The Luck Uglies (25 page)

Longchance swallowed and said no more.

“Choose your course wisely,” Harmless said with a foreboding smile. “Whether it is from the roofs, or the sewers, or the darkest shadows of your own chambers—we will be watching.”

Harmless pulled Rye to her feet and up into his arms. He pressed something into her hand. It was her choker.

“Come,” he whispered. “Our loved ones at the Dead Fish must be worried sick. Shady will find us soon enough. I do hope he has not given himself a stomachache.”

Rye closed her eyes. She rested her head on Harmless's shoulder as they stepped through the gate of the Keep under lightening skies. The masked Luck Uglies disappeared from the towers as mysteriously as they had appeared.

A dark furry shape darted through the courtyard, catching up with Rye and Harmless before they'd gone too far.

Fingers of morning light spread across the Keep, illuminating the outline of a ragged black clover smudged across its stone walls.

27

The Luck Bag

R
ye stirred the cook pots over the fire at the O'Chanters' cottage, staring out the window at the morning sun. Abby peeled and cored the last apples of the season. The house was quiet with Lottie still asleep, and they didn't say much to each other—they didn't have to. It was good to be home.

Abby placed the apples in a bowl and wiped Fair Warning clean with a cloth. She held it to her mouth and fogged it with her breath, then polished it on her dress.

Rye smiled and glanced at the window again before going back to stirring her pots.

“Riley,” Abby said, and Rye looked up.

Abby held Fair Warning by the tip of the blade, extending the handle to Rye. “Take it. It's yours.”

Rye's eyes sparkled. “Really?”

“You're ready,” Abby said. “You've proven it.”

Rye still hesitated.

“Don't worry about me,” Abby said with a fleeting twinkle in her eye that reminded Rye—just for a moment—of Harmless. “I've got bigger ones.”

Rye carefully took Fair Warning in her hand.

“Promise me you'll stick to cutting vegetables for the time being,” Abby said. She reached under her dress and unbuckled Fair Warning's sheath from her thigh. She handed that over too.

“Thank you, Mama,” Rye said, then paused as she moved to strap it over her leggings. She rarely wore dresses. It certainly wouldn't be well hidden there.

“Hmmm,” Abby said, “we'll come up with something.”

Rye placed Fair Warning on the table and pulled something from her pocket.

“Mama,” Rye said and extended her hand, “what's this?”

Abby looked up at the ragged black clover on the swatch of fabric between Rye's fingertips. She gave her a knowing smile.

“Did your father give you that?”

“No,” Rye said.

Abby raised an eyebrow. She stood slowly and put her hands on Rye's shoulders.

“A stranger? With an unusual pet perhaps?”

Rye nodded.

“That,” Abby said, nodding toward Rye's clover, “can mean many different things. But simply put, it means a Luck Ugly has promised you a favor.”

Rye examined the black clover with new eyes.

“Do
me
a favor,” Abby said. “Don't mention it to your father just yet. I'm not sure how he'll feel about it.”

Rye shot her mother a suspicious glance.

“Don't worry, no more secrets. I'll tell you all about Bramble Cutty—but it's not what you might be thinking.”

Rye would have pressed her mother for more information but familiar voices on the street caught her ear. She peeked out the window again.

“Go on,” Abby said. “I'll finish up here.”

“Really?”

“Go ahead.”

Rye smiled and hugged her mother. Abby clutched her tight.

Rye thought about Malydia eating alone at the Keep's enormous but silent table each night. She imagined Leatherleaf out there on his own, running fearfully through the forest. Sometimes it was too easy to take a good hug for granted. She held this one for a long time.

 

Rye, Folly, and Harmless sat on stones in Miser's End Cemetery. Quinn was there too, although his bottom was still smarting from the Bog Noblin bite and he preferred to stand. His recovery had been remarkable. No one on Mud Puddle Lane could remember anybody who had recovered from such a severe Bog Noblin bite at all, never mind that quickly. Angus chalked it up to the sturdy Quartermast bloodlines. Rye knew better because Harmless had told her otherwise.

