The Luck Uglies (12 page)

Then Leatherleaf did something entirely unexpected. He began to run. In the opposite direction.

What happened next was a blur to Rye. No sooner had Leatherleaf cleared the Quartermasts' cottage than heavy netting engulfed him. The ropes of the net were as thick as a man's arm and each end was weighted with heavy iron anchors. While Leatherleaf struggled to free himself, dozens of armored soldiers spilled onto the road from the village end of Mud Puddle Lane. They chopped at Leatherleaf's legs with clubs and flails. Leatherleaf let out his hideous wail. All the soldiers paused for a moment to cover their ears before promptly resuming their attack. The more Leatherleaf struggled, the tighter the netting became.

Rye looked back toward the other end of the street. The figure just stood there and, while she could not see its face, its body language seemed to indicate it was just as surprised as Leatherleaf at this recent turn of events. Abby took Rye by the arm and hurried her to their house.

There were cheers and Rye looked to see the soldiers jumping up and down. They had managed to drag Leatherleaf to the ground. They continued to pummel him. Rye craned her neck toward the cloaked figure as Abby pushed her into the cottage, but he was nowhere to be found.

Over the next half hour, the soldiers secured the Bog Noblin for transport. Leatherleaf put up a mighty struggle even on the ground, but after being beaten nearly senseless by a small army of soldiers—he'd managed to dispense with several even while caught in a net—he had no more fight left in him. An enormous cart pulled by a team of draft horses was brought to Mud Puddle Lane, and Rye's neighbors began to venture out onto their doorsteps to watch the extraordinary proceedings unfold.

Abby leaned on the window in silence, her jaw tightening as she took in the spectacle. Rye wondered if her mother was angry with her, Leatherleaf, or something else entirely. Lottie had rejoined them. A copper pot rested on her head, serving as a makeshift helmet. She held the lid as her shield, a small garden spade as her weapon. She seemed disappointed to have missed the battle with the mean bear.

Rye noticed that Abby was clutching the collar of her nightdress, covering her choker.

“Mama,” Rye said, “why do our chokers glow?”

“What's that?” she said, as if she hadn't heard.

“Our runes,” Rye said, tugging at her own choker. “Why do they glow whenever the Bog Noblin's around?”

Abby glanced over. She stepped toward Rye and adjusted Rye's collar closed too.

“It's a warning,” she said simply.

“They warn us when Bog Noblins are near?”

“Something like that, yes,” Abby sighed. “But more importantly, it warns
them
to stay away.”

Rye shook her head in disbelief. Where in the Shale would chokers like these come from?

There was a great deal of hooting, hollering, and armored backslapping outside. With Leatherleaf finally secured to the enormous cart, the horsemen cracked their whips. The fleet of horses began pulling the cart and the vanquished Bog Noblin toward the village walls.

15

Trouble Afoot

R
ye watched carefully as Harmless tossed the gold grommet straight up in the air and caught it in his right hand three times, the coin flashing in the sunlight. The fourth time, he flicked it across his body and caught it in his left. But when he opened his left palm to show Rye, it was empty.

Rye shook her head. “I don't understand. Where did it go?”

“Nowhere. It's still in my right hand,” Harmless said, showing her. Indeed it was.

“But I saw you throw it.”

“Your mind saw it, but it never really happened,” Harmless said. “That's the illusion. Here, watch again.”

Rye watched again, closely. Again, she saw the coin fly from his right hand to his left. But when Harmless opened his palms, the coin hadn't moved.

“Your mind is a very powerful tool,” Harmless said, “but it can be deceived with a little practice. Someone who learns to trick the minds of others is very powerful indeed.”

Harmless tossed her the coin. Rye bobbled it and dropped it into the overgrown weeds of the cemetery. She quickly found it and picked it up. Harmless just smiled.

“Keep it for practice. Or spend it if you like. Whatever you prefer.”

Harmless retrieved his bowl and spoon from the fallen headstone that served as their makeshift breakfast table. Rye was exhausted after her sleepless night on Mud Puddle Lane. She suspected the rest of the neighborhood was weary too, although they all seemed greatly relieved now that the Bog Noblin had been captured. Despite her drooping eyes and dragging feet, there was no way Rye was going to miss a morning with Harmless. She had too many questions in need of answering. Yesterday her mother had said no sneaking around the cemetery until the Bog Noblin mess was settled. It certainly seemed settled now.

“Breakfast is delicious,” Harmless said. “What is it?”

Rye looked skeptical.

“Cornmeal mush and molasses,” she said.

Harmless spooned it all up with great enthusiasm. Clearly he was not a fussy eater.

When he finished his meal, he set the bowl on the headstone, stretched, and let out a large belch. Rye giggled. Her mother didn't always appreciate her and Lottie's burping contests at the table.

