The Luck Uglies (13 page)

“They don't strike me as the friendly sort,” Folly said.

“Come on, Rye,” Quinn said. “Let's go see.”

After all she'd heard about Leatherleaf, Rye didn't feel like being part of the spectacle. She'd been thinking about monsters. What was a monster? Many villagers still believed Folly's twin brothers were monsters. Just because they were different. She'd heard that when the twins were born, soldiers came to the Dead Fish Inn to take them away. Needless to say, the Floods didn't let them. Soldiers hadn't been welcome in the Shambles ever since.

She'd also been considering what Harmless had said—about what could have been so compelling that it kept Leatherleaf here. Leatherleaf surely didn't want to be in Drowning. He was alone, running from the unimaginable cruelty of his own family, and now he was trapped. He must be terribly frightened himself. Could it have something to do with her? The pouch she took from his camp on the night of the Black Moon?

“You go,” she said. “I need to get home.”

“Okay,” Folly said. “We'll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she said, and the three friends parted ways.

Rye trudged across Grim Green alone, the shadow of Longchance Keep now heavy on her back.

 

Rye cut through town and made it to Mud Puddle Lane by late afternoon. Her neighbors were cleaning up Leatherleaf's mess from the night before, and Mr. Pendergill was busy repairing his roof. Inside, Abby was cutting carrots into a pot with Fair Warning. Its sharp blade was as useful for making supper as it was for chasing thieves out of the Willow's Wares. Abby had let Rye chop leeks with Fair Warning once. It took fishing line and a sewing needle to eventually stop the bleeding. Rye still had the crescent-shaped scar across her thumb.

Rye helped Abby with some of the safer supper preparations while Lottie and Shady took turns swatting a goose feather they'd torn loose from Rye's pillow.

They were all interrupted by an unexpected—and not entirely friendly—knock at the cottage door. Abby wiped her hands on her dress and set Fair Warning on the table. She opened the door carefully. Staring back at them was the unpleasant face of Constable Boil. He was joined by the two burly soldiers who seemed to accompany him everywhere he went.

Boil raised a dust-ball eyebrow.

“Miss O'Chanter,” he said, by way of greeting.

“It's ‘Mrs.,'” Abby said. “How can I help you, Constable?”

Rye and Lottie both pressed themselves to Abby's legs and stared from behind her hips.

Boil squinted at Rye, as if he recognized her, but continued on to the business at hand.

“We were hoping to have a word with you, Mrs. O'Chanter,” Boil said. “Inside.”

He placed a leathery palm on the door. With a pang of disgust, Rye noticed the blue hair ribbon tied around his bony wrist. It was the one he'd taken from her mother at the Willow's Wares.

“You may certainly have a word with me, Constable,” Abby said. “Right here.”

She adjusted her stance in the doorway, making it clear that the Constable and the soldiers were not welcome in her home. Boil did not seem to like that one bit. Across the street, Mr. Pendergill stopped repairing his roof to watch. The other neighbors took notice as well.

Boil raised his voice and spoke sternly. “Mrs. O'Chanter, it has come to the Earl's attention that last night, during the altercation with the Bog Noblin, multiple eyewitnesses sighted yet another troubling thing here on Mud Puddle Lane.”

“Really?” Abby said. “Did someone report the soldiers stealing my neighbors' hens or napping in our doorways? Because I can assure you that those accounts are absolutely true.”

“No, Mrs. O'Chanter,” Boil said coolly. “It has been reported that a Luck Ugly walked these very streets.”

“How exciting,” Abby said, without enthusiasm. Rye, on the other hand, could not believe her ears.

“That's right, Mrs. O'Chanter,” Boil said. “And we have reason to believe that it was not just any Luck Ugly. No, indeed. We very much believe that it was one of the most notorious of their kind.”

Abby just stared at the Constable.

“No witty response, Mrs. O'Chanter?” Boil asked.

