The Luck Uglies (14 page)

“Where does it lead?” Rye asked, biting at a fingernail. Abby gently pulled Rye's finger from her mouth and swapped it for the hand with the chocolate.

“All over the village,” Harmless said. “This chamber is called the Hub. From here, each tunnel will take you to a different part of Drowning. Unfortunately, half the tunnels have fallen into disrepair.”

Harmless pointed with his finger. “That way, of course, leads back to the cottage. This way goes to Miser's End Cemetery. Over here is the tunnel to the basement of the Willow's Wares.”

Rye looked at her mother wide-eyed. There was a shortcut she could have taken on snowy and rainy days? Abby just shrugged.

“This one over here is called the Long Way Home,” Harmless said. “It's quite a hike, but it leads to the deepest, darkest dungeon of Longchance Keep. Needless to say, the Spoke leads to some places you will never want to go.”

“The Long Way Home? That's a funny name for a tunnel,” Rye said.

“The men who built these tunnels spent as much time in the dungeons as they did with their wives,” Abby said flatly.

“The cemetery, the Willow's Wares' basement, the dungeons of Longchance Keep . . . ,” Rye said. “People say those places are haunted.”

“What a peculiar coincidence,” Harmless said, and gave her a wink.

“So who built these tunnels?” Rye said.

“Riley, my dear, I am glad to see that your curiosity has gotten the better of your nerves,” Harmless said. “However, we really must be moving along. We're going somewhere safe. The tunnel we'd normally take has been flooded by storm water, so we'll need to take the long and not-so-scenic route. We can talk more on the way. Now stay close. If we misplace you, I fear your mother's sweet mood is going to sour.”

Rye glanced at her mother, whose glare at Harmless had all the sweetness of an overripe lemon.

Harmless adjusted his swords, hoisted Lottie onto his back, and carried her as they set off through the underground caverns. He led the way, lighting torches with the lantern as he went. Abby was close behind, with Rye sandwiched between them for safety. Rye always struggled to keep her footing even under the best of circumstances; these narrow pathways lined with rocks and hidden roots did her no favors. She fell several times and the old scabs on her knees that had never had a chance to heal stung under her leggings. One hard landing sent her pack flying. Rye snatched it quickly before anyone could help, and slipped her hand inside to make sure Leatherleaf's pouch had not fallen loose. As her parents hooked their arms through Rye's elbows to lift her up, she heard Harmless sigh heavily. She feared he was growing frustrated with her.

“We need to get you some new boots I think,” he said. But when he noticed what she had on her feet, Rye saw his eyes change at the sight of the boots he'd worn himself so long ago.

“Come on,” he said, “I'll make room.” He placed Lottie in Abby's arms and hoisted Rye on his back.

They soon came to one spot that Harmless and Abby seemed eager to avoid. There was a wide, iron door with a small grate at just about an adult's eye level. It was bound shut with the thickest chains Rye had ever seen and more heavy locks than she could count. The metal door was gouged with thick grooves that looked to Rye like claw marks, but from a beast much larger than Shady. This section of the tunnel was far colder than the stretch that ran under their cottage. It made Rye shudder. She could see her breath.

“What's that?” Rye asked Harmless.

“That's the door to Beyond the Shale,” Harmless said quietly. “Behind it lies a passage that, for many, is the start of a one-way trip.”

It was not lost on Rye that, despite what her mother had said earlier, Harmless was whispering. Abby kept walking without a word.

Rye found the rest of the journey more exciting than scary. Occasionally dirt would fall on their heads from the ceiling and more than once something unseen scuttled by their feet. From time to time they would pass old ladders or worn stone steps leading up to the world above. Rye knew these were the secret exits and entrances that Harmless spoke of. Before long, the tunnels all appeared to be the same. Rye certainly wouldn't want to get lost down here. Then she heard a strange but steady sound. A whoosh that became a roar. The tunnel widened, and before them stretched a small rope bridge over a wide body of fast-moving water.

“Is it flooded?” Rye asked.

“No,” Harmless said. “It's a branch of the River Drowning. It flows underground here.”

