North! Or Be Eaten (18 page)

The blood ran from Janner’s face.

But the Stranders hesitated. Murderers and thieves they may be, but they didn’t like the idea of drowning such a one as Podo Helmer, who struck them as a Strander if ever there was one.

“Maybe we can just toss the woman and the round one in and let the peg leg live,” Maraly suggested. The Stranders nodded.

Claxton’s jaw clenched. He glared at the girl for a long moment and looked as though he might strike her, but he took a deep breath and said, “That may sound like a good idea, but listen close! He may have a story or two in his pocket, but I say he’s too womanly sweet to these children and the miss. Pickin’ pockets is easy, but his eyes ain’t shadowy enough for our kind. And here on the Strand we
live
by shadows, clan! We roam the woods and slay Fang and farmer, we steal and rove and let no man tell us where’s where and what’s what! We’ve no use for lyin’ old men or their companions.”

Claxton knew how to stir the muck in the Stranders’ hearts. They jittered and hissed again.

“The children we’ll keep,” he said, “but these three are only good for daggerfish food. I’m the head of this clan, and that’s what I say.”

As one, the Stranders leapt upon the old pirate. Podo fought, but they were too many, and he disappeared beneath a pile of swinging fists and kicking legs. They bound his arms with rope and stood him up again. Strings of white hair clung to his sweaty, angry, trembling face. It was hard to believe that only moments ago, his rumbling laughter had filled the air.

The Stranders bound Nia and Oskar, both speechless, and Claxton nodded at Maraly. She marched away with a shout, and the Stranders pushed the adults out of the firelight and toward the river. Janner, Tink, and Leeli watched in stunned silence as they were taken away.

“Wait!” Janner pleaded. “No! We just want to pass through! This isn’t fair!” He felt a blinding pain on the side of his face and found himself on the ground, blinking away tears.

“Quiet, boy, or I’ll hit you again,” Claxton muttered.

As hard as he tried, Janner could think of no plan, no ideas that could stop what was happening. He wished Peet would come swooping in to save them as he had done so many times before. He wished Nugget were still alive.

Lying on the ground, Janner saw the hem of Leeli’s dress, orange in the glow of the fire. He saw the leather slipper on her good foot and the way her bad foot curled in on itself, the toe of the slipper rubbed bare where it dragged along the ground.

Beyond Leeli’s feet, he saw Tink’s, and his heart skipped a beat. Tink’s toes wiggled inside his boots, and his right foot occasionally twisted back and forth in a way that made a circle in the dirt. Janner had seen his brother do this countless times, always just before he broke into a sprint during a zibzy game or when they played Ships and Sharks with Podo.

Tink was about to run.

Tink was fast, of course—probably faster than any of the Stranders—but even if he managed to get away, he had nowhere to go. North was the Barrier. South was the river. East was the Dark Sea. He might run west, toward Dugtown, but he wouldn’t last long without Podo—or Janner, for that matter. What did he plan to do, alone in the wilderness?

Janner had to stop him. They stood a better chance together, and Podo and Nia had always urged the children to stay together at all costs.

As usual
, Janner fumed,
thinking only of himself
.

Leeli pulled Janner to his feet. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” he whispered, shaking his head clear of the pain from Claxton’s blow. “But I think Tink’s about to—no!”

Janner tried to grab him, but it was too late—Tink broke away, bumped into Claxton, and leapt past the fire.

Janner couldn’t believe his little brother could be so selfish, so reckless. He wished he were free just so he could wrestle Tink to the ground and teach him a lesson with his fists. Was he really going to leave them all behind?

“Coward!” Janner screamed, aiming all the anger in his heart at his brother’s back. It felt good to say it, and he hoped it echoed in Tink’s ears with every step he took away from them.

But before the word died away, and before Claxton and the Stranders had time to react, Tink sprang onto a bench on the far side of the circle and spun around.

“
STOP
!” he yelled in a voice much deeper than usual. His eyes were wild with panic, shooting from Claxton to the Stranders to Nia and the others in the darkness beyond the firelight. For a moment his eyes rested on Janner with a look of sadness and confusion.

