North! Or Be Eaten (32 page)

“I want,” Gammon said with a sigh, “to make a bargain.”

Khrak’s eyes widened with surprise. He hadn’t expected this. “What kind of a bargain?”

“I know where the Jewels of Anniera are. I know where they’re headed,” said Gammon. “And I know that you haven’t caught them yet. How is it, with all your swords and teeth and trolls, you can’t capture three little children? I can’t imagine Gnag is happy about that, is he?”

Khrak hissed, and the point of his tail fluttered with warning.

“I propose to deliver you the Jewels of Anniera, safe and sound. And if I do, you gather your army and leave my continent. If the Fangs—
any
sort of Fangs—raise a blade against my army, I’ll do away with the jewels once and for all. How would Gnag like that? How would he like it if after all these years, the treasure he sought was finally within his reach—and then lost forever?”

The two of them glared at each other. Khrak wondered if Gnag would be angrier that he had lost Skree or that the jewels had been killed. He immediately knew the answer to the question. For nine years the Nameless One had obsessed over finding these cursed jewels. If they were killed, Khrak knew he would be blamed. He was one of Gnag’s oldest and most loyal soldiers, but he was no fool. Khrak would be dust on the breeze the moment the jewels were lost.

“I agree.”

Gammon’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“I agree, fool. If you deliver to me the three Wingfeather children, then we will leave these lands. There is little here that we want, anyway.”
Of course
, Khrak thought,
we Fangs will never leave. If Gammon believes that, then he’s not as smart as I thought
.

“I have your word? You’ll leave, simple as that?” Gammon said.

“Yesss,” Khrak said, trying to keep a straight face.
Is it really this easy?

“Well, fine then. Fine.” Gammon nodded. “My scouts have told me where they are. In two weeks, send as many Fangs as you like to the Ice Prairies, and we’ll deliver the children. I suggest you bring the whole army. I’ve heard these children have a way of escaping.” Gammon narrowed his eyes. “I have your word?”

“Of course,” said Khrak.
The word of a Fang
.

“Because we’ll kill them,” said Gammon. “I mean it. And there are enough of us to put up a fight, so don’t plan any tricks.”

“Of course,” repeated Khrak. “No tricksss. Will that be all?”

“Yes. That’s all. Two weeks.” Gammon straightened and left the throne room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Khrak burst into laughter. He knew humans were weak and cowardly, but he had come to believe that a few at least were of
some
intelligence. Gammon, for instance, was notorious. He had boldly worked against the Fangs for so long that Khrak had even come to respect him. The way he strode into the room only minutes ago had solidified that respect—but now this? Gammon believed the Fangs would pack up and evacuate Skree as easy as that?
Gullible fool!

As soon as Khrak had the children in his possession, the Fangs would stamp out Gammon’s little army with no more trouble than squishing a roach. Gammon was as much a fool as the old woman who prepared his gruel.

“And fools,” sneered Khrak to himself, “deserve the iron fist of the Fangs of Dang.” He pounded the armrest of the throne. “Woman! Bring my salad!”

H
ard as it was to believe, there was something positive about being stuck in the box for three long days: Janner had plenty of time to think back on what he had done to get there and what he would do when he got out. He lay in the coffin and went over it again and again, second-guessing himself, preparing his nerves for the next stage of the plan, wondering if Mobrik suspected anything.

Finding the ridgerunner had been easy enough. He was always zipping here and there, climbing chains, leaping from coal pile to gearbox to table, a sort of Maintenance Manager for the Maintenance Managers. When Mobrik came near during the second shift, Janner had called his name.

“What do you want?” the ridgerunner asked.

“I need a favor,” Janner said.

“Do you have any fruit?”

And with great satisfaction, Janner said, “Yes.”

“What do you mean?” Mobrik’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get fruit?”

“None of your business. Maybe I had it with me when I got here. Maybe I know things about this factory that you don’t. Maybe there’s a fruit tree atop the building that drops apples down the gutter and into my pockets.”

Mobrik looked at the ceiling, then raised an eyebrow at Janner. “You’re being funny. You’re trying to be funny.”

“Nope,” Janner said, and he produced an apple from his pocket.

