Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (33 page)

As she edged
near the end of the wall, the conversation became more distinctive.
A female voice said, “So, why should we bother? Seems like we’re
doing pretty good without you.”

“Listen here, Sandee Garnete, I’m the Captain. Don’t you go
mutiny on me!” Quary must have forgotten where he was – he shook
the bars of the bird cage, and a squeal of pain soon followed. The
others laughed, their cackles and guffaws interweaving.
Maybe two or three
others besides Sandee,
Nettle deduced.

Sandee
spoke to the others. “What do you think, fellas, should
we?”

“
Curse you!” Quary bellowed. “I shoulda never let you join me
band!”

“
You let me join the band,” retorted Sandee, “because none of
you were any good at thiev’n! Especially you Gravell.”

“
Blasphemy!”

Sandee
replied, in a mocking tone, “Come now, Captain, no need for name
calling. We’re here aren’t we? To save your sorry hide.”

Another voice,
an elderly male. “Even yer precious rooster is here.”

Quary answered
with malice. “So he should be, Egnatius. I’d pluck him, otherwise.”
And there came a sudden sound of an indignant rooster squawking and
a sharp cry went up from Quarry. “Get back you bleed’n vindictive
bird!”

Nettle turned
to the others, who were huddled close-by, and mouthed, “On three.
One… two… three-”

Nettle burst
into the kitchen, wielding the candlestick above her head.
“EVERYONE FREEZE!”

Bram and Jazz
followed behind whooping and yelling.

All four of
the spriggans swivelled around to stare at the children with pitch
black eyes.

Nettle gawked,
her candlestick drooping. Quary’s rooster, a beautiful glossy bird
with auburn feathers and a brilliant emerald neck, had its head
twisted to the side so as to get its beak between the branches of
the birdcage. At first she thought he was trying to free Quary, but
soon realised the bird was actually pecking at the little man and
thoroughly enjoying it. Quary had his hat off and was beating it
against the rooster. “I swear it, I’ll roast you for dinner when I
get me hands around yer bleed’n neck!” The rooster crowed at Quary
and imparted another flurry of vicious strikes driving the spriggan
back.

Sandee,
her mouth open wide with mirth, was leaning against a burley
spriggan near Quary’s birdcage on the kitchen table. She was
convulsing with laughter, while an elderly spriggan - Nettle
assumed it was Egnatius - sat wearily upon a bag of sugar while his
young companion rustled through the open cupboard where Nettle kept
the boxes of cereal and canned fruit. Like Quary they were small
gray creatures with a rocklike resemblance, short squat necks and
broad shoulders. Tucked into their wide belts were various weapons
and tiny velvet pouches. All the spriggans, but Egnatius, were
dressed similarly to Quary, in colourful shirts and vests and
leather boots, and bits of Jazz’s jewellery knocked together and
fashioned into armour. Nettle heard Jazz’s gasp of surprise.
“That’s where my necklace and earrings got to!”

“
Well that’s made you all shut up and take note,” grinned
Quary gleefully, slapping his hat back on his head, as he plonked
himself down on his bed, crossing his arms, getting
comfortable.

Sandee
Garnete, her black hair braided and twisted high on her head in a
topknot was the first to react. She drew out her sword and shouted,
“Get em lads!”

The spriggans were incredibly fast. Must faster than Nettle
anticipated. Self-doubt flashed through her.
There’s no need for them to
blow themselves up like puffer fish, they’re going to overrun us
before we know it!

Egnatius had risen, shouting orders at the band of thieves.
The young spriggan had
leapt from the cupboard to land onto Bram’s back.
Bram spun around, frantically trying to grab hold of the spriggan,
but his reach was not enough.

The
stocky spriggan bearing a mouthful of half broken teeth ran across
the table and hurtled himself at Jazz, like a cannonball rolling
through the sky. She shrieked and struck out with her frying pan,
hitting the little man, sending him spiralling into the wall. He
crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned. Shaking his dazed head
he awkwardly got to his feet. Jazz took an involuntary step back,
the pan handle slipped a little in her sweaty hands. The spriggan
fixed a furious glare upon her, his obsidian eyes narrowing. He
tucked his head down and barrelled toward Jazz like a charging
bull.

