How to Stop a Witch (17 page)

“Where’d he go?” Melvin asked.

“Apparently he was self-insured,” Bob said. “He could be anywhere.”

“Oh no,” cried Priscilla. “Now how are we going to find Dolzowt Deth?”

“Don’t panic,” said Bob. “Tom told us he lives off the coast of New Haven. I’ve never heard of it myself, but he claims that it’s just five miles north of Old Haven. Of course, Shorty could have just come right out and told us that back at the Dirty Flagon, but apparently he and his agent were in cahoots.”

“No,” said Melvin, “they were right there in the Dirty Flagon.”

“You know where Old Haven is?” Greg asked Bob.

“Oh, sure. Everyone knows Old Haven. It’s just the other side of Dragon Horns Pass.”

“But will you take us there?” Greg swallowed hard. “I’m afraid we can’t pay.”

Bob looked uncomfortable at the thought of not being paid for his services. Still, he surprised Greg by speaking in an uncharacteristically genuine tone. “I feel bad for you folks, I really do. Tell you what. I’ll take you to New Haven free of charge and offer you protection the entire way. After all, you’ve paid more than enough to cover that distance already, and it shouldn’t be nearly as dangerous now that Tom’s not around to conjure up monsters every few minutes.”

“That would be great,” said Greg, and even Lucky seemed happier knowing his sacrifice had not been given in vain.

Bob straightened his tie and smiled widely. “Glad to help. Have I mentioned you seem like nice folks?”

The image of that smile implanted itself in Greg’s mind as a dagger soared over Greg’s shoulder, straight toward Bob’s forehead.

And then the image lingered there, long after Bob disappeared with a flash.

“Organ hunters!”
cried Melvin, and four walking sticks whirled up in a flash.

Kristin screamed hysterically, but then must have realized her time could be better spent ducking in between the others, where they could form a circle of protection around her with their weapons.

Another attacker released his blade.

“Watch out,” Lucky warned Kristin, even though the knife was soaring straight toward his own head. In a move befitting his name, he managed to slap it out of mid-air and into the chest of a one-armed man who possessed little more than half an ear if you totaled up the bits on both sides.

Nearby, a one-legged man hopped left and right repeatedly, dodging Greg’s thrusts.
Amazing,
Greg thought, but then the man’s blade snagged Greg’s tunic, and Greg cried out. He spun through a move he hadn’t tried since he last traveled with Nathan, and smiled when the man’s dagger was knocked away.

Defenseless, the one-legged attacker still managed to hop about, ducking Greg’s thrusts, until he accidentally jumped into Greg’s path and was launched head over heels—well, over heel anyway—into another of his gang, stealing that man’s attention just long enough for Priscilla to connect with her stick.

“Gotcha.”

Behind her, Melvin had backed his opponent up to the roaring bonfire. He should have had no trouble finishing off the contest but was too busy watching Kristin out of the corner of his eye—nothing new for Melvin, only Greg knew he was watching because she’d entered into a fight of her own.

“Careful,” Greg warned.

The stick Kristin had picked up was far too short to be useful, and she had no clue how to wield it, but she was holding her own, mostly because the man she faced had no eyes or ears. He seemed to sense her coming just the same, and managed to dodge all but one of her swings. One was all Kristin needed.

She’d never needed to fight before, and certainly not under the unspoken agreement that a loss would be paid for with the donation of her organs. Adrenaline racing, she sent the man reeling backward as effectively as if she’d hit him with a medium-sized tree.

Melvin cheered and turned back to easily dispatch his own opponent.

“Retreat,” Greg yelled, and all five children darted into the darkness, sprinting blindly between the trees.

Greg prayed no one would trip, or run over a cliff, or worse. The way looked nothing but black, but after a few seconds, a hint of moonlight helped him avoid the trees. He fixed his gaze ahead, searched for any sign of motion. Even so, he nearly ran down Kristin before he spotted her.

He grabbed her hand as he passed and helped her run faster than she’d ever run in her life. Fueled by jealousy, Melvin ran even faster. He managed to catch up and took Kristin’s other hand in his own.

“Come on,” Greg cried, and Melvin, one arm now looped about Kristin’s waist, struggled to keep up.

“Let go of me.”

Soon they emerged into a clearing. Greg could just make out Priscilla running a few steps ahead.