“If…” Tink said in a quavering voice, “if you k-kill them, you’ll never…”

“Never
what
?” Claxton leapt across the fire in a whoosh of bright sparks and clutched the neck of Tink’s shirt. Tink gulped and squinted one eye shut. “I’ll never what?” Claxton repeated. “I’m sick of all the talk and the stories and the threats. This is
my
clan,
my
bend in the river, and I’ll draw my blade on whoever I want.”

“D-draw what blade?” Tink asked with a smile that worked its way through all the terror on his face.

“What blade?” Claxton narrowed his eyes. “Why,
this
blade—” He reached for his dagger and choked.

“
This
blade?” Tink produced a dagger from his sleeve and held its point just below Claxton’s ear. He gripped it with a steady hand and looked calmly into the big man’s eyes.

The Stranders gasped. Janner’s jaw went slack. He had just called his brother a coward, and yet there he stood, face to face with a murderer. Janner wanted to hide his face in shame.

“He took Claxton’s own blade,” the Stranders said.

“That’s not all!” Tink said. He reached into his shirt and withdrew a tarnished medallion on a chain. It dangled from his fist and sparkled in the firelight.

More gasps and murmurs issued from the Stranders. “The pone! He took Claxton’s pone!”

Quick as a cat, Claxton twisted Tink’s wrist so that he dropped the dagger. He flung Tink to the ground, picked up the knife, and snapped it back into its sheath.

“And I’ll have me medallion back,” he said, snatching it away. He turned a nervous eye on his clan. “Did ye see that, East Benders? Never have I seen such grum in a boy. Picked me own pocket, right here in front of me Stranders! Now the way I see it, I could either flay him here and now or make an ally of a young man who may someday find great renown along the Strand. I hate to put an end to such a promisin’ future.”

He pulled Tink to his feet and clapped him on the back. “Now, how did the old man’s story go? Let’s see. He picked the golden bird from Growlfist’s pocket, Growlfist laughed, and then…ah, yes!”

He struck Tink in the face so hard that the boy flew over the bench and landed in the shadows beyond it.

“Tink!” Leeli screamed.

Claxton laughed darkly. “Never try to game with Claxton Weaver, boy.”

Then something happened that would be talked about on the Strand for a hundred years.

From where he lay in the shadows, Tink flung a dagger at Claxton, and the handle struck him on the back of the head. Janner didn’t know how Tink had done it, but he’d stolen the dagger a second time. Claxton, with a look of great confusion and a knot sprouting on the back of his head, crumpled to the dirt, unconscious.

The Stranders cheered and rushed to where Tink lay. They stood him up and brushed him off, chattering about his quick feet and quicker hands.

Maraly offered him a wad of damp cloth for his bloody lip and sat him on the bench. “Me dad’s had that comin’ for a long time,” she said, and she kissed Tink on the cheek.

His ears turned red as sugarberries, and he grinned so wide that his cheeks stuck that way for an hour.

Nia, Oskar, and Podo were freed and ran back into the circle. They hugged the children and fussed over Tink, and Janner’s stomach ached with the shame of what he had said—and even worse, of what he had thought.

A bent old woman in a filthy dress pushed through the crowd and poked Tink in the belly with a cane. Her face was warty and caked with mud, and she wore her hair in a grimy bun on top of her head. The Stranders fell silent.

“Ye’ve taken down Claxton Weaver, head of the East Bend, boy,” she said. “We were all growin’ weary of Claxton. The fool’s me son, and that’s all that’s keepin’ him alive right now. You should know he’ll be after ye when he wakes, and aimin’ to kill. But don’t fear. I’ve a mash of slugroot that’ll keep this old mudbeard in bed for a few
days at least. We Stranders won’t abide a clan leader dumb enough to let his dagger be swiped twice in one night.” She whacked Claxton in the leg. “If there’s anything we in the Strand have always liked, it’s a good tale and a quick hand, and you’re so fast even I didn’t see you swipe the dagger that second time. Hmph. Didn’t have it for long, but the lad got his pone, didn’t he, clan?”

“Aye!” the Stranders cheered.

“What’s yer name?” she asked.

