Thornghost (13 page)

T
he Second Ruby's common room had a bar and a long table, but otherwise it looked more like the workshop of a museum than an inn. All shelves and tables were crammed with precious objects that needed mending. Cracked vases and jade cats with snapped tails fought for room with lidless chests of trinkets and tiles. The smell, however, did belong in an inn. It reminded Niklas of the Willodale tavern where Uncle Anders sometimes bought them dinner if Grandma Alma felt poorly: spilled beer, corners left to grow musty, and hearty, slow-thickened food.

Logs made of bundled twigs burned in the fireplace in the far corner of the room, and though daylight pooled under the windows, it was dark beneath the rafters. They could only see the faces of the animals gathered around the long table in the glow from wax-bogged chandeliers.

Next to Castine sat a small, black cat with spectacles
and a green shawl over her vest, and at the end of the table loomed a huge raccoon with sharp eyes in his scoundrel's mask. He held a steaming cooking pot in his paws.

Kepler bowed. “No apple cake today, Odar?”

“No,” the raccoon said. “And you know it. I see you've brought company.”

“Yes. This is Secret, and her boy, Niklas. We found them sniffing around near the north gate.”

The raccoon put the kettle on the table. “Well, the young cat here is our dear Too, and I am Odar.” He gave Niklas and Secret a good, long looking-over. “Usually, all Brokeners eat at purpledusk, at the sound of the bell. But this evening we'll make an exception and eat early, just the six of us. Come. Sit. There is stew that now has mushrooms in it, thanks to the hard work of Kepler and Castine.”

Niklas drifted closer to the table, lured by the delicious smell of spices, and found a seat next to Kepler at the end of the bench. He hadn't eaten since the night before, and as soon as the others lifted their forks, peering at him over their plates, he tucked in faster than he could chew. “This is really good,” he said with his mouth full.

“It's the caraway,” Odar said. “My specialty.”

Secret didn't care for the smell of caraway. She stood uneasily behind Niklas, wrinkling her nose.

“Something the matter?” The raccoon watched Secret intently. “Dinner's not to your liking?”

“Cooked, slimy plants,” said Secret. “I can't eat that.”
She sent Castine a look, and Niklas knew her confusion. Secret usually ate squirrels, bitter ones or not.

“No?” Odar ladled a small helping of stew into a wide, shallow bowl and placed it in front of Secret. She grimaced as brown liquid oozed out around chunks of golden root vegetables. But soon the hunger got the better of her, and she bent down and nibbled at a flute mushroom. A small whimper sounded at the back of her throat, and moments later, her bowl was empty.

Odar waited until she had finished before he commented. “Your tastes have changed. It's part of the awakening. You'll find there are many unexpected things you can do and even want to do now.”

“Such as walking on two legs,” said Kepler.

“And drinking mead,” said Castine, draining her cup.

“And wearing warm clothes when it's cold outside,” said Too. When the black cat saw Secret's expression, she added, “Of course, you don't have to, but most of us do.”

Odar grunted. “I have seen enough. You really are completely new. Something must have gone very wrong for a fresh fresher to be sent out alone to meet the Twistrose. Where are you from? The nearest safe town is weeks away, and I didn't know any of the other Realms had called for a Twistrose. We sure haven't.”

There was that word again, the one the nasty voice and old voice had quarreled about in the tunnel. Niklas put on his most reasonable smile and said, “Mr. Odar, I wish
I knew what you are talking about, but I don't. What is a Twistrose?”

“A Twistrose is a human child. A visitor, if you will, invited by means of a special
key.
”

He waited for Niklas to say something, but Castine did it for him. “He claims he doesn't have one.”

Odar turned to Secret. “Who sent you all this way alone, Secret? How did you cross the Nightmare mountains?”

“And where did you pick up Niklas?” asked Kepler. “Was it around these parts?”

Secret turned her ears out. She wasn't doing well with all the questions. “I didn't pick him up anywhere. We came here together.”

“That's right,” Niklas said. He stood up. He had no idea what was going on here, so he decided to go with the simplest and easiest kind of lie: half the truth. “We found a shrub-infested hole in the mountain, walked through it, and ended up here. We just need to borrow some tools to clear out those roots, and we'll go home again.”

A thick silence unfolded.

“I consider myself something of an expert on lies,” Odar said at last. “And I believe the two of you are telling the truth right now, if not all of it. It's impossible, but here you are, with neither invitation nor key, where you should not be. On the other side of the wall. In
our
world.”

Niklas set his cup on the table, weighing his words. But despite years of practice with Grandma Alma, he didn't
quite know how to frame this question. “You mean to say this is not
our
world?”

