North! Or Be Eaten (23 page)

At the corner of the cobbled street stood a sign that read
GREEN BLOSSOM AVENUE
. The buildings here were brick and stone, three and four stories tall, with wide windows displaying meats and cheeses and tools for sale.

Oskar wiped his brow and looked up and down Green Blossom Avenue. “We turn left here. Toward the river.”

But before Podo took his first step, a company of Fangs marched around a corner two streets away. “Back! Back!” he rasped.

In the bustle of seven people—one of them quite large—trying to reverse direction, Leeli lost her footing and fell. Janner tugged her to her feet and dragged her back.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Leeli whispered.

“
Shh
, honey! It’s not yer fault!” Podo said.

“But—” Leeli said.

“Leeli, it’s okay,” Janner said.

“But—” she repeated, and Podo shushed her again.

He pushed them into the narrow corridor between two buildings. All Janner could see was Podo’s sweaty shirt and the old planks of the houses on either side. Louder grew the sound of marching Fangs. Janner closed his eyes, praying they would march on and the sound would fade to silence.

But the Fang company halted. Janner held his breath.

“My crutch,” Leeli breathed. “I tried to tell you.”

Podo hung his head.

One of the Fangs barked an order, and a set of footsteps came nearer. Janner waited for the moment when the scaly face would appear. Podo would kill it before it even knew what it had seen, but then the other Fangs would be after them. With so many Fangs on the torch towers and marching through the streets, Janner knew they wouldn’t escape for long.

“A ssstick or something,” the Fang said. It stood just around the corner from where they hid, so close that Janner could smell it. The Fang in the street growled something unintelligible, and the nearer Fang answered, “A crutch? Not sure what a crutch is, sir. Ssseems like I used to know…. Yes sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll bring it.”

The Fangs resumed their march. The family waited a long time before they eased from the corridor.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” Leeli said with tears in her eyes.

“Hush, lass.” He stroked her hair with his gnarled hand. “It’s me who’s sorry. If a Song Maiden of Anniera tells ye somethin’, you listen.” Then he added in a quieter voice, “No matter if she’s a Song Maiden—if your sweet granddaughter tells ye some-thin’, you listen then too. Come here.” Podo handed his backpack to Oskar, then boosted Leeli onto his back.

When he was sure the Fangs were gone, Podo led the company south on Green Blossom Avenue. The cobbled road was littered with horse droppings but otherwise clean. Tall buildings loomed over the street, their windows dark and covered in a layer of dust and grime. In the windows were various wares and merchandise for sale: sacks of grain, crude statues bearing dresses and coats with stiff dignity, bird cages, and forks and spoons.
¹
Janner spotted a storefront that boasted one simple, beautiful word—
BOOKS
—and pointed it out to Oskar.

The old man shook his head and scowled, “Peddlers and crooks,” he said. “Wouldn’t know a good book from a bad tooth.”

The family kept close to the buildings, careful to stay out of the glare of the torchlight. At each cross street, Podo checked the towers, and then they sprinted out of the shadows from one side to the other. It seemed that any moment another regiment of Fangs would leap from behind a building.

But finally Oskar whispered, “This is it.”

They stood at the intersection of Green Blossom Avenue and another wide street called Riverside Road. Green Blossom crossed Riverside and sloped down into the black expanse of the Mighty Blapp. More tall brick storefronts lined the north side of Riverside Road, but on the south along the riverbank stood wooden boathouses bordered by docks and bridges. The wind changed, and a sharp odor filled Janner’s nose.

“Ah, the sweet smell of jarp and redgill from the riverboats,” Podo said with a sigh. “Been too long since I filled me belly with fish.”

Tink moaned with longing and put a hand on his stomach while Janner fought the urge to gag.

Far across the river, Torrboro lay in darkness. All that could be seen of the Palace Torr or any of its surrounding structures was a wink of torchlight reflected on the surface of the river.

“Look,” Oskar said, pointing down the street to the right. A series of wooden signs hung from the row of buildings and creaked in the waterfront wind:
BILLY BUTTON’S APPARELLRY
,
TOBACCO FOR PIPES
(
YOUR WIFE WILL LOVE IT
!),
LUCKY ROCKS
. Another shingle depicted an impossibly fat woman in a black dress, weeping, a handkerchief over her mouth and nose.
THE ROUNDISH WIDOW
, the sign read.
ALE
,
COMFORT
,
AND SAILOR’S PIE
. The Igibys huddled in the doorway of a shoe repair shop, and the sign above their heads read
A PLACE FOR FOOTS
.

