The Luck Uglies (11 page)

14

Leatherleaf

R
ye, Abby, and Lottie returned from the Willow's Wares late in the afternoon. On their walk, Rye noticed more swatches of fresh white paint on the sides of buildings in Nether Neck. Abby ushered her along when she slowed to examine them for signs of black four-leaf clovers. By the time they arrived home, Folly had already sent several pigeons, sharing village gossip eavesdropped from the inn guests.

Flags on doors. Mum says old superstition
.

Soldiers on every corner. Not the Shambles. We're on our own
.

Earl's orders: anyone wearing masks in public to be arrested on sight
.

Rye folded the slips of parchment into her pocket as she joined Abby and Lottie for supper.

“Mama,” she said, as she helped clean up afterward, “I thought the villagers were terrified of the Luck Uglies. The black four-leaf clovers, the flag I saw on the old shack at the end of the street—what do they mean?”

Abby sighed and paused from her toils.

“Years ago, when Luck Uglies freely walked the village, a black clover on a tavern or shop meant that Luck Uglies were welcome. Even then the Luck Uglies weren't well regarded everywhere, but villagers took a certain comfort in their presence when faced with the alternative.” Rye knew Abby meant Bog Noblins.

“I think we are seeing some of the same,” Abby continued. “Villagers' memories are short, and it's easy to welcome something when you think it might benefit you. That said, there are opportunists out there. People who will try to use the villagers' fear for their own gain. Those men today thought they could hide behind their disguises of masks and rocks.”

Rye shuddered as she thought about the Earl's reaction.

“Given the Earl's display on Market Street,” Abby continued, “I don't think we'll see any more pretenders.”

Abby put away their plates and goblets.

“The night the Earl marched on the Luck Uglies, the soldiers destroyed every clover banner they saw. Shredded them with their blades so that they might never be hung again. That flag on our street—the ragged clover—it's the first I've seen in many years.”

Abby paused for a moment and scratched Shady behind the ears. He rolled over so she could get to his belly too.

“Riley,” Abby said, “until this Bog Noblin situation is resolved, I don't want you leaving the yard by yourself. Not even to go to Quinn's house.”

“What?” Rye exclaimed.

“This isn't a punishment, Riley, it's for your own good. And no more visits to Miser's End. Not until this mess is sorted out.”

Rye was furious. “Why can't I see him? You said he was harmless.”

“I don't want you sneaking around cemeteries with strangers,” Abby said.

“Stranger? You snuck out to see him at the Dead Fish Inn!” Rye said. “Why's it safe for you but not for me?”

Abby's eyes flared. She opened her mouth but couldn't seem to find the words. That didn't happen often. Rye shrunk back—now she was going to get it. But instead, Abby quietly put the last of the plates away and went to ready her room for bed without another word. Silence again—the worst reaction of all.

That night they all went to bed together in Abby's room. They exchanged “good nights” and “sleep tights.” Nestled between Rye and Abby, Lottie fell asleep first. Rye found herself staring at her sister's delicate features. She tried to recreate Harmless's face in her mind. As unpleasant as Lottie could often be, Rye had to admit she was remarkably cute and scar-free—which made for a tough comparison. Still, her mother's conspicuous silence had left Rye wondering how well Abby and Harmless really knew each other. She was determined to continue her morning visits—one way or another.

Shady rested on Rye's feet at the foot of the bed and began gently snoring. Rye couldn't tell if her mother was asleep yet, but she soon drifted off herself.

Rye didn't know how long she had been sleeping, but she woke to a heavy pressure on her chest. When she opened her eyes, two yellow orbs glowed inches from her face. It was Shady. His thick body stood on her chest, his big feline eyes wide and alert.

“Shady,” Rye whispered, “what are you doing?”

A low growl escaped from somewhere deep in Shady's throat. Rye sat up carefully. Both her mother and sister were fast asleep.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said.