“Kalmar.” Tink straightened. “Kalmar Wingfeather.”

“Kalmar,” the old woman said, and she spat. “Hmph. Well then, you and yours’ll have no shelter, but the fire is yours if you like.” Then she hobbled over to Podo and squinted up into his eyes. “Podo Helmer,” she said, jabbing him with the cane. “You’re not as handsome as ye used to be, old man. But me heart is still yours if ye’ll have it.”

N
urgabog?” Podo asked, flabbergasted.

“Aye. It’s me.” The old woman smiled, and her leathery, wrinkled face creaked in protest. The Stranders whispered and pointed like they were seeing some rare animal for the first time. “I never thought I ‘d see ye again, but here ye stand, as ugly as a dig-toad and naught but one full leg—and still I want to kiss you a thousand times.”

“Nurgabog, dear, it’s fine to see ye,” Podo said, backing up a little. “Why didn’t you say somethin’ when we first showed up? If you didn’t plan to toss us in the river at all, it might’ve saved us a fat lot of worry.”

“I let ‘em tie ye up because half of me heart would be happy to see you thrashing in the Blapp while ye sank! You left me fifty-five years ago without a word—and that was when I still had me teeth!” She sighed. “But the half of me heart that still wants to smooch won out, I reckon. I wouldn’t have let ‘em kill my sweet Podo.”

“Thank ye, Nurgabog. You’re as pretty as ever ye were.”

She answered with a whack of her cane. “Don’t you lie to me, old man! I know I’m ugly as a riverweed! Now listen. We Stranders of the East Bend will offer you a few days’ rest on account of Kalmar Wingfeather’s quick hand and your fine looks fifty-five years ago—on one condition.”

Podo winced.

“I want one deep, satisfyin’ kiss from yer grizzled lips, Podo Helmer. Been waitin’ for it long enough.”

Nurgabog hobbled forward, closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and waited. Podo took a deep breath, leaned closer, and gulped. It was like watching someone about to eat a rat. Stranders and Igibys alike stood rapt and silent. Janner clamped his eyes shut and heard a long, wet kiss, then Nurgabog’s girlish sigh.

The Stranders burst into applause as Nurgabog tottered away. Podo wiped his mouth with his forearm and watched her go with a look of fondness, sadness, and nausea. The clan dispersed, nodding at Tink as they passed. They paid no more mind to the Igibys than to the dirt in their teeth.

From Pembrick’s
Creaturepedia

Tink swaggered over with a hand to the wound on the side of his head.

“Amazing!” Janner said. “That was
amazing
.”

Tink shrugged.

“Listen.” Janner took his brother by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. Sorry I called you a coward. Sorry I doubted you.”

Tink toed at the dirt, took a deep breath, and nodded. “It’s okay.”

The knot in Janner’s stomach unraveled. He hugged Tink as tight as he could, and he didn’t care that Tink was too shocked to hug him back.

“So how did you do it?” Leeli asked. “How did you steal the pone?”

“I noticed Grandpa slipping the coins and knives from the Stranders as soon as we got here,” Tink said. “You can tell from the way their clothes hang whether there’s anything tucked in there and if it’s simple to snatch. It’s easy, really.”

“Ha!” Podo said as he approached. “Easy as pickin’ a totato from the vine, ain’t it, lad? I tried to get somethin’ from Claxton but couldn’t get close enough to ‘im. Do ye realize what you did back there, Tink?”

“Picked the clan leader’s pocket?” he said.

“Aye, but ye didn’t just snag any old thing. You got his pone! Do ye know what that
means
?”

“I guess not.”

“Don’t let it go to yer head, but it means that for now, you’re the clan leader. The boss of this bend in the river.” Podo beamed with pride. “
My
grandson.”

Tink’s face went pale. “Oh no. Do I have to do anything? What am I supposed to do?”

“Not a thing,” Podo chuckled. “We’ll be leavin’ soon enough, and they’ll choose another leader. Besides, a clan leader ain’t in charge of anything. He does what he pleases, and the rest of the clan has to do what he pleases too. Bein’ a clan leader ain’t about havin’ responsibility—it’s about havin’ none at all.”