In addition to their other remarkable qualities, Gloaming Beasts were naturally resistant to the toxic effects of Bog Noblin bites. They could pass this immunity on to others by way of biting or scratching. Harmless, Abby, Rye, and Lottie all bore scars from Shady's scratches over the years. As it turned out, the O'Chanters didn't have an ornery cat so much as a protective one. Luckily for Quinn, Shady had given him quite a scratch while he was watching Lottie on the last Black Moon.

The Gloaming Beast in question was now rolling in the overgrown grass of the cemetery, tethered to a long leather leash. He seemed to relish the morning sun and settled peacefully on his back, his scratchy pink tongue hanging from his mouth. Shady had returned to his normal catlike self. Except for the night he coughed up a metal bolt from Iron Wart's face onto Rye's bed, there was no evidence of the recent events.

Shady, Harmless told her, was at least seventy years old, probably older. He had been part of Harmless's household when he was Rye's age, and of her grandfather's household before that. They called him Diffryndown back then, Harmless explained. But Rye was sure that Shady suited him better. Gloaming Beasts were extremely rare and, because of their striking similarity to cats, unknowing humans might go their entire lives without realizing they had one in their possession. Of course, one could never really say he possessed a Gloaming Beast, for at any given moment, it might simply pick up and wander away, never to return again. That was why the O'Chanters cherished him, why Abby would never let him roam free unless the circumstances were absolutely dire.

Rye, Folly, and Quinn sipped the apple tea Rye had brought down from the cottage and watched Shady fall asleep in the grass. Rye was relieved to see him drift off. He certainly didn't seem to be going anywhere for the time being. Once they'd drunk their fill, the friends gathered around a long flat stone where Harmless had spread out the contents of the small leather bag.

“Bog Noblins are notoriously superstitious creatures,” Harmless explained. “They are fascinated by mechanical things but their minds are too simple to comprehend their workings. So instead they lean on talismans to help them explain that which they do not understand.”

Harmless picked up the empty leather bag.

“Many Bog Noblins carry luck bags filled with items they cherish or believe will bring them good fortune. The tooth might have been of sentimental value to Leatherleaf. Perhaps it was one of his, or one of his parents'. Much of what goes into luck bags is along those lines—special to no one other than the Bog Noblin who possesses it.”

Rye, Folly, and Quinn listened to Harmless without a sound. Harmless motioned to the anklet, the skull, and the stick figure.

“But these items are different,” he continued. “Over the centuries, the Clugburrow have plundered numerous treasures. Amid the gold and jewels, some extraordinary objects have come into their possession. These, as ordinary as they seem, are three such objects. I wonder if, in fact, they are why the Clugburrow chased Leatherleaf so relentlessly.”

Rye raised her eyebrows at the three objects she'd been carrying around in her boot.

“These,” Harmless said, “are ancient talismans with the power to bestow great abilities on those who possess them. They were stolen from the Luck Uglies by the Bog Noblins many years ago. It is our great fortune to have found them once again.”

He looked at each of the children with great weight in his eyes. “However, it is not safe to keep such powerful items in one set of hands. Are you willing to perform a great service for me? I and the Luck Uglies would be in your debt.”

They all nodded enthusiastically, mouths open.

Harmless picked up the wooden stickman between his fingertips.

“These are the Strategist's Sticks. In generations to come, the greatest leaders will not be those who raise the largest sword or fill the heaviest armor. They will be the thinkers. Leaders who can inspire, strategize, and lead by example. Who better to hold the Strategist's Sticks than you, Quinn? You proved yourself to be selfless and brave.”

Quinn accepted the stickman in the palm of his hand.

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

Harmless picked up the tiny skull.

“This is the Alchemist's Bone. The study of science and chemicals is beyond all but the most scholarly of men. In fact, some in our very own village would have you believe that girls are incapable of such thinking. You, Folly, without the benefit of any formal training, have proven that with hard work and perseverance, anyone can create magic through science. The Alchemist's Bone is yours.”

Harmless handed the tiny skull to Folly and her cheeks deepened to the color of ripe apples. Her eyes twinkled with excitement. Finally, Harmless picked up the iron anklet.