A faint movement beyond her, Lucky led the pack. “Hurry,” he called without slowing down.

When a huge black wall rushed up to meet them, Greg nearly called for the others to stop, but then Lucky reached the wall and ran straight into it, disappearing in an instant, so Greg continued to run, with less enthusiasm, toward the same fate.

To his relief, the “wall” turned out to be nothing more than dense woods, the far side of the clearing. Again they were running blindly between the trees. Suddenly more concerned about the danger ahead than behind, Greg called the group to a halt.

Kristin broke free of Melvin’s grasp. The two were shuffling around, panting and wheezing, when Lucky approached Greg, not the least bit winded. He raised his voice above the noise. “You think we lost them?”

“I think so,” Greg gasped, “but we should probably keep moving, just in case.”

“Moving where?” Priscilla asked. “We don’t know which way to go.”

Greg looked to the sky to guide him, but the trees were too thick to see more than the occasional star, and Greg knew he’d have had no idea which way to go even with a clearer view.

Lucky pointed in the direction they had been running. “I say we go that way.”

Greg shrugged. “I’m willing to go with one of Lucky’s hunches.”

“Not a hunch,” said Lucky. “Those organ hunters may still be chasing us.”

The others agreed and started off into the dark. Eventually they reached another clearing and stopped to rest. They decided against lighting a fire. Why provide a beacon to guide every organ hunter within miles straight to their camp?

The night passed slowly. Every time a twig snapped or a bush rustled, Greg was sure he was about to lose a kidney. He knew nothing about the forests of the Netherworld, but he desperately hoped they were teeming with harmless monkeydogs, just like those in the kingdom.

“What do we do now?” Kristin asked the next morning. “We still don’t know which way to go.”

Lucky pointed again. “We go that way.”

Greg realized that was the direction they had been going the night before. “You think those organ hunters are still chasing us?”

“No, look,” said Lucky. “That peak in the distance. See how the one section looks like two dragon horns jutting up into the sky? Bob said Old Haven was just the other side of Dragon Horns Pass.”

Kristin studied the mountains in the distance. “You don’t think they are, do you? Dragon’s horns, I mean?”

“Not unless the dragon’s a half mile long,” quipped Melvin. No one laughed. For all they knew, running afoul of a half-mile-long dragon was perfectly normal in the Netherworld.

“Okay, we head for the peak,” said Priscilla. “Do you think we’ll run into Tom or Bob again?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Greg. “Tom won’t exactly want to be found, and Bob could be anywhere by now.”

“Well, not anywhere,” said Melvin. “He’s not here.”

“Thanks, Melvin. That’s helpful.”

The group marched all morning. When the sun was high in the sky, they took their first break.

Greg’s stomach growled. “I’m starving.”

“Uh-oh,” said Lucky.

Greg winced. “What now?”

“It’s just, Tom and Bob have been providing our meals. Now that we don’t have any monsters ‘accidentally’ crossing our path, what are we going to do for food?”

“Well, we didn’t always have regular meals,” Kristin reminded them. “Remember those roots they fed us?”

Melvin grimaced. “Who could forget?”

Certainly not Greg. But even if they did taste like the leather sole of a worn-out sandal fished from a landfill, roots were better than nothing. He only wished he’d paid closer attention when the two insurance agents were collecting them. None of the group could identify which plants had edible roots and which did not.

“What about this one?” Melvin asked. He held up a yellow-orange root that resembled a twisted voodoo doll.

The root suddenly opened its eyes, spotted Melvin holding it up by its ears, and clawed Melvin’s arm. With a howl, Melvin dropped it and watched the root scurry away on four of its points.

“I’m guessing no,” said Lucky.

“I found one,” said Kristin. She held up a tan root that she’d plucked from an area where Rake had been digging, and while to Greg it looked in no way different from any other, she seemed deliriously happy.

“How do you know?” Greg asked.

“What do you mean? Don’t you remember Bob giving us some like this?”

Not surprisingly, Melvin had been digging just a few feet away. He took the root from Kristin and shrugged. “They all look the same to me.”

“Let me see,” said Lucky, but Melvin pulled it out of reach. He wiped it off with his dirty hands, inspected it carefully from every angle, sniffed it, and finally took a bite. The others leaned in close to observe his reaction.