Just across the street, a torch tower rose from behind the boathouses, and Janner didn’t need to look to know a Fang stood at the top, watching the street for movement.

“Well,” Podo whispered.

“Well,” Oskar echoed, donning his spectacles with a flourish. “In the words of the great warrior Triliban Plubius the Bruised, ‘Whether crushed or sheltered by the Maker’s hand, ‘tis beneath it we go, from breath to death.’”

“Aye,” Tink said.

“On the far side of the Roundish Widow there’s an alleyway,” Oskar whispered. “Ronchy said to meet him there at midnight, and Maker only knows how late we are.”

At that moment they heard a great many
clangs
that echoed faintly off the distant walls of Torrboro.

“It’s one o’clock,” Podo said.

“An hour late,” Nia said.

“But he’d wait for us, wouldn’t he?” Leeli asked.

“I hope so, little princess.” Oskar smiled, then looked at Podo. “Ready?”

Podo took a deep breath and risked a peek at the torch tower. “No sign of the Fang. He must be on the other side.”

Then from the foot of the tower that sprouted from the quay side came the grating snarl of a Fang, so close that even Podo sucked in a breath.

“Sneem!” it said. “I’m comin’ up!”

“Glag! About time,” answered Sneem’s voice from far above. With much hissing and puffing, the Fang called Sneem skittered down the ladder in plain sight not a stone’s throw away. When it reached the base of the tower, hidden behind the boathouses, the two Fangs exchanged a harsh greeting, and then the other Fang appeared above the boathouse roof, climbing the ladder.

Sneem emerged from between two boathouses directly across the street, wiping soot from its face. Janner’s heart skipped a beat. The Fang walked straight toward them. It was only one, but one was all it took to alert the others. Maybe the Fang wouldn’t see them. Maybe its eyes were still dim from standing so long at the bright fire and it would walk right past the Igibys. Maybe Tink’s stomach wouldn’t growl and Podo wouldn’t burp and they would make it safe to the alleyway where help awaited.

“Sneem!” called Glag, now on the tower platform.

Only a few steps from the cobbler’s door, Sneem stopped and turned. “Eh?”

“Forgot to tell you. Word has it he’s back.”

“The Florid Sword?” Sneem asked.

“Or whatever he calls himself. He was spotted on the west side of town already tonight, so be wary.”

“Bah! Let him come. I’ll skewer him like a daggerfish.”

After a moment Glag said, “Do you mean,
you’re
the daggerfish doing the skewering, or do you mean you’ll skewer him like
he’s
a daggerfish that you’re trying to stab in the river?”

Sneem cocked his snaky head sideways to sort out the question. “Either way, the Florid Sword gets skewered, don’t he?”

“I sssuppose,” said Glag, “but it might be harder to stab him if he was swimming about in the water like a daggerfish. Them are fast. But if
you
was the daggerfish, you’d just leap out of the river and jab him, right?”

Sneem thought about this for a moment, then said, “I’ll get ‘im. Like a fish.”

Please keep talking
, Janner thought.
As long as they’re talking, Sneem won’t turn around and see us. Maybe they’ll go back and forth like this until dawn, or until Peet appears to rescue us, or until the Fang curls up and goes to sleep right there in the street
.

And who is the Florid Sword?

Podo tapped Janner’s shoulder and mouthed the words,
“Be ready.”
He slid Leeli from his back and carefully drew his sword. Janner and Tink did likewise, wincing at every creak in the leather of their packs as they moved. Maybe if they were quick enough, Sneem wouldn’t have a chance to sound the alarm.

The Igiby boys and Podo moved quietly in front of Nia, Leeli, and Oskar. The three shining blades extended beyond the canopy shadow, floating in the torchlight as if in the grip of ghosts. Janner was afraid but eager to see Sneem’s surprise when he turned to find three figures with bright blades leaping—like daggerfish—from the shadows.

The Fang on the tower bid farewell, and Sneem waved with the nearest thing to friendliness Janner had ever witnessed among Fangs.

