The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) (21 page)

Nick slapped the wall in frustration. He had to get onto the cart now. Once it was moving, there would be no way to climb aboard. But it was a long run across open space to get there. He would certainly be seen.

Gnasher took a last look at the castle. He peered up at the roof, and his lip curled in a snarl. “Of all the times!” he said.

A white haze engulfed the castle and began to obscure the cart. At first Nick thought it was smoke from the raging fire. But no, this was wet and cool—another cloud was passing over the island, a gift from the heavens. Seconds later, the ogres disappeared in the fog.

“It will pass soon enough,” he heard Gnasher mutter.

Nick did not know how long this good fortune would last. He sprinted for the cart. As he got closer, the shadowy figures of the ogres began to emerge. But the cloud provided adequate cover, and he slipped under the cart unseen.

Now that Nick was beneath the cart, he saw no easy way to climb aboard. The platform was far out of reach. He remembered that the giant wheels were as tall as the platform, and went to the rear wheel that was farthest from the ogres.

Nick found a large seam across the side of the wheel
and used it to pull himself up. He felt higher, along the curve of the wheel, but found no other place to hold on to.

The cloud was beginning to thin out as its tail end passed over the island. Nick could clearly see the legs of the ogres now at the front of the cart.

“Good-bye, Mother! Thanks for all the good work,” Gnasher called back at the castle. Basher snickered. Together, they pushed on the crosspiece, muscles straining. The cart creaked and inched forward, slowly gaining momentum.

Nick saw only one desperate chance to get onto the cart. Before the seam in the wheel rose out of reach, he jumped and slid his fingers into the space. As the wheel turned, he was carried up. Soon he was at the top of the wheel, above the level of the platform. Praying that neither ogre would look back at that critical moment, Nick tucked his legs underneath him and sprang onto the platform. He scooted under the spool, out of sight.

The rope hung a few feet above the platform so the spool could rotate freely. Nick crawled into the narrow space like a crab. He looked at the knife in his hand. It was such a paltry tool for the task ahead of him: slicing through rope as thick and tough as a tree.

Nick got onto his knees and started cutting. The cart picked up speed as the ogres pulled it across the field, heading for the forest road. It bumped and jostled, making it hard to keep his balance.

Nick sawed furiously, but he was having little effect.
Only a few of the threads split open under his blade. He wished he had Finch’s jagged knife with him. And he wondered what became of that man. Had the spider-heads poisoned him to death? Or was he now in the ogre’s belly?

The gash was a fraction of an inch deep after several minutes, and Nick’s arm ached from the effort. He looked at the knife. It was freshly sharpened when Nick found it, but now the edge was notched and blunted. Nick switched the knife to his left hand and went on cutting, pushing hard against the rope.

He looked out from under the spool and saw trees passing swiftly by. The cart rode over stones and stumps, shaking Nick’s hand as he cut, and making it hard to keep the blade inside the groove he’d started. The dull knife slowed his progress further, but he thought that, with luck, he might slice deep enough by the time they arrived at the edge of the cloud island. His left hand was cramping, so he switched to his right again.

The cut was half an inch deep and Nicks hope began to grow—another inch or two might be enough to make the rope unravel—when one of the front wheels struck a large rock in the road. The cart lurched and came down hard. Nick bounced up into the rope and onto the platform again. The entire spool began to rotate above him, taking all the loops of rope with it. It did not stop until it made a full quarter-turn, and the little gash he had made was hopelessly out of reach.

Now there was no time to start a new cut, because the cart was emerging from the forest. In a few minutes they would reach the ridge at the edge of the cloud island.

With alarm, Nick realized how familiar the landscape looked. They were not far from where he’d first arrived, at the top of the beanstalk. Nick crawled to the front of the cart and peeked out. The massive backs of the ogres were in front of him. The brothers leaned forward, straining to pull the cart behind them. Basher seemed to have endless reserves of strength, but Gnasher was grunting and wheezing.

Up ahead the road disappeared into a cleft that the ogres had torn in the rocky ridge. The cart rumbled through the gap, into the sandy area beyond. Just a few hundred feet away, the low mists swirled over the coast.