“Auuugh!” Melvin screamed, and began thrashing about on the ground, clenching his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Greg shouted. “What’s happening?”

Melvin stopped thrashing and smiled. “Nothing. Tastes just as bad as the ones Bob fed us.”

“That’s not funny,” Greg said, emphasizing the fact with a punch to Melvin’s shoulder.

Melvin’s natural dragon-slaying abilities allowed him to escape the blow unharmed. “I know,” he said, grimacing as he took another bite of the root. “It’s just plain awful.”

In spite of Melvin’s warning, Lucky and Greg dug up a dozen more roots and distributed them to the others. That night after dinner they debated starting a fire, but since they didn’t know what bandits might be lurking about, and since here they were with all their organs after sleeping the previous night in the dark, they decided against it.

“You think Nathan’s okay?” Priscilla asked through the darkness.

Greg was trying to lure Rake up onto his chest so he could get some sleep. “I hope so. I mean, I’m sure he is.”

“Do you think he’ll have all his organs?” came Melvin’s voice.

“Nathan can take care of himself,” Lucky reassured them. “He’s a powerful magician, remember?”

“But what about Dolzowt Deth?” said Kristin. “Mordred said he was powerful too. What if he’s cast some spell that keeps Nathan from being able to use his powers?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Greg lied.

“But then why didn’t he return to the kingdom?” Priscilla asked, voicing Greg’s silent concern.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how,” said Lucky. “Remember Bob told us that nobody but Dolzowt Deth could leave the Netherworld. What if Nathan came down here not knowing he couldn’t get back again?”

“That’s crazy,” said Melvin. “Dad said he came here and back, and he doesn’t know the first thing about magic.”

“But your dad lied about slaying Tehrer,” Lucky reminded him. “Maybe he lied about his whole trip down here.”

Melvin dropped into silence. Despite the fact the boy had been annoying her ever since they met, Kristin spoke up on his behalf.

“Not necessarily. If Melvin’s dad did make a deal with this dragon, then the dragon could have taken him back to the Styx. After all, we already know it can go in and out of here. That’s why Mr. Greatheart said he got called in to help in the first place.”

Melvin smiled at her, and even though he always grinned whenever she was near, this time the expression looked different. “Thanks.”

“Well, then there’s no problem,” said Lucky. “If your dad did make a deal with Tehrer, then we just need to make a deal with him too.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Greg muttered. “After we rescue Nathan from a legendary master of the Dark Arts, we just need to find a dragon that hates all of mankind and could be living anywhere in the Netherworld, and talk him into giving us a ride out of this inescapable world. Oh, and all so we can, assuming Nathan is alive and actually has the Amulet of Ruuan with him, battle an evil witch who’s bent on destroying us and all of the kingdom. Why would there be a problem?”

Shortly after noon
the following day, the group crossed a small rise that permitted a clear view of the mountains ahead. Encouraged by the sight, they shuffled down a sandy slope that led about a mile to a bridge spanning a narrow river.

“Odd place for a bridge, here in the middle of nowhere,” Lucky observed.

“After you,” said Melvin, motioning for him to cross.

The bridge looked plenty sturdy, and even if it didn’t, Lucky probably wouldn’t have hesitated. The others followed just as confidently, until a hairy man, covered from head to toe with black dirt, crawled up from under the bridge and vaulted over the rail. He landed in the center of the span, blocking their way.

“Halt. Who goes there?”

“Troll!” screamed Kristin. No one who’d ever seen a troll could have possibly made the same mistake.

“Who you calling a troll?” the man shouted. “Why, do I look like a troll to you?”

Kristin studied him a good while.

“No, I don’t,” the man answered for her. “Why, I’ve never been so insulted in all my . . . hey, you lot don’t have none of them nasty insurance agents with you, do you?”

“Insurance agents?” said Greg. “No, why?”

The man scowled. “I don’t take too kindly to insurance agents.” He motioned sideways with his head, as if one glance to the right would make everything perfectly clear.

Greg peered over the railing and felt his stomach churn.

A half-dozen men in crumpled business suits hung upside down by ropes tied to the rail, swinging with their heads hovering just inches above the water. Greg couldn’t tell if any were alive or not, nor if Bob or Tom was among them, as all insurance agents tended to look pretty much the same from this angle.