The raccoon chuckled. “Well, I'll be scratched. I never thought I of all people would be giving a Twistrose his welcome speech.” He got to his feet to tower over them, big, gray chest puffed out. “No, lad. This isn't your world. This is the Realms of Dream and Thorn. Our world is made from the imagination of human children. Games and stories, nightmares and horrors, hopes and wishes, they all belong here. Which is why the folk that live here are animals who once shared a bond of friendship with a human child. When we died in your world, we woke up here to live a second life because our children loved us and grieve for us.”

He lifted his cup. “Here's to you for that.”

Niklas searched their solemn faces. They were not kidding. Too even had tears in her eyes as she drank the toast.

“Are you also saying you're all dead?” Niklas rubbed his forehead. “But you live here because you were friends with a human child. Best friends.”

He would have figured it for nonsense, if it weren't for Sebastifer. It actually made sense. After he drowned in Sorrowdeep, Sebastifer had come here and stayed in the cottage and whittled images of Erika, and somehow his mother had heard his barks through the mountain. At least that's what she wrote in her notebook.

Niklas didn't quite trust his legs, so he sat down on the bench again.

“Mine was a boy named Magnus,” said Too. “He read me the best books.”

“My Marti had the best twigs in her hair,” said Kepler, kissing his medallion with a look of triumph. Suddenly they all talked at the same time, arguing about whose child could spit the farthest or told the best ghost stories.

All except Odar, who poured himself another cup of mead. “We're all forgetting the most important thing,” he said. Niklas thought there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “There's a boy here who claims he is no Twistrose and has no key, and who just happened to show up in Sebastifer's canyon while the Sparrow King was there.”

The others fell quiet again. No need to wonder whether to keep Kepler's secret, then, because someone else had already told. Kepler glared at Castine, who hung her head with shame. “He can tell when I lie,” she muttered.

“You're a bigger idiot than I had imagined, Kepler.” Odar's voice was so soft, but his smile wasn't. “That canyon is deep in Nightmare territory.”

“Secret and Niklas would be dead if we hadn't been there.” Kepler pushed his chin up. “We rescued them from skullbeaks.”

Odar cocked his head. “With what? Your front teeth?”

“Castine made us bows,” Kepler said. “We're getting quite good at using them.”

The raccoon slammed his fist on the table so both the stew and his belly wobbled. “Don't you have any sense between the whiskers? You traipse about on the moor play­ing at bows and arrows? I said no one must leave the Nick­wood! Or have you forgotten what happened to the others? Four of us dead in a few months, Kepler. I thought the deaths would have made more of an impression on you, since you always claim to be fighting for the good of all Brokeners.”

Too slid halfway off her seat, ready to hide under the table, and Castine had somehow managed to slip out of the room. But Kepler didn't back off. “First of all, we don't
traipse.
” His voice was tight with anger. “We're risking our lives, and yes, it's for the good of all Brokeners. We heard something big was going down in Sebastifer's canyon, so we went. Second of all, we brought home evidence that will help us figure out what it was.” He emptied his backpack and put the bottle and the glass on the table. “And third of all, we brought home a Twistrose, the first Twistrose to come here since Jewelgard was still the glittering vale, the gem of the west coast, the most beautiful city in this world.” He swallowed hard. “I say it doesn't matter who called him, because he's
here.
” He turned to Niklas.

Niklas nodded in what he hoped was a neutral manner.

Odar stared at them for a long moment before he sat down, frowning at the green bottle. Niklas felt Too sag with relief beside him. “You will tell me everything that
happened, every detail of it, whether you think it important or no. But later. The rest of the Brokeners will be here for supper soon. Niklas, Secret, go upstairs and stay there. Clean up and sleep.”

“Upstairs?” Kepler couldn't keep a squeak out of his voice. “We're not going to present the Twistrose to the other Brokeners?”

“We don't even know if he is a Twistrose.” Odar snorted. “We're not presenting anyone with anything until I've heard the verdict of the only one who might know what to do with them.”

“Who?” Kepler leaned forward, placing himself between Niklas and Odar. “Who could possibly know better than the Brokeners what's best for Broken?”

Odar's mouth curled up. “The Greenhood. I'm taking them to see the Greenhood.”

P
urpledusk, Odar had called it, and Niklas could see why. Outside the mismatched windows of the Second Ruby, the day had dimmed to the color of bruises, streaked with pointed shadows. There were no sunsets inside the shrub, or so Kepler had said.

The ferret led the way up the stairs, pointing out where the regulars lived. “Only one bathroom for all of us, and that's in here. Too's room is there, next to Odar's, Castine's is by the stairs, and mine is up in the turret.”

“How come you get to stay inside a house?” Niklas asked.