There must be some way to stop them,
Nick thought. He crawled into the machinery that would control the descent of the rope. He looked at the saw-toothed metal gears that meshed neatly together, searching for a way to foul up the contraption. But everything was so huge and solid, and all he had was the blunt little knife to work with.

The ogres struggled to pull the cart through the sand. Nick prayed that the wheels would become mired, stranding the rope just short of its destination, but the ogres heaved mightily, and the cart kept moving through the sand and into the mists with hard ground underneath.

“So close,” Gnasher panted. “Almost there!”

It seemed inevitable now: Gnasher and Basher would reach the world below There was nothing Nick could do but climb down the beanstalk and try to warn whoever would listen about the horror that was coming. At least he could return to Jacks fortress and give the old man Gullinda’s message.

But getting off the cart was a challenge that Nick had not considered. The platform towered high above the ground. Below him the mist hovered a few feet over the rocks. As breezes whipped along the edge of the cloud island, they made the vapors swirl. Part of the ground would be revealed for a moment, and it was treacherous, full of cracks and craters and sharp jutting stones. He was likely to break his leg if he jumped.

“Stop! Close enough! Were here!” Gnasher yelled. The cart rolled to a halt. Gnasher and his brother lay down to catch their breath.

“At last,” Gnasher said, panting. “All that planning. All that work. Now were going to do what our father tried to do and failed. We’re going to their world. Go on, Basher, secure the cart like I taught you.”

Basher got up obediently. When Nick realized what the ogre was doing, he saw his chance to get off the cart.

There were four chains heaped on the platform, each secured to a corner. At the other end of the chains were long metal spikes. Basher took the first chain and stepped back from the cart until it was fully extended. Then he used a hammer to drive the spike deep into the
ground. As soon as the first chain was secured, he started on the second.

It would be easy for Nick to climb down one of the chains. The trick was to make sure he wouldn’t be seen. He looked out into the sky, hoping to see a cloud coming this way that might provide the safe cover of fog, but the horizon was clear. He’d have to wait until the ogres’ backs were turned and take his chances. If he reached the ground, he could stay low, and the mist might keep him out of sight.

Nick was shocked to see just how close the ogres had come to the peninsula where the beanstalk grew. It was hardly a hundred yards away. Nick could see the great boulder where the plant had attached itself, and even a few tendrils that wrapped around it. If the ogres looked in that direction, they would be certain to notice it.

While Basher drove in the spikes, Gnasher sat on the ground, still breathless. “You remember how it works, don’t you? I’ve told you enough times,” he said. “I get in the harness and go down first with the weapons. The weight of the rope is enough to make the spool turn, and the little wheels and gears control the speed of the descent. Now, while I’m being lowered, don’t touch anything. When the rope is completely let out, you reel it back in. Then all you have to do is get in the harness and drop yourself over the edge. Can you remember that?”

Basher grunted something that sounded like yes.

“Now,” said Gnasher, “how about a little treat before
the trip, brother?” Nick watched as Gnasher reached into the pouch at his waist and pulled out the limp body of Finch. Basher came lumbering over, licking his lips, to get a closer look.

Still alive?
Nick wondered. He was sure he didn’t want to see what was about to happen.

Gnasher held Finch by the foot and let him dangle upside down. “An army of these wont give us much trouble, will they, Basher?”

Finch began to moan softly.

“Well, our little friend is waking up,” said Gnasher. He gave Finch a shake. “Let’s see what he has to say for himself now.” Gnasher flipped Finch over into his other hand and waited for him to fully awaken.

Finch barely resembled the arrogant, handsome leader of thieves that Nick had known. His ruddy complexion was drained of color, except for the trickling red holes that the spider-heads left behind. His lips were pulled back, and his teeth were clenched together in a mad grin. There was a strange, dazed look in his eyes; perhaps the venom was still affecting his brain.

Finch’s head swiveled back and forth as he stared with dread at the gruesome monsters before him.

“Yes, wake up—it is time to accept your punishment,” Gnasher said. “You should not have tried to escape. You’ve made me enormously angry.”