Rye slipped quietly from the bed and set her bare feet on the cold floor. She tried to pick Shady up in her arms, but he wanted nothing of it and wrenched himself free. Clearly it wasn't Rye he was interested in. He climbed to the head of the bed and stared intently at the window.

“What is it, Shady?” Rye whispered again. “Is something outside?”

She put her hand on the shutter. Shady twitched with anticipation. Rye opened it quickly. Only the night's darkness greeted her from the other side of the glass. The room was dark too except for the glow of the fireplace embers.

“See, Shady?” Rye whispered with relief. “Nothing's there.”

Shady's tail stopped twitching, but he now made a clicking sound like he was grinding his teeth. He obviously didn't believe her.

“Maybe it's a possum or a skunk,” Rye said, and cupped her hands around her eyes as she pressed her nose to the windowpane. She didn't see Shady's collar begin to glow.

A bulging watery eye appeared on the other side of the glass, just an inch from her own.

Rye screamed and nearly leaped out of her nightgown.

Outside, Leatherleaf unleashed his terrible beast-baby wail.

Nobody on Mud Puddle Lane was sleeping anymore.

 

The O'Chanters watched from behind their front windows as Leatherleaf stalked down Mud Puddle Lane. The moon was bright in the sky and cast enough light for them to see his hulking shadow, but little else.

Rye saw candle lights and lanterns in the other windows on the street, her neighbors keeping watch just as they were, but no one ventured outside. Leatherleaf had already eaten two sheep and a chicken he'd plucked from a neighbor's yard, and tufts of wool and chicken feathers were matted in the thick hair on his chest. His appetite seemed to be satisfied for the time being, and he turned himself to another favorite Bog Noblin pursuit—vandalism. He kicked over a wooden fence. He grabbed the trunk of the apple tree in Old Lady Crabtree's yard with both claws and shook it violently, until each and every apple had fallen to the ground. He then picked them up and started throwing them in every direction.

Rye turned from the window and looked around the cottage. The doors and windows were firmly latched, but she had no doubt that Leatherleaf could knock them open in one or two blows if he was so inclined. Shady was doing his best to rip them down from the inside. He howled and yowled and threw himself against the door. That didn't work and he had now taken to clawing at it with his paws, his determination so fierce that he left deep grooves right in the wood. Abby seemed to consider him for a long time. Finally, reluctantly, she hauled him scratching and thrashing into the pantry and shut the door.

“Not now, little warrior,” Rye heard Abby say to the door, in a whisper that was barely audible.

She rejoined the girls at the window. Lottie's chin barely cleared the sill, but she pressed her nose against the glass.

“Mama,” she said, “bear outside?”

“Yes, Lottie. It's a bear.”

Lottie scowled. “Mean bear. Throw Nanny Cab-Tee's apples. No, no, no,” she said, shaking a finger.

Abby stared out the window, never taking her eyes off Leatherleaf, watching the street.

Perhaps the most interesting thing Rye noticed was the pale blue glow around all their necks. The O'Chanters' chokers, even Shady's collar before his banishment to the pantry, glowed a matching shade of blue.

There was a loud thump as an apple bounced off the house. All three O'Chanters jumped in surprise.

“Mean bear hit our house,” Lottie yelled.

Outside, Leatherleaf had taken his vandalism to a far more serious level. He had climbed onto the roof of the cottage across the street. His weight alone buckled the thatch-and-shingle roof, but now he was digging into it with his claws and tearing pieces away.

“Mama,” Rye said, “it's the Pendergills' house. There are babies in there.”

“I know,” Abby said quietly. “I know.”

“Mama,” Rye said. “We have to do something.”

Rye started dancing from foot to foot, as she often did when she was excited. It usually meant that her brain was about to stop working and she was going to run off somewhere and do something not-so-smart. Abby caught her by the arm and held it fast.

“Riley,” she said, “you are staying
right
here.”

“But, Mama,” she said, “the babies.”