Much of the neighborhood had now gathered on the street. Constable Boil raised his voice in his most authoritarian, Constable-like way.

“Mrs. O'Chanter, by declaration of the Earl, you are hereby ordered to produce the criminal sometimes known as Gray the Grim, or Gray the Ghastly, or Gray the Ghoul, or Gray the Gruesome—”

“I have no idea who you speak of,” Abby said matter-of-factly.

“Son of Grimshaw the Black,” Boil continued, “brother of Lothaire the Loathsome, and last known High Chieftain of the outlaws known as the Luck Uglies.”

“Are you finished?” Abby asked.

“I can continue if you need further clarification,” Boil said.

“I know not who you speak of and therefore I cannot produce him.”

“We have good information,” Boil said, “that you are harboring said criminal in your very home.”

“Your information is not only bad, it's preposterous.”

“In that case, Mrs. O'Chanter,” Boil said, “you won't object if we look inside—to clarify the misunderstanding.”

“You shall do no such thing,” Abby said. She pulled Rye close to her.

“Mrs. O'Chanter, my patience for pleasantries has run out,” Boil said. “Step aside or these men will knock both you and your scrawny boy out of the way.”

“Hey,” Rye said.

“You are not welcome in my home, Constable,” Abby said, “lest you've forgotten where you are.”

Boil laughed and gestured to a soldier.

“Move them aside—aaaaaaagh!”

Boil let out a blood-curdling scream and looked toward the ground. Abby, Rye, and the soldiers did too. Lottie O'Chanter had wandered off and retrieved Fair Warning, and she was in the process of slowly burying it three inches deep into the Constable's foot.

“You mean! Mean! Mean!” Lottie said.

Boil wrenched his foot away and grabbed it with both hands, Fair Warning still impaling his boot.

“Grab that red-headed bog spawn,” Boil yelled, gesturing to Lottie. “She's coming to the Keep for a lesson she'll never forget.”

“Me no spog bawn, me Lottie,” Lottie clarified, with a stomp and a pout.

The first soldier lurched for Lottie. Both Abby and Rye jumped in front of her. Abby put a thumb in his eye and Rye left teeth marks in his shoulder before he roughly knocked them aside with swats from his thick arm.

He grabbed Lottie hard by her little shoulders and her face went from anger to sheer terror. Lottie's eyes welled with tears.

Struggling to her hands and knees, Rye saw something large fall from the roof. It landed with barely a sound behind the Constable and the two soldiers.

“I prefer Gray, thank you very much,” it said.

The Constable and the soldiers all turned around. It was Harmless. Both of his hands were empty and he pointed a finger.

“Put the child down,” Harmless said.

The first soldier looked to Boil but held Lottie fast.

“That wasn't a question,” Harmless said, and hit the soldier with such speed and ferocity that Rye barely saw him move. She did see the soldier's head snap back and his feet sweep out from under him. Harmless landed on top of him with a bone-crunching crack, and he safely deposited Lottie within arm's reach of Abby. The next soldier quickly advanced upon Harmless with his saber drawn. Harmless's two swords appeared in his own hands and he nearly disappeared behind his cloak as he whirled and slashed. In an instant, the soldier was disarmed and lay in a moaning heap on Mud Puddle Lane.

Constable Boil had extracted Fair Warning from his foot but quickly dropped it to the ground when he saw Harmless eyeing him with bad intentions. Harmless cleared the ground between them in two strides and contorted the Constable's arm behind his neck in a way that looked like it might snap right off.

“Two men?” Harmless hissed into Boil's ear. “On top of everything else, Longchance tries to insult me? Next time bring twenty. Or don't come at all.”

He released the Constable from his hold with a shove that sent him stumbling. The soldiers picked themselves up and all three crawled, shuffled, and limped away from Mud Puddle Lane as fast as they could. The neighbors watched with mouths agape.