“Are we crossing it?” Rye said with some alarm.

“Don't worry,” Abby said. “Hold on and you'll be just fine.”

Rye watched the water rush below them and disappear into the darkness.

“Isn't there another way?” Rye said as Abby set Lottie down and they all joined hands to navigate the rope bridge.

“It's the only way to get where we are going, Riley,” Abby said.

“And where's that?” Rye said, trying not to look down.

“A wine cellar,” Harmless said as he expertly tiptoed across the rope.

Rye turned to her mother. “Mama, do you really have to stop for wine right now?”

Abby frowned. “Riley, my darling, we are not stopping for wine. We're going to the Dead Fish Inn.”

17

Last Room at the Dead Fish

H
armless moved three casks, some old wooden crates, and countless cobwebs to access the Dead Fish Inn's wine cellar from the Spoke. There certainly was a lot of wine down there, along with plenty of ale, grog, and other popular village drinks. It was cold and dimly lit and Rye could understand why people said it was haunted, although Folly had said her parents made those stories up themselves to keep the barmaids out of the supply.

The watchdog in the cellar was an old hound whose belly barely cleared the floor. He didn't bark when he saw the four strangers appear from the mysterious passage in the wall, but he scampered up the stairs, dragging his ears behind him as fast as his short legs would take him. He returned with both Fletcher and Faye Flood.

The Floods quickly ushered the O'Chanters up the stairs and into the main room of the inn, where they set themselves up to dry by the enormous fireplace. They had been in the tunnels of the Spoke for longer than any of them had realized, and most of the inn's guests had retired to their rooms. A few slumped in chairs at the bar, and several more were playing Hooks at a large table in the corner. Rye recognized Jonah and some of the other barkeeps. The sinister-looking man who had followed Harmless and her mother out of the Dead Fish after the Black Moon Party was back. His eyes twitched from Jonah to his own cards, then to the other players. His surly little monkey dealt another hand.

Faye brought spiced plum cider for Rye and Lottie. Only after sitting and sipping the warm drink did Rye's exhaustion creep up on her. Soon she heard Lottie snoring, her head buried on Abby's shoulder. Rye curled up under Abby's other arm and, despite her efforts to keep her eyes propped open, fell in and out of slumber.

Her dreams blended in with the adults' conversation until she had trouble telling the two apart. It seemed to Rye that Abby, Harmless, and Folly's parents talked over their glasses into the early morning. They were joined by Fitz and Flint, who drank ale from four tankards spread out in front of them. At one point Leatherleaf sat down beside them on the floor. The Bog Noblin hunkered over a steaming pot of stew. He poured it straight down his gullet and used his black tongue to lick the remains from his ropy orange beard. When he had finished, he cast a hungry look at Rye.

Rye forced her eyes open, her heart racing. Thankfully, Leatherleaf was just in her dreams this time.

“The poison,” Abby was saying to the Floods. “Do we know who Longchance sent to poison Gray?”

“Not for certain,” Fletcher said. “But we've narrowed it down and we're keeping a close eye on them.”

Harmless glanced at the table where the men were playing cards. His jaw tightened. Through her fog of sleep, Rye thought she saw the man with the monkey glaring back at him.

“The Dead Fish is safe,” Fitz said.

“Once we find Longchance's eyes and ears—” Flint said.

“—we'll cut them out ourselves,” Fitz finished.

“Boys,” Faye chastised, “must you always be so crass?”

“Sorry, Mum,” they said together. Fitz sipped his ale sheepishly.

“Until then—” Flint said.

“—no new guests get in,” Fitz finished.

“As safe as the Dead Fish is, the village is running out of time,” Harmless said. “The Clugburrow are at our doorstep. At least three travel by night.”

“Longchance will see us all dragged into the bogs before he seeks help again,” Faye said with rising anger.

“He thought he'd buried the Bog Noblins and the Luck Uglies years ago,” Abby said. “If not for this wayward juvenile, maybe he'd have been right,” she added bitterly.

“Nothing stays buried forever,” Harmless said quietly, as if speaking only to her.