Leatherleaf had managed to tear a hole in the roof. He stared down through it, his black tongue flicking wildly at his lips.

“Mama,” Rye said, her eyes welling with tears, “he'll hurt them. Please, we have to stop him.”

“Mean bear not nice,” Lottie huffed, and stepped away from Abby's side.

Abby turned and reached for her. As she did, she lost her grip on Rye's arm.

“Lottie, wait—RILEY!”

“Humph!” Lottie said as she stomped to her room, angrily slamming the door behind her.

Rye didn't say anything at all as she unlatched the door and rushed out.

Leatherleaf plunged his long, knotted arm through the hole up to his shoulder, fishing it around like a hungry cat's paw in a kettle of sardines. His face wore a toothy smile, as if he had grabbed something tender and sweet, but when he noticed Rye his jagged grin disappeared. He climbed down from the roof empty-handed and approached her.

She stood at the edge of her yard, now completely befuddled by what she had expected to accomplish. In her long history of bad decisions, even Rye had to admit this one might be her worst. She'd rushed headfirst into danger without thinking. Now she was alone, in the dark, with the same beast that had tried to make a meal of her once before.

Except this time she wasn't alone. She felt her mother's arms wrap themselves around her from behind and pull her close to her body.

Leatherleaf was less than three strides from them. He stared at them intently, his drippy, bulging eyes rotating in different directions. He stepped forward, then hesitated and took a step back. He paced back and forth, advanced and seemed to reconsider again. The smell of the bogs filled Rye's nose. Skunk cabbage. The same smell as the pouch she'd taken from Leatherleaf's camp.

Rye felt Abby draw her in tighter.

Leatherleaf snarled, pulling at his beard with a claw. He lurched forward, causing Rye to nearly jump out of her leggings, but he stopped short. Abby didn't budge.

“Stand strong,” she said in a whisper.

Leatherleaf paced. He scratched at his face as if struggling with some enormous challenge, but Rye had no idea what it could be.

Rye looked up at her mother.

“No, no,” Abby whispered without looking down. “Eyes right at him.”

Rye noticed her mother's choker, exposed now from the loosened collar of her dress. It glowed even brighter than it had inside. Rye glanced down. Her choker beamed too.

Leatherleaf, on the other hand, was growing more and more agitated. He scuffled at the ground with his clawed feet like a bull ready to charge. He slapped at his own knobby head. His eyes rotated from Abby to Rye to the Pendergills' house and back again.

Rye felt her mother's hands move up to rest on Rye's shoulders.

Leatherleaf drooled. Mucus from his eyes ran down his cheeks.

With Abby guiding Rye by the shoulders, they took a collective step back toward their cottage.

Leatherleaf pitched his head toward the sky and let out the fearsome wail Rye had already heard too many times. But instead of following them, he turned angrily and faced the Pendergills' house. Rye's eyes grew wide. Leatherleaf started for the hole he'd already made. Rye opened her mouth to scream but another sound froze him in place.

It was a long, low whistle that carried its way up Mud Puddle Lane.

Abby loosened her grip on Rye and they both looked toward the source of the noise. Leatherleaf's eyes darted nervously.

They had to squint, but there, at the far side of Mud Puddle Lane, on the forested end of the dirt road, was a solitary figure. It was covered head to toe in a dark, hooded cloak, and it stood perfectly still.

Leatherleaf remained motionless, watching the figure, as if hoping if he stared long enough, it might go away.

Neither of them moved for a long while, then finally the figure took a step forward. Then another. It approached Leatherleaf at a slow and deliberate pace. Leatherleaf seemed to grow increasingly nervous and agitated as the figure neared, but did not advance one way or the other.

When the figure was about halfway down Mud Puddle Lane, it brushed aside the folds of its cloak and reached over its shoulders. Hands reappeared holding two sharp blades. There was something around its neck. Something that glowed intensely blue, like flames in a white-hot fire.