North! Or Be Eaten (16 page)

Janner sighed and closed his eyes. He missed Glipwood too.

Then he thought of Anniera. He remembered the picture of his father on the boat. He remembered the tug in his heart when he heard the dragons singing, the
way he felt the previous morning when he saw the sun glide from its grave in the Dark Sea.

Was it worth it?
Yes
.

“Glipwood is gone, Tink.”

Tink closed his eyes.

“We can’t go back.”

Tink sighed. “I know.”

“You know what I want? I want a long string of days like yesterday, when we walked through the forest, listening to poems about Uncle Peet, laughing together. No swords or bows or Fangs. I want to rest. But I’m afraid that we won’t be able to for a long, long time—not until we make it to Anniera. Until we make it home. If we have to fight to make it there, I’m willing to do it. And if I have to pull you by the collar, you’re coming with me. Look.” Janner pulled Esben’s sketchbook from Tink’s pack, flipped it open, and held it in the light that crept through the tent flap. “See this picture? The lawn below the castle wall, where the people are sitting by the shade tree?”

“Yeah. I’ve looked at it a hundred times.”

“That’s a
real
place. And it’s ours. And I’m going to
wallop
you at zibzy on that lawn some day.”

Tink smiled. “I’ll be the one doing the walloping. I’ll always be faster than you.”

Janner told Tink that he loved him, and Tink said that he loved Janner too, but not in the way a husband and wife might. Janner punched Tink in the shoulder, and Tink punched him back. Just to be sure he believed him, Janner jabbed Tink in the ribs, and they both laughed hard enough to wake everyone but Oskar, who snorfled, smacked his lips, and rolled over.

Podo thought it would be funny to strike the tent with Oskar still sleeping in it, so after a quick breakfast of dried fruit, Janner and Tink helped Podo pull the stakes and lift the center stick that held the canvas aloft. They laughed and whispered to one another as they raised it like a giant umbrella and exposed Oskar to the sunlight, and still he snored. When the tent was rolled and lashed to Podo’s pack, there was nothing left to do but rouse Mister Reteep. Leeli nudged his shoulder, and his only response was a slight shift in the tone of his snore. Nia joined Leeli and prodded Oskar on the other side. Soon they were rocking him back and forth so hard that Podo, Tink, and Janner doubled over with laughter. Oskar snored and scratched at his belly.

“Mama,” Leeli said.

Nia wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing along with Podo and the boys.

“Mama,”
Leeli repeated.

“What is it, dear?” Nia asked, trying to contain herself.

“Who is that?” She pointed to the trees just over Nia’s shoulder.

Two mean eyes set in a dirty face regarded the Igibys and Podo.

“I’m a Strander, that’s who.”

T
he Strander stepped from behind the tree.

She was a girl not much older than Janner, covered from head to foot with black dirt that made her eyes and teeth bright. Tattered clothes hung from her skinny frame. In her hand was a dagger, and the way she held it made it clear she knew how to use it.

“Seen me cow?” the girl demanded. “Got ‘er good just yesterday, and she run this way. If ye ate ‘er, I’ll carve ye up and bring ye back to camp in a sack.”

“Nobody ate your cow, lass,” Podo said, stepping forward.

The girl hissed and brandished the knife at the old man. “I ain’t yer lass,” she spat. “And you’d best not take another step forward or I’ll put an end to one of ye before ye have time to notice I’m gone.”

Podo held up his hands. “You throw that knife and nobody’s tellin’ you where the cow is. We don’t mean ye any harm, so why don’t you ease up and tell us your name. Mine’s Podo. Podo Helmer.”

“Don’t care who ye are. Just want me cow.”

Podo and the girl engaged in a glaring contest that, to Janner’s surprise, the girl won.

“Fine,” Podo said. “The toothy cow’s a half day’s walk behind us. You’ll find the remains of a campfire we were foolish enough to light, and yer cow—or what’s left of it—is nearby.”

The Strander girl narrowed her eyes at Podo and considered the information. “Right.” She nodded. “I believe ye. Now drop your weapons.”

“Don’t get too big for yer britches, lass,” Podo rumbled. “Nobody’s droppin’ any weapons—”

The girl threw the knife so fast that Janner hardly saw her move. It thunked into something wooden, and he saw with shock that it was embedded in Podo’s peg leg. The girl had already drawn a second knife and stood ready to hurl it at Leeli.

“Enough!” Podo said with his hands in the air. “We’ll give ye our weapons, all right? No need to do anythin’ drastic.”