Harmless dusted himself off, although he did not seem the least bit rumpled from the scuffle. There was a fury in his eyes Rye had never seen before. It seemed to fade when he saw them. Harmless offered a hand to Abby. She ignored it and got both Rye and Lottie to their feet. Abby pushed her hair back behind her ears and wiped a smudge off Lottie's cheek.

“Riley,” Abby said, “there's no easy way to explain this so I'll just say it. Please invite your father inside for dinner. We have many things to cover and little time to do it.”

16

The Spoke

W
ords could not adequately describe what Rye was feeling. After all, for her entire life she had been told that her father was a soldier of the Earl who had disappeared Beyond the Shale. Now, it turned out, her father was a mysterious stranger named Harmless, or Grim or Gruesome, among other not-so-nice things. He skulked around in the night and chased monsters through the bogs for fun and profit. He was called a criminal and an outlaw by the Earl and seemed to prove it by pummeling the Earl's soldiers in the streets. And not just any criminal—no, he was the High Chieftain of the notorious Luck Uglies. It was certainly more interesting than having a father who fished for cod or shoed horses. But what did that make her? It was all just too much, too fast. The fact was, deep down, excitement stirred in Rye's stomach, but it was buried beneath waves of confusion and frustration.

Lottie, on the other hand, was swinging on Harmless's arms as if they were vines and began to climb up his back as nimbly as a tree squirrel. Harmless smiled awkwardly. His eyes bulged as Lottie threw her arms around his neck and hung there with her full weight.

Shady also took an immediate liking to Harmless, pressing his face into Harmless's wine goblet and depositing himself in his lap, purring like they were old friends.

Harmless wiped Shady's whiskers and chuckled to himself. “I see Shady still likes the good stuff.”

As they sat down to supper, Abby deposited a bowl of potato stew in front of each of them but didn't join in herself. She darted in and out of their bedrooms, putting clothes and supplies together in small packs. Rye hadn't spoken a word to her since they'd come inside. For the first time she could remember, it was her own mother who had made her ears burn red in anger. What else had she lied to her about?

Harmless, as usual, was quick to clean his bowl and compliment.

“Abigail,” he said, “the stew is quite delightful. You should really eat some yourself.”

“No, Gray,” she said with annoyance. “I really need to get these things together. Now.”

“There's time,” Harmless said, sipping from his goblet. “We have time.”

Rye fumbled at a potato with her spoon.

“Why does the Earl dislike you so much?” she asked Harmless finally.

“My family—that is, our family—has a long history with the House of Longchance,” Harmless said. “Your grandfather was a bit brash in his youth. He and Morningwig's father got into a dispute—several disputes, really—and, well, your grandfather burned the village to the ground.”

“This village?” Rye said.

“I'm afraid so,” Harmless said. “Twice, actually.”

“Twice?” Rye said.

“Yes. You notice that the newer buildings are all made of stone and brick? You can thank your grand-father Grimshaw for that.”

“What was the dispute about?” Rye said.

“Well, that particular one was about your grandmother,” Harmless said. “Ascot Longchance locked her in a tower at Longchance Keep.”

“Gray,” Abby said, shooting him a glare, “you really don't need to cover all of this right now.”

Rye scowled.

“The girl has a right to know her history,” Harmless said. “Haven't we kept her in the dark long enough?”

He turned back to Rye.

“Longchance had it coming. Although, in retrospect, your grandfather may have overreacted just a bit. Particularly the second time.”

“They call you an outlaw and a criminal,” Rye said. “Why?”

“Well, we were, of course,” Harmless said. “It's in our blood. A farmer's son toils in the field. A fisherman's son casts his nets. A Luck Ugly's son waits until dark, then takes both the corn and the fish.”

“A delightful first message to share with your daughter,” Abby said drily.