“It was the boys idea! Not mine!” Finch’s words were slurred, and there was lunacy in his voice.

“Little liar,” said Gnasher. He reached out and pinched Finch’s head between his thumb and forefinger. He began to squeeze.

“No!” screamed Finch. He threw his arms around the fingers in a futile attempt to pry them apart. “The boy is the liar! He lied to you! I can help you! I can lead you to Jack—the man who killed your father!”

“What’s that you say?” Gnasher said. His eyebrows went up and his nose twitched. He released Finch’s head, and Basher began to bounce in place as he squatted.

Finch’s words chilled Nick to the core. The man would say anything now to save himself.

While the ogres were distracted, Nick saw his opportunity to climb down unnoticed. As he crawled on hands and knees to the back of the cart, he could still hear the conversation between Gnasher and Finch.

“Tell me about this Jack—and how you can help us,” Gnasher said.

“Yes! I can help! Let me guide you. I’ll show you where Jack lives, the one who stole from your father. And that’s not all—I’ll lead you to other places. I know other castles, full of treasures! And villages full of people—thousands of fat, juicy people! Just let me live, and I’ll be your guide!”

Nick clambered down the chain, as fast as he dared. When he was near the end he dropped to the ground, knee-deep in mist. He was halfway between panic and rage from listening to Finch, who would betray an entire
world to preserve his own life. Moving as quickly as he could through the mist, and trying not to stumble over hidden stones, Nick headed for the beanstalk The ogres’ backs were still turned to him.

“Where will we find Jack?” Gnasher said.

“Old Man Jack! Living like a king on your father’s gold! In a fortress, a white fortress, not far from the beanstalk. I’ll take you there!”

“But the beanstalk has been destroyed.”

“No! Another of the boy’s lies! I told you, I’m the one you can trust!”

“The beanstalk is still here?” Gnasher said. He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Of course it’s still here. Basher, I’ve been a fool!”

Gnasher lifted Finch to his face. “Tell me where it is. Now.”

“Oh, no,” Nick whispered to himself. He glanced back. Now that Gnasher had raised Finch high, Nick could see the man over the ogre’s shoulder. Finch was looking for the beanstalk and spotted him on the ground below.

Nick shook his head and put a finger to his lips, begging Finch not to betray his presence. Time seemed to hesitate for a long, silent moment. Then Finch’s hand came up and he pointed at Nick.

“There he is!” shrieked Finch. “The boy! Running to the beanstalk! He’s the one you want! Kill him and let me help you conquer the world below!”

“As if we need your help!” snapped Gnasher. “You’ve already told us how to find Jack.” He stuffed the kicking and hollering Finch back into the pouch at his waist. “Lets get that one, Basher!” Basher rose up and thundered toward Nick. Gnasher ran to the cart and reached into the pile of weapons.

Nick gave up caution and ran. He had a head start, but he did not think it was enough.

Finch had always been the hunter, not the prey. Now he was helpless in the clutches of something as evil-hearted as he was, but far more powerful—a monster that could snap every bone in his body with a squeeze of his fist.

In the darkness of the sack, he moaned as he was bounced against the ogre’s thigh. His head rang from the squeeze that Gnasher’s fingers had given it, and his thoughts spun out of control. What a terrible sensation, for his skull to feel so fragile in that monstrous pinch. The ogre could have cracked his head as easily, and with as little remorse, as Finch cracked a nut.
And probably for the same reason,
a voice in his head called out.
Because he wants the meat inside!
Finch began to laugh again, an eerie giggle he could not contain.

His thoughts twisted and spun. It was as if a mob was inside his head, shouting one another down. The worst of it was a part of him was still sane, and it knew he was slipping into madness.

Get the knife,
the one sane voice urged him.

“I lost the knife!” Finch moaned.

The other knife,
it whispered. And Finch remembered the smaller blade strapped to his ankle. He reached down and pulled it from the sheath. He stabbed at the bottom of the pouch, and the blade pierced the thick material, all the way to the haft. Finch grabbed the handle with both hands and began to pull the blade toward him. He sawed up and down with manic strength, cutting a slit for his escape.