“He's gone mad,” Fitz said. Rye noticed that the twins even sounded alike.

“This festival is madness.” Flint said. “Keeping a live Bog Noblin in the village—”

“—only invites catastrophe.” Fitz added.

“He's drunk with ego,” Harmless said. “This is his opportunity. Once and for all, he intends to prove that Drowning doesn't need the Luck Uglies. He may truly believe it himself.”

Harmless turned back to Abby. “You and the girls should be safe here with me gone. If I stay, everyone will be at risk.”

Abby pressed her goblet to her lips and said nothing.

“We can hold our own regardless of what Longchance throws our way,” Fletcher said.

“I know you can, my friend,” Harmless said, putting a hand on Fletcher's arm. “I won't be far. But there are other old acquaintances I must speak with before this mess is said and done.”

Fletcher sighed. “Well, then, if you must leave in the morning”—he raised a glass—“we drink now.”

They all raised mugs and clinked them together. The twins had enough to clink with everybody.

Rye pretended to be asleep but more dreams would not come easy. She had only just met her father and he was already leaving again. She reached up and gently placed her hand over his.

 

Rye woke to the sparkle of sunlight on colored glass. She was surrounded by hundreds of bottles in all shapes and sizes. Sitting up, she realized she was lying on thick blankets on the floor of Folly's room. Someone must have carried her there during the night.

When she ventured downstairs she discovered it was already midday. People sat in small groups at tables eating, drinking, and blustering. There was always loud talk and whispering at the Dead Fish Inn, but not much in between. Nobody used their “reasonable” voices, just as Rye and Lottie didn't at home, despite Abby's urging. Rye looked for Folly or her mother. She heard a familiar unreasonable voice rise above the general noise of the inn.

“Mean sker-rell take my monster!” Lottie yelled. “You mean!”

Rye found her little sister on the floor by the bar. Lottie was engaged in a tug-of-war with the small black monkey Rye had seen before. The monkey clutched Mona Monster's feet and Lottie grasped her by the arms. Eventually, Lottie won the battle and gave the monkey's tail a pull for good measure. The monkey yelled and clambered up the wall, taking refuge in the enormous chandelier of candles three floors overhead. It screeched angrily at Lottie from its perch.

“Mean sker-rell,” Lottie said when she saw Rye. “Take Mona. Humph,” she added, and stomped off toward their mother by the fireplace.

“Your sister's made herself right at home,” Jonah said to Rye with a broad smile. He was tidying up behind the bar. “Although she's been fighting with that hairy nuisance all morning.”

“Oh. Hi, Jonah,” Rye said. “Where did that monkey come from anyway?”

“Name's Shortstraw. At least that's what he calls it,” Jonah said, pointing to the sinister-looking man in the corner. “It showed up with him. Three weeks ago.”

Rye could see now that the man had pale blue eyes the color of robins' eggs. He picked a callus on his thumb with the point of a sharp knife.

“His name's Bramble,” Jonah said. “Nobody knows where he came from or where he's going. Between you and me, Rye, I'd avoid him if I were you. Both him and his monkey are card cheats, if not worse. I don't trust him one bit.”

Bramble was watching someone intently. Rye followed his gaze and swallowed hard. His eyes were fixed upon her mother.

“Thanks, Jonah,” Rye said, and hurried off to the Mermaid's Nook, where her mother was sitting.

Rye joined Abby at the table, glancing over her shoulder as she sat. Bramble conveniently turned his attention elsewhere.

“Hello, my sleeping dragon,” Abby said with a smile.

“Hi, Mama,” Rye said. Lottie was playing at their feet. Rye looked around for Harmless. “Is he gone?” she asked.

Abby nodded. “Yes, darling. For now.”

“Will he be back?”

“I don't know,” Abby said.

“Oh,” Rye said, and looked down at the table. Abby reached out and took her hand.

“You have questions,” Abby said. “Maybe it's time we talk.”

And, for the first time in a long while, they did.