“
Get away!” Jazz screamed as he grabbed hold of her right leg.
She tried kicking him away, but he held on tightly and hauled
himself up her leg like a lumberjack - over her knee, up her waist,
swiftly reaching her chest and drew out his axe from his
back.

Jazz and Bram
were immobilised.

Nettle was swiping her candlestick at Sandee, who cackled
manically. “Is that all you’ve got girl?
”
Sandee nimbly ducked and dived, avoiding
Nettle’s strikes. In a series of rapid jumps, the spriggan then
leapt from the kitchen table to the oil lamp and swung from that
onto Nettle’s shoulder.

Sandee
yanked Nettle’s hair, pulling her head back. Nettle yelped as a
sharp pain flared across her scalp. She struggled in vain but the
spriggan only yanked harder on her hair. “Let go!” Nettle yowled,
and froze as she felt the cool tip of the sword press against her
exposed throat.

Quary
let out a bellyful of laughter and thwacked his thigh, gaily eyeing
Nettle. He wagged a finger at her. “I told you I’d get you in the
end.” He rose from the bed, stretching leisurely. “Thank you my
friends. Now if you’d be so kind to let me outta here.”

Sandee
gave the rooster a nod, and the bird flicked open the latch on the
cage with its beak and pulled the door open. In a hurry to obtain
freedom, Quary tumbled out. With a little more dignity, he rose,
dusting himself off and addressed his band. “I hoped you’d of come
earlier, but I suppose later is better than never.”

“
Yer lucky we came at all,” mumbled Sandee.

Nettle, a
little breathless, locked gazes with her brother. She could tell he
was frightened but he held himself bravely, a stoic expression on
his face. She grimaced, this was all her fault, she should have run
back to Olde Town instead of barrelling in thinking they could
handle a handful of spriggans. She had to get them out of this,
ideally in one piece. She squared her shoulders, ignoring the bite
of the blade at her throat and the sting of fresh blood dripping
down her neck. She eyed Quary and dared ask, “Who are you all?”

Quary
gave her a wink and swaggered up and down the table, enjoying the
sense of newly found freedom. He threw his arms into the air,
indicating his comrades, “Meet my thieving band of brigands.” He
pointed to the elderly spriggan. “Egnatius Granitt, who always
seems to know how to do something better, yet never seems to take
his own advice.”

“
I do know better, you bleed’n buffoon,” the old spriggan
spluttered, leaning wearily on his walking stick. “I got years on
you Gravel.”

“And
don’t we know it.” Quary grumbled. “The young’n here is Spix
Shingel. All fingers n’ toes. The reason why we nearly got caught
by the Catchers. ”

“He’s
young and he’s learning,” soothed Sandee. “Besides we got away
didn’t we?” She leaned close to hiss in Nettle’s ear. “Sandee
Garnete be my name, girly.” Nettle shied away, pinching her
nostrils closed, the spriggan’s breath smelt oily and
fishy.

Quary pointed
at the burly spriggan sitting astride Jazz’s shoulder. “My brother,
as brainless as boggart and as disloyal as a goblin.”

His brother
merely let out a guffaw at the description and idly drew the axe’s
cheek down the side of Jazz’s face. She let out a little squeal of
fright. He grinned, enjoying her terror. “And you, pretty one, can
call me Roq.”

Nettle
addressed Quary, he’d found a piece of old crust and was busily
crunching on it. “What do you want with us?”

“Why we
bother’n talking to `em? We should be skin’n `em.” Roq said, not
taking his black eyes off Jazz.

“You wouldn’t?” Nettle hissed, her eyes flaring wide and
her heart lurching.
They wouldn’t, would they? What are we going to do? What
would Dad do? Offer something? Distract them? But with what?
And before she’d
thought it through properly, she threw out the first thing that
burst into her head that she could think of to save their hides.
“Work for us!”

Quary stopped
chewing on the stale toast to glare at her with his one good eye.
“What did you say?”