“Remember I told you about Wilders and Petlings? Well, Castine, Too, and me, we're the only Petlings in Broken. It means we were pets before we died, so we were used to life inside a house when we got here. Even Castine, who was rescued from a cat when she was young.” He
grimaced at his new cut. “But the others are all Wilders, so they're better at slinking around the thorns. If they were free and at peace, they would probably still prefer homes that were mostly open to nature. Not decked out like this.” He patted a column carved like a serpent.

“And Odar?”

“Oh, Odar is driven by an entirely different urge.” He grinned. “Treasure. Besides, this clearing was his home even before the Breaking.”

Back in the common room, the dinner bell rang, and a stream of voices and footsteps followed. Niklas imagined the Brokeners settling around the long table, or into the torn armchairs and singed pillows, eating stew and telling Odar he had lost his mind for letting them stay here. Niklas was glad he didn't have to face the surly fox.

“It's usually my task to ring the bell,” Kepler said. “When I'm not being punished for
traipsing
.” He stopped in a wedge of warm light that cut across the landing. “Castine is carving,” he whispered.

Through the cracked door they could see the squirrel's room. She had stuffed it full of tools and materials, leaving only a den in the middle for herself, where she now worked in the yellow glow of the lantern. Every now and again, she stopped to brush away wood shavings, holding a round object into the light for scrutiny. “Another medallion,” Niklas said. “What do they mean?”

Kepler held his out and opened the lid, revealing a
carving of a short-haired girl encircled in a ring of twigs. Her eyes had been inlaid with green gems. “This is my Marti,” he said. “Roof climber and escape artist, and the fiercest nine-year-old you could ever hope to encounter.” He scratched the girl's hair. “At least she was when I came here. She is almost thirteen now, but she is still a perfect rebel.”

“How do you know?” asked Niklas.

“I can feel when she is very happy, or very sad, through this. It's like a twinge of electricity, like getting a glimpse of someone you've missed, but far away across a field.” He nodded at Castine. “She keeps us sane, that one.”

“What are those?” Secret pointed her ear to a pile of strange sculptures pushed against the inner wall. Thorns stuck out of the top, and there were bits of scrap metal and woven panels like the house walls, except smaller.

“Armor,” Kepler said. “For when we fight back. Castine made them for us long ago. There's a shirt for each Brokener.” He sniffed. “Except Odar. He doesn't want one.”

“I thought you said there were only forty-one of you,” Niklas said. “It would be a small uprising.”

Kepler pulled at his leather cord. “Small, but clever. We could take the Nightmares, if we had a good plan and a true leader.”

Castine glanced up at them. “Enough now, Kepler.” Maybe it was the carving iron she kept in her mouth, but her voice sounded softer than usual. “You can conspire more in the morning.”

• • •

T
hey were to sleep in Kepler's turret chamber. It had a patched hammock suspended from the tip of the spire, and a tall window where roses pushed against many-colored panes, and a fireplace, where Kepler set about lighting a fire. “Hope you don't mind the smell too much.” He gave a goofy grin. “Ferret thing.”

“Not at all,” Niklas said. The animal musk was there, but mostly the room smelled like a library. Scorched books lined every wall. A painting sat propped up on a shelf. It showed a dark brown weasel, grim of face, before a backdrop of ships burning in a harbor. It was a little rough, but good enough for Niklas to realize that he had seen the weasel's face before, spouting water in the fountain outside.

“The day of the Breaking,” Kepler said, brushing the kindling off his pants. “Odar doesn't like us to dwell on it, but I think we need to remember that, too.”

“You painted this?” Secret's brow furrowed. “Yourself?”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Kepler said. “Marcelius here was just a gardener and fresher than me, but when the trolls came, he still stayed behind to fight them. Gave his life so the others could escape. He deserves to be recognized.” Kepler picked up a paintbrush and ran his thumb over the soft tip. “I'm going to do a portrait of all the heroes of the Breaking. Odar included, whether he wants it or not.”

“Odar is a war hero?” said Niklas. “I thought he didn't appreciate . . . traipsing.”

“His method is stay hidden, stay alive,” Kepler said. “But you have to understand that Odar wasn't an ordinary citizen of Jewelgard. He only came to the city for, ah, special visits to relieve the Jewelgarders of excess riches. If you take my meaning.”

Niklas whistled. “He was a thief!”

“Best raider this side of the mountains. Still is, I guess. Just look at all the stuff he brought back from the ruins. A whole house and everything in it. Without him, no one would have survived. He's the one who taught us how to survive here. Hide inside the Rosa, raid the garden for food.” Kepler put the paintbrush back in its cup. “But last spring, Brokeners began disappearing. Four raiders caught, even when they were following the rules. Odar forbade us to leave the Nickwood until we know what's going on.”