“You know,” Harmless said, “there are places where it's considered rude if you don't belch after a meal.”

“Really?”

“That's right,” Harmless said. “It's how you say thank you.”

“In that case, you're welcome,” Rye said.

They both sat quietly for a time. Harmless wasn't going to make it easy, and he seemed content to just sit and enjoy the morning sun.

“Everyone is quite relieved that the Bog Noblin has been captured,” Rye said finally.

“I imagine so,” Harmless said.

“It's been a frightening few days,” Rye said. “Weeks, really.”

Harmless rubbed his stubbly chin. He seemed to be considering things. “Leatherleaf's behavior was much unexpected. I'm surprised he ventured onto Mud Puddle Lane. It makes very little sense.”

“You said you've been following him,” Rye said. “Aren't you glad he was captured by the Earl's men?”

“I'm neither happy nor sad about that. I am, however, troubled by what comes next.”

“Next?” Rye said.

Harmless turned to her. “I'm not the only one following Leatherleaf. There are others. Leatherleaf, you see, is running for his life.”

“Running from who?” Rye said, her eyes wide.

“His clan,” Harmless said. “That's like his family. Although they're nothing like a family you or I would imagine.”

“Why would he run from his family?”

“It's a sad and complicated story. But to make it simple, Leatherleaf's clan—the Clugburrow—is one of the oldest and fiercest of the Bog Noblin clans—which is saying something, believe me. They are unforgiving, and terribly cruel. Leatherleaf was the runt of the clan—the smallest and weakest. He was beaten and tormented mercilessly. Finally, he fled.”

The runt, Rye thought, and shuddered. What on earth did the others look like?

“Why does everyone say Bog Noblins are extinct?” Rye said.

Harmless gave her a tight smile. “We often tell untruths to help us sleep easier at night.”

Rye frowned and wondered what other untruths she'd been clinging to.

“Anyway,” Harmless continued, “Leatherleaf has been running for several months now. I am most surprised he has stopped and dawdled for so long. . . .” Harmless trailed off in thought. “Only something very compelling would keep him here.”

Rye's mind jumped to the leather pouch. Could that be the answer? One she knew but Harmless didn't? Rye's excitement quickly soured. If the pouch was indeed keeping Leatherleaf here, it meant all his destruction—and any more to come—would be her fault.

“Why is his clan chasing him?” Rye said. She suddenly felt like she'd swallowed a rotten pigeon egg. “Why won't they just let him go?”

“Some of your questions I cannot answer,” Harmless said, shaking his head, “because I don't know myself. What I do know is that Morningwig Longchance is putting this entire village in grave danger so long as he keeps Leatherleaf here.”

“Because Leatherleaf's clan will come after him?”

Harmless nodded. “Yes.”

“The Earl's men captured Leatherleaf. Maybe they can defend us from the rest of the Bog Noblins as well,” Rye said.

Harmless sighed. “As I said, Leatherleaf is young and small. He's not much older than you—in Bog Noblin years anyway. He's also injured. A healthy Bog Noblin, even one as young and frail as Leatherleaf, would never have been captured by the soldiers that way.”

“How was he hurt?” Rye said.

“He was injured in a fight. Last week. It was the night of the Black Moon, in fact.”

“Was it you?” Rye whispered.

“No.”

“Was it the Clugburrow following him?”

“Not this time,” Harmless said.

“What, then?”

Harmless clasped his hands and leaned forward. “It is somewhat difficult to explain. There are ancient creatures. They've been called many things over the years. These days, humans call them Gloaming Beasts.”

“Gloaming Beasts,” Rye repeated.

“That's correct,” Harmless said. “Gloaming Beasts are the only known predator of the Bog Noblin. Their hide is thick and their bodies immune to the Bog Noblins' infectious bites. Their own claws are laced with toxins that are poisonous to Bog Noblins. To all other creatures, the effect isn't much more than a mild itch.”

“Why do they hunt Bog Noblins?” Rye said. “They don't look very appetizing.”

“Oh, Gloaming Beasts don't eat Bog Noblins,” Harmless said. “Well, they may snack on them, but Bog Noblins are not their food. They hunt them for sport. For the sheer joy of it. Even a well-fed, content Gloaming Beast has an insatiable desire to slaughter Bog Noblins. They are curious beasts indeed.”

“They sound dreadful,” Rye said. “What do they look like?”

“They aren't as bad as they sound,” Harmless said. “They are mostly docile, although fiercely independent creatures. They walk among humans nearly invisible, blending into everyday life. However, to the informed eye, clues of the Gloaming Beast are everywhere. You just need to know how to look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Rye said.

Harmless looked surprised. “Because we made a deal, of course. I've done many things I'm not proud of, Riley, but I have never broken a deal.”