“Last but not least is the Anklet of the Shadowbender. The wearer of this anklet shall have the power to bend the laws of darkness and light. To scale walls and travel the rooftops under the cover of night. Who better to hold this anklet than a girl who, not so long ago, struggled to stand on her own two feet, but whose legs managed to save an entire village. Riley, this anklet is for you.”

Rye took the anklet in her hand. She noticed that the dull iron links were imprinted with familiar-looking runes.

“You must cherish these items,” Harmless continued, “but be warned. These charms are not shortcuts. Their powers shall only come to you over time, with great practice, skill, and dedication. It may take years before they begin to reveal the powers I describe. No charm will make a lazy child great. But it may make a child who strives for greatness extraordinary.”

“Thank you, Harmless,” Quinn said. “I'll keep it in my pocket every day.”

“Yes, thank you,” Folly said, staring at the tiny eye sockets of the Alchemist's Bone.

None of them could take their eyes off their gifts.

“Harmless,” Folly finally said, “I need to head back to the Shambles. My parents are having a breakfast feast at the inn today to celebrate—well, just to celebrate, I guess. Would you like to come?”

“Thank you for your kind invitation but I have made other arrangements this morning.”

“Okay,” Folly said. “Come on, Quinn. Rye, are you coming?”

“I'm going to stay here for a while.”

“See you soon,” Folly said.

Rye smiled. Folly and Quinn took off up Troller's Hill together.

Harmless leaned back and stretched out his body in the sun. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees and it was an unseasonably warm day—probably the last of its kind before the real cold would settle in.

Rye took off one boot and clasped her charm around her ankle.

“Your feet are growing,” Harmless said.

“They still don't fill these boots.” Rye shook out some straw.

“They don't have to,” Harmless said. “There are other boots.”

“Are these charms really magical?” Rye said. “This anklet, the skull, the little stickman—you're not having a go with my friends, are you?” She remembered what Harmless had told her about manipulating the minds of others.

Harmless smiled. “Magic can mean many things, Riley,” he said, and nothing more.

Rye chewed a lip. “And what about our runestones?” she asked. She touched her choker, safely around her neck again. She looked at Harmless's leather runestone necklace, which was clasped back around his neck too. After they'd left the Keep, Harmless told Rye that he'd made an arrangement with Truitt. If they both survived the night, they would exchange their traded items at a secret location. The Everything Key was now back in Truitt's hands. That meant Truitt had survived too. Rye warmed at the thought. The link children would still have their champion.

Rye thought about what the Everything Key could have meant for Harmless and the Luck Uglies. She might have asked Harmless why he returned it, but she already knew the answer. Instead she considered a more puzzling question.

“Why is it,” Rye said, “that my choker didn't glow when Malydia wore it?”

Harmless leaned forward. Rye thought she saw him glance, ever so quickly, at his hands clasped between his knees.

“The choker did not glow to protect Malydia because I did not give it to her. The runestones cannot be taken; they are a gift that only the High Chieftain of the Luck Uglies can bestow.”

“Mama told me our runes were a warning to them,” Rye said. “What did you do to make the Bog Noblins fear you so?”

“Everything that was necessary at the time,” Harmless said. To Rye, it seemed Harmless's words carried with them an echo of regret.

Rye put her chin in her hand and shook her head.

“I have so many questions.”

Harmless smiled warmly. “Don't fret, there will be time to answer them. I think I will stay here and enjoy the day. It may be the finest one we have had all fall.”

“And what about tomorrow and the next day?” Rye asked.

Harmless looked up at the sun. “There's much to do around here. You know now that the Luck Cauldrons serve as our signal. By our code, any Luck Ugly seeing the cauldron fire must answer the call. There are other signals that can be used to summon every Luck Ugly throughout the entire Shale. We have not had to use those in my lifetime.”

Harmless turned to face Rye again. “In any event, I had you open the door to Beyond the Shale so that the Luck Uglies could pass into the Spoke and access the village. I have since locked it. But it looks as if other—shall we say—unwelcome denizens from Beyond the Shale may have passed through as well.”