Mobrik’s eyes grew as wide as the apple itself. The little creature snatched it away, then whacked Janner in the head. “That’s for trying to be funny with me. I don’t know where you got the apple, but you can be sure I’ll report this to the Overseer. Now get back to work.” He turned to go.

“But I still need a favor,” Janner said.

Mobrik stopped. “What?”

“I need a favor.”

“Do you have more fruit?” Mobrik asked, this time less sure of himself.

“Yes. I have more fruit, but it’s hidden away. If you do the favor, I’ll tell you where it is.
Two
more apples.”

Mobrik skittered forward and patted Janner’s pockets. “Fool. If it’s true you have these fruits, I’ll tell the Overseer, and we’ll search the factory until they’re found. Then you’ll be thrown into the box again. You don’t want that, do you?” The ridgerunner smiled wickedly. “I heard you in there, crying and crying. It was pathetic.”

Janner ignored him. “It’s true, you might find the apples. But trust me when I say I’ve hidden them well. It may take you days and days to find them, and by then? The longer they sit…”

Mobrik’s face fell. “The worser they get.” Just as Janner hoped, the ridgerunner couldn’t bear the thought of letting perfectly sweet apples go to rot. “How many did you say? Two?”

“Two sweet, shiny red apples.”

Mobrik bit into the apple in his hand. He closed his eyes and chewed in ecstatic silence. “Very well. If I do this favor for you, you will tell me the location of the apples?”

“Once you prove to me that the favor is done, and if you swear by the fruit of the Green Hollows and the Holes in the Mountains that you’ll not betray me, I’ll tell you where to find the apples.”

“The Hollows! The Holes!” Mobrik gasped. “How do you know such things?”

“I just know. You have my word that I’ll give you the apples if you’ll swear on the Hollows and the Holes that you’ll do as I ask.”

“I can’t help you escape, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not it. I want you to do something for another of the…tools.”

Mobrik cocked his head and thought for a moment. “Fine. What do you want? Hurry, or the apples will worsen!”

Janner had eaten two bowls of broth the night after his conversation with Sara Cobbler, knowing he’d be stuck in the box for three days. After the third shift, when he was easing his tired bones into bed, the ridgerunner appeared again.

“It’s done, boy.”

“Starting when?”

“Tomorrow, first shift.”

“You swear on the Hollows and the Holes?”

Mobrik straightened and adjusted his coat, offended that his honor was in question. “I swear it. On the fruit of the Green Hollows and the Holes in the Mountains.”

“Thank you, Mobrik.”

“Where are the apples?” he demanded.

“What apples?”

Mobrik looked so shocked he might faint.

“I’m kidding,” Janner said. “They’re right over there. Under the pillow in that empty bunk.”

The ridgerunner darted to the bunk and removed the apples. He held them over his head in triumph, then shoved an apple against each nostril and inhaled deeply.

Janner had smiled as Mobrik skipped away, even though he knew the box awaited him. This would be his last night in a bunk for a long time, if everything went according to plan. He was determined to enjoy it.

That was days ago, as far as Janner could guess. Now, in the darkness of the box, his back ached. He wanted to turn on his side, but there wasn’t room. He had thought that his first time in the box would make this time easier. It made the beginning easier because he didn’t have to pass through the dreadful experience of discovering he was trapped, but knowing he had to endure three days instead of two was maddening.

Janner’s stomach growled again, and he thought about the last apple. He had taken four from the basket, lost one to Mobrik at the beginning, then given him two in exchange for the favor. He hid the last one in his big glove until his second dash through the factory.

He had waited until he found Sara Cobbler at lunch, and she confirmed that Mobrik had indeed kept his word. As soon as Janner returned to the paring station, he steeled himself for another run. He dropped his giant scissors, slipped the apple into his pocket, waited until the Maintenance Managers were looking elsewhere, and bolted.

This time he zipped through the aisles toward the staircase with ease. In fact, he worried for a moment that his escape was going
too
well. He heard none of the cries of alarm this time, no signs of pursuit from the managers. He bounded up the steps, a little frustrated because this time he
wanted
to get caught.

Then he ran into someone. Someone bigger than a child. Someone wearing a ridiculous top hat.