“I told you your father was a soldier who had gone off to fight for the Earl Beyond the Shale because, in many ways, it was true,” Abby said. “Your grandfather, your father, and others had brokered a peace treaty with Ascot Longchance—Morningwig's own father—years before. The Luck Uglies agreed to provide a most useful and honorable service: to rid the Shale of the Bog Noblins. They did this so their crimes would be pardoned, their bounties lifted, and—most importantly—so that one day their children might have a better life.

“I make no excuses for the horrors Grimshaw once brought upon this village,” she continued. “But I remain grateful for what he tried to do for his grandchildren—even though he never met you. It was not without its price, even among the Luck Uglies themselves. . . .”

Rye saw the look of sadness in her mother's eyes. It was strange to hear of sacrifices made for her and Lottie long before they were even born.

“Your grandfather met his demise not long after signing the Treaty of Stormwell, but your father completed the work after he assumed the High Chieftain's crest. Unfortunately, Ascot Longchance also died before the Luck Uglies' task was finished, and his heir, Morningwig, proved to be most dishonorable—even by Longchance standards.”

Abby explained that the new Earl had grown wary of the Luck Uglies' success. The villains remained feared but were no longer reviled. Bards belted drinking songs in their honor. Maidens batted their eyelashes at them. Village children set out crumb cakes on the night of the Black Moon. Nobody made crumb cakes for Morningwig Longchance.

Rye had heard much of that before. Abby leaned forward, her voice now tart as she spoke.

“Official village history would tell us that despite their uneasy truce, the Luck Uglies were unable to change their nature, stealing away the Earl's bride, the mother of his only child, during the night. Tragically, Lady Emma was never seen again.”

“They chained her to a stump . . . ,” Rye said abashedly, her eyes on the table as she recalled her discussion with Quinn.

“No,” Abby said. “Riley, look at me.”

Rye did.

“No,” Abby said firmly again. “The Luck Uglies did no such thing. Your father would
never
have allowed it. The Luck Uglies have never had many scruples, but they live by an unbreakable code. Their rules are secret, and even I do not know them all. But one pillar of their beliefs is that the women and children of their enemies must not be harmed.”

Rye felt a break in the dark cloud that had been shrouding her.

“Why would Longchance say such a thing to the village?” she asked.

“Because he cares for his own stature above all else,” Abby said, her voice rising. “If the Luck Uglies could protect the village where he had repeatedly failed, how long before the village would decide it had no need for the House of Longchance at all? It was without warning that Longchance doubled their bounties and declared the Luck Uglies to be outlaws once again, banishing them from the Shale.”

Abby paused and took a breath to compose herself. Her voice softened, but the fire in her eyes remained.

“Even your father doesn't know what became of the unlucky Lady Longchance, but blaming her disappearance on the Luck Uglies was just what Morningwig needed to turn the village against them. If the Luck Uglies were so brazen as to steal his bride from the armed Keep, what hope did the villagers have in their own cottages?”

Abby leaned forward and took Rye's hand. She held it tightly and looked her daughter in the eye.

“Morningwig Longchance lives by no code. He would have undoubtedly bargained with the throats of every last wife and child of a Luck Ugly if he knew who they were. He agreed that those families who were suspected would not be persecuted, so long as no Luck Ugly ever returned to Drowning.”

Abby explained that, to drive the point home, Longchance assembled an army the likes of which the village had never seen. He borrowed soldiers from his neighboring nobles, retained fierce mercenaries with promises of gold and pardons from the gallows. Under a full moon, they marched through Drowning, purging the village of all Luck Uglies who had not yet left. Some of the Luck Uglies, blind with rage, ravaged the streets and terrorized the villagers—innocent and otherwise.

Abby shook her head when she said, “This shortsighted act of vengeance only reinforced the lies that Longchance had fed the village.”

Abby was silent for a moment, and seemed to weigh her words carefully.

“Homeless and family-less,” she continued, “the remaining Luck Uglies disbanded, disappearing far and wide to make new lives doing the only things they knew how—which, unfortunately, were a lot like the troublesome things they'd tried to stop doing in the first place.”

Abby stared off into the shadows, and Rye knew that those lost years had taken their toll.