A figure lounged on a massive, uncomfortable-looking chair on a raised platform. Dylan wasn’t self-conscious usually, but he felt like ants were marching up his spine and across his neck as he trailed the young gardener as he approached the figure of a young woman with an imperial look. Her harsh face stared down at him.

“
Leave us, Aurel.” Her voice was pointed and sharp.

She and Dylan stared at each other. The young man who escorted Dylan bowed and left without a word
, leaving Dylan and Dame Ilsabill alone in the cavernous space. She appraised him with keen eyes in a long, plain face.

“
So you are my grandson.” Her voice filled the space with her quiet words. Dylan felt his face go slack as his brain rewound the words and played them again, sure he had misheard.

“
Your what?” Dylan’s voice bounced around the empty room, mocking him, “Your what, what, what...” He tried to grasp the information, tried to make it comprehensible. It seemed to want to avoid acknowledgment.

“
I’m a little disappointed you haven’t figured it out by now.” She rose and began to circle Dylan like he was a sculpture she was considering for purchase. Her robes draped off of her, sumptuous, heavily embroidered affairs, but they did not conceal her sharp figure of angles.

“
Your grandfather escaped this world over fifty years ago, taking with him our infant son, your father,” she said from behind him.

“
Grandpa?” If he was honest with himself, he knew it was a possibility he had relatives running around Elorium. Andi’s grandmother was from here, and there was a reason the four of them specifically had been hauled here. But it was still like putting his head inside a vise. And his father
?
“Dad? My dad’s from here too?”

She raised an eyebrow,
which were as harsh as the rest of her. “Over fifty years ago, five individuals escaped. It has never happened in the history of our land, and it will not happen again.”

“
If you’re really my grandmother, then help me get home,” he begged.

Ilsabill gazed at him a long moment, as if searching his face for something
. “Your words have the same power of persuasion behind them as his did.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “But that is not how we do things here.”

“
Help me,” Dylan pleaded again.

“
No.” She shook her head slowly and reached down to stroke the side of his face. “You see, I need you here.” Dylan tried to pull back from her touch, but she grasped his face painfully in her claw-like hand
.
“You’re going to make my wildest dreams come true.”

Dylan sat in a small, dark cell, his hands still manacled in front of him and the cold seeping through his trouser bottoms. He stared unseeing at the damp stone floor.

He
’d obviously been pulled into a story from Andi’s book, but which one? He should have paid more attention! Ilsabill had said his grandfather had escaped. Dylan really wished he knew what he had been running from. He sniffed, not willing to admit even to himself how alone he felt. He sighed and rested his head on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to wish himself home.

Dylan had lost track of the hours by the time they came for him. He drifted in and out of sleep for a while, waking up cold, stiff, and hungry. In between his bouts of wakefulness, he dreamed of Kochien's streusel.
When the door creaked open, he blinked in the sudden light and thought at first he might be hallucinating.

Aurel stood there with his hat still jammed tight on his head, flanked by a set of stone faced soldiers. "It's time."

Dylan staggered to his feet, his knees objecting after being in such a cramped position for so long.

Aurel escorted him out of the castle gates and back down to the sea. A small,
beautifully crafted yacht rigged for sailing bobbed at the end of the dock.