Harmless certainly seemed to know a lot about Bog Noblins. Rye paused before asking the next question.

“Are you a Gloaming Beast?” she whispered.

Harmless smiled and slapped his knee. “No, no. Certainly not.”

“But Leatherleaf seemed very frightened of you last night,” Rye said.

Harmless did not say anything. He just stared at her, and she couldn't tell if he was surprised or upset.

“That was you on the street last night,” Rye said. “Wasn't it?”

“It was,” Harmless said quietly.

“Why was Leatherleaf so scared of you? I mean, you are a little scary. To me. But that was a
monster
running from you as if his life depended on it.”

“Let's just say that I, too, have a history with creatures of his kind.”

Now that Rye was rolling, she had no intentions of stopping.

“What was that around your neck?” Rye said.

“I'm sorry?” Harmless asked.

“Last night. Something was glowing around your neck.”

Rye found that she wasn't waiting for an answer. She was stepping closer to Harmless, probably closer than she should. What did she really know about this strange man who had appeared out of the cemetery—a man covered in scars and tattoos with a history that included things like piracy and chasing mythical beasts through the forest? Well, she knew that her mother had called him harmless, and a friend. She also knew her mother would never put her in danger.

When she was just a step away, she extended her hand toward his neck. He did not move. With a finger, she carefully pushed aside the collar of his cloak. Around his neck, she saw a black leather necklace strung with stone runes.

Rye swallowed hard. She looked to his eyes for an explanation.

“Rye!” voices were yelling.

“Rye, are you in the cemetery?”

She recognized them as Folly and Quinn. She still wasn't ready to share Harmless with them.

“You'll be back tomorrow?” she said.

“Of course. I always keep my deals,” Harmless said.

Rye ran off to meet her friends.

 

Grim Green was the great swath of open, unplanted field just west of the village, separating it from the craggy hill that was home to Longchance Keep. It seemed like an enormous waste of tillable soil, but Earl Longchance did not want his view to be obstructed by crops of any kind. Grim Green earned its name because it was little more than a depressing field of mud during the spring thaws. On some April days you could sink hip-deep in the muck. The winters and summers weren't much better, when it was either covered with two feet of frozen snow or teeming with mosquitoes and biting flies. The fall wasn't so bad though, and Rye had heard that long ago Grim Green hosted fairs, festivals, and even jousting contests, back when anyone was interested in those sorts of things.

That day the Green was active again as volunteer laborers toiled in the field. The Earl's “volunteers” were almost always villagers who couldn't afford to pay their Assessment—voluntary work duty being the best of several unpleasant options. Tents were erected. Overgrown grasses were cut and cleared. Rats were chased from the weeds.

Rye, Folly, and Quinn made the long walk from Mud Puddle Lane to see what all the fuss was about. It seemed most of the village's children had the same idea.

“What are they doing?” Quinn asked.

“I heard Earl Longchance declared a new festival,” Folly said. “The Long Moon Festival—two days from now.”

“The Long Moon?” Quinn wondered out loud.

“I think he named it after himself,” Folly said. “It marks the tenth anniversary of the night of the Purge. That's what the announcement said anyway—I think his math is a little off. Anyway, the Bog Noblin will be the guest of honor. I guess he wants to remind everyone that the village doesn't need the Luck Uglies to keep us safe.”

“What do they have planned for the Bog Noblin?” Quinn said.

“Nobody knows. Maybe it's a secret.”

“Do you think there'll be jugglers?” Quinn asked.

“Jugglers are boring,” Folly said. “What about fire eaters?”

“What do you think, Rye?” Quinn said.

“Oh, I like both,” Rye said, her mind swimming elsewhere.

Rye was thinking about her secrets. One of them anyway—she seemed to have been collecting them lately. The one troubling her at the moment smelled like swamp cabbage and currently resided in the best hiding place Rye could think of—inside her dried lizard collection, a spot much reviled by her mother.

Rye was still staring at her boots when the afternoon sun sent shadows creeping across her feet. She looked up. The shadows were cast by the tall, spidery towers of Longchance Keep, rising up like skeletal fingers digging out of the earth.

Groups of children and several adults wandered along the path to the Keep.

A boy shouted, startling them as he skipped toward the hill. “Don't you want to see the Bog Noblin? The Earl's got it in a cage outside the gates.”

Quinn and Folly both got to their feet.

“No one's ever captured a live Bog Noblin before,” Folly said.

“Maybe that was a good thing,” Rye said.

Folly and Quinn exchanged curious glances.

Rye leaned forward. “Did you ever stop to think that where there's one Bog Noblin, there might be more? What if it has friends?”
Or enemies,
she thought. She still hadn't told them about her discussions with Harmless.