“Good. We’ll take yer packs too.”

“We?”

Without a sound, more children appeared from behind trees and swung down from branches, each of them fierce as a horned hound and ready to kill. The Igibys backed into a huddle around the still-snoring body of Oskar N. Reteep.

Without warning, Oskar sat up, spouting the sounds of Old Hollish letters, and declared he had unraveled another piece of the linguistic puzzle. He fumbled for his spectacles, placed them on his nose, and said, when he saw the gang of dirty children, “Good morning.”

“We’ll be takin’ you lot with us,” the girl said. “Banikon! Take five others and find the cow. Bring back as much as ye can carry. Hurry it up.”

Without a word, one of the boys chose five children, and they slipped into the forest as silent as shadows.

The remaining Stranders—Janner counted eleven—gathered the Igibys’ packs and weapons and rifled through them, pocketing food and matches and whatever else they fancied. To Janner’s relief, they showed little interest in the First Book, the whistleharp, and Tink’s sketchbook.

When the girl was satisfied the packs were sufficiently plundered, she tossed them back to the Igibys. Then she approached Podo with a wary eye and yanked her dagger from his peg leg. “Come on, then. Camp ain’t far.”

At a nod from Podo, the Igibys and Oskar followed. If Podo was taking orders, then these Strander children were dangerous indeed, Janner thought.

They varied in age and size. Some were boys and some were girls, though the girls carried themselves like no girl Janner had ever seen. He was certain that, girl or boy, the Strander children were all deadly accurate with their daggers.

Whenever Podo or Nia tried to communicate with the Igiby children, the girl leader hissed and waved her knife. Leeli bore up like the princess she was, hurrying along on her crutch without complaint, and to the Stranders’ credit, they allowed Podo and Janner to take turns carrying her on their backs from time to time.

Within the hour, Janner smelled smoke and spotted signs of a camp not far away. Several figures around the fire stood and peered into the trees at their approach. They were filthy, bedraggled, and seemed content to be so. Janner could see the Mighty River Blapp not far away, wide and quiet.

“Have you got it?” asked one of the men.

“Yes and no,” answered the girl. “May we come near?”

No one said a word. Janner glanced at his family and saw fear on all their faces, except Podo, whose jaw was set and whose eyes glinted like hot metal. The Strander
children stood in silence around the Igibys, looking back and forth between the man at the fire and the girl.

“And who’ve ye got with ye?” asked the man.

“Don’t know. Found ‘em not far from here.”

“And you found the meat, did ye?”

“I already said I did.”

The man at the fire tilted his head, in anger or admiration, Janner couldn’t tell. “All right, then. Come near.”

The Strander children slipped in among the adults. If they had parents, it didn’t show; none of the children hugged or greeted anyone. They stood near the fire with half-hidden smiles and held out their hands to the flame.

“So where’s the food, Maraly?” the man asked the girl.

“On its way. Sent Banikon with a company to fetch it. Found this lot sleepin’ not far from here. Had weapons, they did.”

Another of the children dumped the swords, knives, bows, and arrows to the ground.

“We don’t aim to stay long,” Podo said. “You can keep the weapons and whatever supplies ye like.”

The man approached. A long beard hung from his face in matted locks that looked like a cluster of dead brown snakes. He wore his hair tied back, revealing a high, dirty forehead with a jagged scar across it.

“Listen,” Podo said. “We don’t want to trouble ye. We’re headin’ to Dugtown, and we’d like to be on our way.”

The dirty man straightened to his full height, a hand taller than Podo, and looked down into the old pirate’s face. “You’ll be on your way when I say ye can be on your way. Move over to the fire and make yourselves comfortable. There’s much to be done.”

He turned away and barked at his clan. “Tie ‘em up!”

The other Stranders rushed forward. They pushed and tugged, laughed and spat at the Igibys as they moved them to the fire and tied their hands behind their backs. The Igibys sat on a bench near the fire while the Stranders went about their business, either punching one another in the shoulder in some kind of game, sharpening daggers, or making awful faces at the children to see if they could make them cry.

Janner admired Tink’s restraint. He knew his little brother could make ugly faces with the best of them, but he chose to stare at the fire instead. Two of the men erected a spit above the fire, flashing black-toothed grins at the children. Janner
noticed hundreds of bones in the dirt around the fire pit, some of them tiny fishbones, some of them as long as his arm. It explained why the animals in the forest had been so scarce. He saw the skulls of bumpy digtoads, toothy cows, and daggerfish half buried in the ashes and dirt. There were no human skulls, but with the hungry way the Stranders looked at them, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“They didn’t tie our ankles,” Tink said quietly, “but I suppose it’s no good trying to run away, is it?”