“Another escape attempt, child?” the Overseer said with an evil grin.

Janner shrugged and smiled.

The Overseer pushed Janner to the ground and uncoiled his whip. “You’ll not be smiling for long.”

The worst part about being stuck in the coffin this time was that he had no way to tend to his wounds. Welts covered his arms, his back, and his thighs. The Overseer
had whipped him until Janner begged him to stop. Even the Maintenance Managers looked away, probably because it reminded them of their own beatings from the same whip.

“Pick him up,” the Overseer ordered. “Three days in the box.”

So Janner lay in the dark, thinking again of his family, of his wounds, of Tink, wherever he was. He thought of the clean snow of the Ice Prairies, the welcome arms of Gammon’s people. His stomach growled again, and he decided it was time to eat the apple. It was gone far too soon, but at least it was moist enough to slake his thirst, and it quieted the hunger pangs for a time.

He slept in fits. He descended into a numb trance in which his memories swirled before his eyes like smoke. Every sour thought he’d ever thought, every cruel word he’d ever said to his brother or sister, every selfish action he’d ever taken rose out of the darkness like ghosts and taunted him. He replayed arguments, wishing he’d said some things, wishing he hadn’t said others.

He was trapped in a place where all he had was himself, and though he’d never thought of himself as a bad person, every motive, thought, and action that paraded through the blackness told him otherwise. Even his alliance with Sara Cobbler was driven by selfishness. It was true he hoped to help her escape, that he wanted badly for her to be free—but would he be willing to set her free if it meant he had to stay? He was ashamed of the answer. All his justifications—that he was a Throne Warden, that he had to keep Tink safe, that somehow he and his brother and sister might help keep the dream of Anniera alive—all of it was meaningless if he thought himself somehow worthier of being set free than any of the children in the factory, especially pretty Sara Cobbler.

After the third long day, the door to the coffin at last swung open. As before, the light stung Janner’s eyes. He groaned and climbed from the coffin stiffly.

“Out, Flavogle. I see you are able to find fruit even in the box,” Mobrik said when he saw the browned apple core in the coffin. “He’s a sneaky boy, he is. Come on. The Overseer wants to speak to you.”

Janner, though he was weary to the bone, though his body was bruised from the whip, though he was hungry and thirsty and covered with filth, grinned. He couldn’t wait to visit the Overseer.

J
anner climbed the steps from the dungeon slowly, willing his stiff legs to work. He would need them very soon.

Just like last time, Mobrik led him into the big, empty room where the carriage sat. No sunlight shone through the high windows, which meant it was nighttime.
Perfect
. As long as Mobrik hadn’t changed the schedule, things were lining up exactly as Janner had hoped they would.

In the center of the room, the sad brown horse was harnessed to the carriage, just as before, except that it faced the portcullis, as if the Overseer were preparing to leave, perhaps on one of his trips to Tilling Court to pick up more kidnapped children.

Janner’s mind buzzed, but he was too tired, too stiff to sort out whether or not this unexpected change would affect his escape. Before he could worry about it anymore, Mobrik pushed Janner through the door to the Overseer’s office.

The Overseer sat at his desk, a ledger open before him. The top hat, to Janner’s surprise, wasn’t on his head but on a hook beside the door. The whip dangled from a hook beside the hat.

“Eyes on
me
, tool.”

Janner nodded, trying to appear more exhausted than he really was. He wanted the Overseer and Mobrik to believe he was finally beaten.

“Now. It has come to my attention that you are a…resourceful tool. Mobrik here informed me that you were able to locate three apples.”

“Four, sir,” said Mobrik, holding up the apple core from the coffin.

Janner’s heart pounded. He felt certain that somehow they had found him out. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, praying Sara Cobbler hadn’t been punished.

“Four?” said the Overseer. “So. You managed to carry food into the box with you. As I said,
resourceful
. Would you agree, Mobrik?”

“Yes sir.”

“Now, tool. It’s obvious you managed to outwit Mobrik here. You took the apples
from his fruit basket when he wasn’t looking and saved them for later snacks. Mobrik told me he caught you trying to eat them in your bunk.”