Yes, what did
I say?
Out loud it sounded utterly ridiculous –
work for them
indeed
.
Nettle deliberately cleared her throat, trying to buy more time.
Quary’s coal-black eye narrowed so thinly he almost looked asleep
as he considered her, and a moment later he gave Sandee a measured
nod. She withdrew her knife, but didn’t let go of her hair. Nettle
rubbed her neck. Her fingers came away coated thinly with
blood.
Here’s hoping this is going to work,
she thought worriedly. “Er, so
I was saying, why don’t you work for us?”

Quary
stared at her in bewilderment, as if she’d spoken a foreign
language, then burst into riotous laughter, the others quickly
following with hoots and crowing and thigh-slapping. Sandee’s
cackling pierced her ears like needles stabbing a cloth. Nettle
flinched and glanced uneasily at the other spriggans, all chortling
and looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. She scrambled to add,
“Dad’s away. He’ll appreciate it if we were to have extra security
about the cottage.”

Quary’s
spluttering quietened and he asked while adjusting his hat on his
head, “And you got something of interest to pay for our
services?”

“Yes.” She confidently held his gaze hoping he didn’t see
through it and realise she was bluffing.
I have absolutely no idea what I can
trade.

He started swaggering down the long table toward her.
“We’re thieves, we don’t
work
for our pay.” He gave a wicked grin. “Why should
we bother? Why shouldn’t we just take what you’re offering right
now, without all the fuss of working for it?”

He had a point.
In fact if she were a spriggan, that’s exactly
what she’d do too.
“Well, because…” She sifted through her mind,
what do we have
that is any value to a spriggan?
Besides furniture, there was little else.
Maybe their mother might have some trinkets up in the bedroom
stored away. She didn’t know if Briar did, she hadn’t ever looked,
she never wanted to step foot into her parents’ bedroom.

She looked at Bram,
help!

Bram quickly
jumped in. “Of course you could do that, but you’ll find our offer
more appealing!”

Nettle could practically see him thinking -
what do we have
that Quary would want?
He was running his thumb across each of his
fingertips the way he always did when his
mind swiftly considered things. Then
his thumb stilled on his ring finger. He had struck on an
idea!
Bram
gave Quary a tight-lipped smile, self-assured. “But what
we’re offering is our services.”

Quary’s inky
eyes glimmered with unease. “What yer talking about lad? First
you’re asking for us to work for you and now you’re saying you’ll
work for us. Well lad, which is it?”

With Quary calling Bram lad instead of something
like
whiffy-breath
or
squat-face
, Nettle knew her brother had him. Her spirits lifted a
little. They could get themselves out of this without being
skinned.

Bram took his
spectacles from his nose and gave them a clean on the edge of his
shirt. He replaced them while he spoke. “We can procure for you
something you can’t get enough of, nor can get hold of yourself.”
Quary knew instantly what Bram referred to. The other spriggans
didn’t and were sharing perplexed glances. Bram gave a nonchalant
shrug. “We’ve one or two stored in Bessie right this moment, but
you’ll be wanting more, I’m sure.”

Nettle shared
a worried look with Jazz, both wondered what he was offering.

“
What’s he talking about?” Roq asked suspiciously. “Gold?
Coin? Gems?”

Quary ignored
his brother, keeping his gaze locked on Bram.

“We can get more if you like,” Bram offered, dangling it
before Quary like a ball and string before a kitten. “But you know
only
we
can get it for you. There’s no one else who
can.”

Quary leaned
back on his heels, eyeing Bram thoughtfully with his one eye. He
tucked his hands into his vest pockets. “And you’re the only ones
that can get us more?”

Bram nodded as
cool as a poker player.

Quary stroked
his chin. It was a while before he answered. “Well then, I think a
bargain has been struck.” He addressed his band. “Let ‘em go.”

It was his
band who was now confused. “What did he say?” Egnatius inquired of
Spix. He shouted it, as if he were hard of hearing.

“He said
let `em go,” answered Spix, completely astonished.

“
Captain, you can’t trust the mortals,” protested
Sandee.