“Perhaps a poor analogy. Farmers and fishermen were never the Luck Uglies' marks,” Harmless said, sitting back. “In any event, for generations the Luck Uglies were worse than any beast that ever roamed Beyond the Shale. When your grandfather was made High Chieftain, he was as fearsome and malevolent a spirit as the Shale has ever seen. But something happened as he got older. Most high chieftains don't live to see the age of forty, you see. Historically, it's been a position of great honor but also a great curse.”

“Gray,” Abby said, her tone more severe.

Harmless grew reflective. “Your grandfather was the first to live to a ripe old age. And as he aged, he grew wise, more tolerant. Certainly he was still fearsome, but he was fearsome with purpose. He was willing to set aside his differences so that his grandchildren might not have to follow his path into the shadows. So why does Longchance still call us outlaws? Because he needs the village to hate us. If they don't, it makes him weaker.”

“Harmless,” Rye said quietly, “how old are you?”

Harmless smiled. “I will be forty in just a few days.”

“Enough,” Abby said loudly, and this time they both went silent.

Rye noticed that her mother was clutching a soup spoon with white knuckles. She looked like she might put it through Harmless's eye.

A frantic knocking at the cottage door jolted Rye from her seat. She recognized Quinn's voice from the other side.

Abby moved to the door and opened it. Quinn was trying to catch his breath.

“Quinn, what is it?” she said.

“I was just in Nether Neck,” he said between gasps. “The Earl's men . . . they're heading this way . . . I ran here as fast as I could but they're only a minute behind me.”

Abby's face went calm. “Thank you, Quinn.”

“Mrs. O'Chanter,” Quinn said and looked at Rye. “There are lots of them.”

Abby put a hand on his shoulder. “You go home and bolt the door. Don't come back here.”

Quinn looked confused.

“Go now,” she said. “Run.”

She closed the door behind him. Harmless clasped his hands on his stomach.

“My,” he said, “they are an eager lot, aren't they?”

Abby hit him in the chest with a heavy pack that nearly knocked the wind out of him. “I told you,” she said. “You and your ego. You just had to bait them.”

She was already helping to put a pack over Rye's shoulders. She had a smaller one for Lottie.

“Where are we going?” Rye asked her mother, breaking her silence.

“Somewhere safe,” Abby said. “Just for a while.”

“Will we be coming back?” Rye said.

“Yes, of course,” Abby said, although she didn't sound convincing. She adjusted Fair Warning under her dress and slung her own pack over her shoulder. “Come on, let's get going.”

“What about Shady?” Rye asked.

“We can't take him. It will be too easy for him to get lost,” Abby said. She must have seen the look of horror on Rye's face. “Don't worry,” she added. “We have a problem with mice and a leaky roof. He'll be just fine with food and water for a while.”

“Wait,” Rye said, and ran to her and Lottie's room.

“Riley!” Abby yelled. “There's no time. Get out here now!”

Rye reappeared with Mona Monster. She handed the doll to Lottie.

“Tu-tu, Rye,” Lottie said.

“You're welcome,” said Rye.

No one noticed that Rye had stuffed something else into her own pack.

“Now,” Abby said, and shuffled them toward the door.

Harmless shook his head as he peered out the window. “It's too late.” He looked at Abby and the children. “They're already on the street. The boy wasn't kidding. There must be thirty of them.”

“Into the hidden chamber,” Abby said, and hurried the girls back the other way.

“Should we bar the door?” she asked Harmless.

“They'll just break it down anyway,” Harmless said. “Leave it. Save us the trouble of fixing it later.”

The O'Chanter family pushed through the paintings on the wall.

 

What Rye and her family anticipated, but couldn't see, was the gathering of soldiers outside the cottage. On the count of three, two soldiers rushed forward and put their shoulders into the door. Of course, it was unlocked and slid gently open, sending them tumbling onto the cottage floor. Three more rushed in behind them, peering from behind their shields as they charged first into Abby's bedroom, then the girls'. They checked under the beds and in the wardrobes and found nothing more than an enormous, bored-looking cat that didn't even bother to hide.