“But you don't care,” Secret said.

“Sure I do. I care that we're almost out of food, except for those blasted mushrooms. I care that if we just hide in here, we won't figure out what's happening. Four dead Brokeners doesn't mean we should cower in the bushes. It means we should fight back.” Kepler's eyes shone as he turned to Niklas. “So I'm asking you again: Are you here to help us?”

Niklas never got around to answering, because a
gentle knock sounded at the door. Too hovered on the threshold, clutching a tray with bottles, gauze, and a jug of hot water. “I've come to ask if Secret will let me dress her wound. Even small scratches made by a skullbeak will fester.”

“You're a doctor?” Niklas asked.

“No,” Too said. “But I'm the closest thing you'll find around here.” The little cat stepped into the room. “I promise I'll be careful.”

Secret backed toward the window.

Too winced. “I remember my fresher days. It takes some getting used to.” She gave the tray to Niklas. “Maybe you should do it.”

Niklas raised his eyebrows at Secret, who to his surprise flopped over on the floor so he could get at the gash. He rinsed out the cut with water and clear liquid from a bottle. Secret refused the gauze, but she let him put on an ointment that smelled like Grandma Alma's cough drops. Not even a snarl, and yesterday she wouldn't let him touch her at all.

Kepler leaned on the mantel and watched in silence. When Niklas had finished, the ferret poured the rest of the water into the wash basin and put it next to the hearth, very carefully not looking at the gravy spatters on Secret's chest. “We'll leave you to it, then. Odar said he would take you to the Greenhood first thing in the morning.”

“I have a question for you first,” Niklas said.

Kepler lit up. “Yes?”

“What happened to that loner in the cottage? Sebastian, was it?”

“Sebastifer.” Kepler looked out the window, at the scratching thorns. “No one knows. I hear he insisted on staying in that canyon, so it's likely the Nightmares killed him.” His hand went to his medallion. “Well, like Odar said, you should get some rest. You'll need it.”

Secret curled up by the fire while Niklas crept into the hammock. The blankets smelled of ferret, but also of nutmeg, just like Rufus, Lin's little vole at home. He wondered what Lin would have made of the Rosa Torquata and this whole strange world. “If Lin were here, I bet she would have come up with a plan to take care of those tunnel roses.”

“But she isn't.” Secret's good ear tilted back. “What is your plan, other than to follow stray ferrets home?”

Niklas wished he knew how to look so disdainful with just a twist of his ear. “I know you didn't want to come here. I know it's risky with all the hiding and lying. But these Brokeners hate my mother, and I want to find out why.” The truth was, he needed to know if she deserved it or not.
What do you want,
he had asked, and the nightmare Erika had pointed up, up. Maybe she wanted him to find the tunnel to this world. “While we keep looking for those garden shears, of course.”

“Be careful. You may be good at talking, but that
Kepler isn't half-bad either.” Secret licked her paw and began to clean gravy off her chin, ignoring the wash basin with perfect dignity. For some reason, that felt comforting to Niklas.

He picked the Sebastifer and Erika figurines out of his pocket. His mother thought she had gone mad when she heard him call to her, but all the while he had waited for her in that cottage, brought back to life because she missed him so.

“I've been thinking,” he said. “About this world and how it works. How the animals awaken when they come here and become either Petlings or Wilders.”

Secret stopped grooming.

“I think you awakened, too. Magic from the Realms leaked through the tunnel and made you like the Brokeners. You're my Wilder, and I'm your human boy. Or, we should be, except we didn't know each other.”

“I knew you,” Secret said. “Hard not to when you stomp around the Summerhill woods like you own them.”

“Yes, but this is supposed to be a bond of love. Kepler keeps kissing his medallion of Marti, and they're all so proud of their children. You had seen me, sure, and I had given you the meat. But you couldn't possibly care about me. Right?”

Secret looked away. “When I came out of that cave, I felt . . . hollow. Like your mother's statue. The only thing
that seemed to ease it was being around you. So I kept watch.”

“I didn't know that,” Niklas said.

“Because I know how to sneak,” Secret said. “But it wasn't until you let the lambs out that the hollow filled in.”

“That's when I became your boy?”

“That's when I knew you needed someone to save your stupid hide. As you've proved many times since then.”

“Ha! I would have gotten out of that troll cage eventually.” Niklas lay back on his pillow and as the hammock rocked under the spire, he listened to the crackling of the fire and the voices of the guests in the common room that drifted up through the floor. After a while he added, so quietly he wasn't sure she'd hear it, “But thank you.”

From deep in Secret's chest came a small, creaky growl that sounded like purring.