When Sneem turned around, he took a single step and stopped. But he wasn’t looking at the Igibys. His black eyes were aimed at the rooftop above them.

“The Florid Sword!” Sneem cried.

Those were his last words.

T
he Florid Sword leapt from the roof of the cobbler’s building, bounced off the canopy, flipped through the air, and landed graceful as a cat behind Sneem. He wore a black cape, black boots, and black gloves, and had black hair that hung to his shoulders. Everything about him was black as coal, including his mask. The whites of his eyes shone. He thrust his narrow sword and put a grisly end to the Fang. Janner caught the white flash of his teeth when the man smiled.

“To be sure, Sneem, thou fiend, the Florid Sword hath run you through like unto a bolt of iron lightning piercing the watery depths of the Mighty Blapp, may she run wide and muddy all the days of mine own life! Flayed by my blade! Aha!”

Glag sputtered in outrage from the tower platform. The Florid Sword spun, and his cape whooshed in a graceful circle. He unslung a bow from his shoulder, notched an arrow, and let it fly. First there was a
thonk
, then a moan, then the sound of Glag’s body crashing through the roof of the boathouse.

“And thou!” cried the Florid Sword as he slung his bow over his shoulder again and glared at the hole in the roof. “Glag, the fallen foul fool! Fah!” He straightened and flourished his cape, then yanked his blade from Sneem’s limp body and wiped it on a patch of the creature’s leather armor.

Podo, Tink, and Janner never moved. All three of their mouths hung open. Janner made out a bright red symbol on the front of the man’s black shirt. An F and an S curled and swooped like thorny vines across his chest.

The Florid Sword set his bright gaze on the Igibys. “And who on this coal black night art thou?”

“I’m Podo Helmer. This is my family.”

“Helmer. Family. Words, nothing more! And more words I have for you. Three of them: The Florid Sword! I am he! Aha!”

Fang footsteps thudded in the distance, louder with each step. The Florid Sword
grabbed Sneem’s scaly ankle with both hands and dragged him toward the river without another word.

“What was that all about?” Tink asked.

“The Florid Sword,” Podo said with admiration. “Never heard of him.”

“I’ve heard talk of a hero who swoops down from rooftops,” Oskar said, “who foils the Stranders when they’re up to no good and takes great pleasure in upsetting the Fang rule in this part of Skree. I’ve never heard him called the Florid Sword before, though.”

“Well, who is he?” Nia asked.

“Nobody knows.”

Janner caught himself smiling. He imagined climbing the buildings, bounding from rooftop to rooftop in a black disguise, Fangs in pursuit.

“Look,” Tink said.

The man in black was barely visible in the shadows of the riverside docks, but after a faint splash, the bright red emblem on his chest reappeared as he approached the Igibys again. Janner and Tink were so enraptured with the mysterious hero, they nearly forgot that a Fang regiment was drawing near.

“Be thou gone, friends! Take cover!” the Florid Sword cried. “‘Tis well after midnight, and thou shan’t be spared if thou art snared!” The swordsman waved, bowed grandly, and sprinted up the center of Green Blossom Avenue.

Podo sheathed his sword and boosted Leeli onto his back, then bustled everyone down the street to the Roundish Widow. Just as Oskar said, between the tavern and the next building lay a narrow alleyway.

Janner was first into the shadows. Old crates were strewn here and there, along with a pile of cracked dishes and a bucket of rusty nails. Two figures stood, startling Janner so badly that he nearly tripped. He blinked, unable to make out any details in the darkness. The figures—men—made no further movement and didn’t speak.

When Podo trotted up with Leeli on his back, Oskar broke the tense silence.

“I can’t see clearly, old friend. Is that you?”

“It is,” came the answer. The voice croaked like a digtoad.

“Ah! Good! I’m sorry we’re late.”

“It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re safe. The Florid Sword is about tonight. He’s got the Fangs alert and unhappy.” Janner heard fighting in the distance.

Podo pushed forward and extended his hand. “Podo Helmer. Ye must be Ronchy McHiggins.”

The man nodded. Janner’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he saw that Ronchy was a small man, much smaller than his voice suggested. He wore an apron covered
with grease and handprints. It was too dark to see much about his face other than that his hair was slicked back and his moustache, wider than his head, curled out like the antennae of a grasshopper.

Podo turned to the other man. “And who’re you?”