Once they determined the cottage was empty and sent word outside, a most unexpected visitor ducked through the front door of the cottage. Morningwig Longchance himself stepped delicately over the threshold, consuming the room with his height. His war helmet and plated boots shone and bore not a single scuff or dent. He held a sword as long and thin as his legs. With its jeweled handle and engraved blade, it looked like it had been pulled from a display over a castle fireplace.

Longchance looked down at Constable Boil, who had hobbled in to join him. Boil used a walking stick and his foot was heavily bandaged.

“You're certain this is the correct house?” Longchance said.

“Yes, yes, my Lord,” Boil said. “Quite certain.”

Longchance beckoned to an attendant, who extended a purse of orange slices. He sucked one and squinted his black eyes to examine the room.

Longchance pulled at one of the thin tails of beard that dangled over his throat and paced from door to window. After a few moments, his eyes narrowed farther. He cast the orange rind on the floor and pointed his sword toward the far wall.

“There,” he said, waving at a torn painting. “Bring a lantern.”

Longchance and two soldiers approached the wall. Longchance pressed his face against it and examined the cracks. He removed a glove and ran his finger along them. He sniffed it. Then, with a shove, he pushed open the hidden door.

The lantern light bounced off the walls of the windowless workshop. The table was still cluttered with countless trinkets. But aside from that, nothing or no one was in there.

“Someone warned them,” Longchance said to Boil, who was studying the mysterious little room. “This cow path has always been a haven for Luck Ugly sympathizers. Drag the other Puddlers from their hovels. Find out who it was.”

 

Moments earlier, when Harmless, Abby, Rye, and Lottie had huddled into the secret workshop, Rye had turned to her mother with a great deal of concern.

“Mama,” Rye said, “do you really think they won't find us here? I mean, even Lottie found this place.”

They heard a great commotion in the main room of the house. It sounded like soldiers knocking in the front door.

“Riley,” her mother said, with some amusement in her voice, “you really didn't think that
this
was the hidden chamber, did you?”

Harmless was on his hands and knees under the worktable, fiddling with a small iron tool. He popped open a square panel in the floor that had blended in seamlessly with the dust and dirt. He took the lantern from the table and peered through the hole.

“Abigail, you first,” he said. “Then Riley. I'll lower Lottie down after you.”

Rye couldn't believe her eyes. A narrow wooden ladder extended down from the mouth of the trapdoor into what looked like a dirt tunnel below.

“Stay close,” Harmless whispered as he helped Rye through the trapdoor. “The Spoke hasn't seen much use in the past ten years. Several tunnels are flooded. Others have caved in. If you get lost down there, you may never find your way out.”

Harmless climbed down last. As he descended the ladder, he sealed the door shut behind him.

Harmless hurried them down a short stretch of tunnel. He told them to stay put—and keep quiet—when they had arrived at a slighter wider chamber. Then he went back toward the ladder briefly, taking the lantern with him. It was dark and damp, and everything smelled like decaying wood and stagnant water. They all remained silent. Even Lottie.

When Harmless reappeared with the light, he said, “It's quiet up above. They've left the house, but they're not far.”

He used a spark from the lantern to light something on the wall. When the torch flared, Rye could finally make out her surroundings. The chamber was carved from the earth itself, with rotting beams supporting the dirt ceiling. Roots and stones jutted through the walls and floors. Abby could stand, but Harmless had to duck when he walked. From the chamber, dark tunnels snaked off in every direction.

“Where are we?” Rye whispered.

“There's no need to whisper, darling,” Abby said. “No one can hear us down here.”

Abby reached into her pack and unwrapped two chocolates. She handed one each to Rye and Lottie.

“It's called the Spoke,” Harmless said. “It's an old tunnel system that runs under the village. Your mother's right. I've been down here for weeks and haven't run into anyone. It looks like no one's used it in years.”