“No, son,” said Nia. “They know these woods. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“We could fight,” Leeli said. “Or
you
could fight. I wouldn’t be much help. But if you could get your hands free, the weapons are right over there.”

“I appreciate the notion of fightin’ as much as anyone,” said Podo, “but as long as they don’t mean to cook
us
on the spit, I think we’ll do best to take things slow for now.”

They sat that way for hours, uncomfortable, hungry, and thirsty. The presence of the Blapp a short distance away acted as a constant reminder that they hadn’t had anything to drink since breakfast.

When at last the sun set, the Strander children returned with the toothy cow. They had cut the meat from its bones and carried it in sacks, which they dumped out on a canvas beside the fire. Like flies to old food, the Stranders gathered around the flames. The man with the beard appeared with a barrel, and the Stranders cheered. The two men who had erected the spit skewered hunks of toothy cow meat and hung them over the fire, where they steamed and hissed, producing a surprisingly delicious smell.

“Might as well let ye have a bite and a swallow,” said a voice just behind the Igibys. “It might be yer last.” The leader of the Stranders freed each of their hands, then leaned over Podo. “Ye seem the type that’ll know this to be true: if you try and run, we’ll kill you and toss yer bodies into the Blapp. Understand?”

Podo looked like he wanted to punch the man in the nose, but he nodded.

“Good,” the Strander said.

The girl Maraly appeared with a basket of odd-sized bowls and cups, filled them with liquid from the barrel, and passed them around. Janner sniffed the drink in his bowl. It smelled sweet and warm, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to try it. He heard a slurping sound on his right and turned to see that Tink had already finished off his cup.

“What does it taste like?” Janner asked.

“It tastes wet. Who cares? I was thirsty.” Tink held out his cup for more. Maraly looked to the shaggy-bearded man, who nodded, and she refilled Tink’s cup.

The Stranders were laughing and clapping and telling stories just like the Dugtowners that came to Glipwood on Dragon Day, and, as on Dragon Day, Janner found it hard not to like them for it. They seemed not to have a care in the world.

When the meat was declared done, two men removed the skewer from the fire and passed it around. The Stranders tore the brown, juicy meat from the stick and devoured it like dogs, smacking and sucking their teeth in a way that disgusted Janner and made him hungry. He couldn’t believe toothy cow meat could smell so good.

Tink held his hands over his stomach and sat with his mouth half open, watching as the skewer made its way around the circle. Tink moaned when the skewer finally reached him, tore off a hunk of meat, and gobbled it up.

The leader turned to his clan and raised his voice. “Stranders!”

“Of the East Bend!” they answered.

“Quick hands! Long beards!” he cried.

“And sharp daggers!”

“No law!” shouted the leader.

“No law!” They raised their cups and roared with laughter.

“Now then, clan,” the man said, raising a hand, “it’s time we got to know our new friends. My name is Claxton Weaver. I’m a thief, a wanderer, and a swinger of steel. I don’t like Fangs, I don’t like strangers, and I don’t like rules. These are my people, and this is my camp, and we’d just as soon toss ye into the river as let ye have another scrap of our meat. So you’d better think of somethin’ that ye have or somethin’ you can do for me that’ll help me understand why I should let ye keep breathin’.”

The Stranders’ good cheer vanished, and they scowled at the family. Oskar stopped midchew and looked up at the man. Leeli, Nia, and Janner froze as well. The only sound was Tink’s lips smacking as he ate his meat, aware of nothing but his hungry belly.

Podo considered the man for a moment and said, “Aye. Well. We’ve got food. We’ve got weapons, as you can see. I’m willin’ to let ye have the lot of it if you let us go safe and hale, Claxton Weaver.” Then the old pirate’s voice deepened and his nostrils flared like a mad horse’s. “But if you decide that’s not enough, then ye need to know that my name’s Podo Helmer, and I roved the Strand before you were born, with the likes of Growlfist and the Pounders. Don’t look so surprised, laddie. I crept the West Redoubt with Yule Borron by the light of the Hanger Moon. I’ve sailed the Mighty Blapp a hundred times, from here to the edge of the map, and I can fight with hands, teeth, and even me eyebrows if it comes to it. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”