“Aye,” Tink said.
“On the far side of the Roundish Widow there’s an alleyway,” Oskar whispered. “Ronchy said to meet him there at midnight, and Maker only knows how late we are.”
At that moment they heard a great many clangs that echoed faintly off the distant walls of Torrboro.
“It’s one o’clock,” Podo said.
“An hour late,” Nia said.
“But he’d wait for us, wouldn’t he?” Leeli asked.
“I hope so, little princess.” Oskar smiled, then looked at Podo. “Ready?”
Podo took a deep breath and risked a peek at the torch tower. “No sign of the Fang. He must be on the other side.”
Then from the foot of the tower that sprouted from the quay side came the grating snarl of a Fang, so close that even Podo sucked in a breath.
“Sneem!” it said. “I’m comin’ up!”
“Glag! About time,” answered Sneem’s voice from far above. With much hissing and puffing, the Fang called Sneem skittered down the ladder in plain sight not a stone’s throw away. When it reached the base of the tower, hidden behind the boathouses, the two Fangs exchanged a harsh greeting, and then the other Fang appeared above the boathouse roof, climbing the ladder.
Sneem emerged from between two boathouses directly across the street, wiping soot from its face. Janner’s heart skipped a beat. The Fang walked straight toward them. It was only one, but one was all it took to alert the others. Maybe the Fang wouldn’t see them. Maybe its eyes were still dim from standing so long at the bright fire and it would walk right past the Igibys. Maybe Tink’s stomach wouldn’t growl and Podo wouldn’t burp and they would make it safe to the alleyway where help awaited.
“Sneem!” called Glag, now on the tower platform.
Only a few steps from the cobbler’s door, Sneem stopped and turned. “Eh?”
“Forgot to tell you. Word has it he’s back.”
“The Florid Sword?” Sneem asked.
“Or whatever he calls himself. He was spotted on the west side of town already tonight, so be wary.”
“Bah! Let him come. I’ll skewer him like a daggerfish.”
After a moment Glag said, “Do you mean, you’re the daggerfish doing the skewering, or do you mean you’ll skewer him like he’s a daggerfish that you’re trying to stab in the river?”
Sneem cocked his snaky head sideways to sort out the question. “Either way, the Florid Sword gets skewered, don’t he?”
“I sssuppose,” said Glag, “but it might be harder to stab him if he was swimming about in the water like a daggerfish. Them are fast. But if you was the daggerfish, you’d just leap out of the river and jab him, right?”
Sneem thought about this for a moment, then said, “I’ll get ‘im. Like a fish.”
Please keep talking, Janner thought. As long as they’re talking, Sneem won’t turn around and see us. Maybe they’ll go back and forth like this until dawn, or until Peet appears to rescue us, or until the Fang curls up and goes to sleep right there in the street.
And who is the Florid Sword?
Podo tapped Janner’s shoulder and mouthed the words, “Be ready.” He slid Leeli from his back and carefully drew his sword. Janner and Tink did likewise, wincing at every creak in the leather of their packs as they moved. Maybe if they were quick enough, Sneem wouldn’t have a chance to sound the alarm.
The Igiby boys and Podo moved quietly in front of Nia, Leeli, and Oskar. The three shining blades extended beyond the canopy shadow, floating in the torchlight as if in the grip of ghosts. Janner was afraid but eager to see Sneem’s surprise when he turned to find three figures with bright blades leaping—like daggerfish—from the shadows.
The Fang on the tower bid farewell, and Sneem waved with the nearest thing to friendliness Janner had ever witnessed among Fangs.
When Sneem turned around, he took a single step and stopped. But he wasn’t looking at the Igibys. His black eyes were aimed at the rooftop above them.
“The Florid Sword!” Sneem cried.
Those were his last words.
1. Knives, of course, were prohibited.
31
In the Alley of the Roundish Widow
The Florid Sword leapt from the roof of the cobbler’s building, bounced off the canopy, flipped through the air, and landed graceful as a cat behind Sneem. He wore a black cape, black boots, and black gloves, and had black hair that hung to his shoulders. Everything about him was black as coal, including his mask. The whites of his eyes shone. He thrust his narrow sword and put a grisly end to the Fang. Janner caught the white flash of his teeth when the man smiled.
“To be sure, Sneem, thou fiend, the Florid Sword hath run you through like unto a bolt of iron lightning piercing the watery depths of the Mighty Blapp, may she run wide and muddy all the days of mine own life! Flayed by my blade! Aha!”
Glag sputtered in outrage from the tower platform. The Florid Sword spun, and his cape whooshed in a graceful circle. He unslung a bow from his shoulder, notched an arrow, and let it fly. First there was a thonk, then a moan, then the sound of Glag’s body crashing through the roof of the boathouse.
“And thou!” cried the Florid Sword as he slung his bow over his shoulder again and glared at the hole in the roof. “Glag, the fallen foul fool! Fah!” He straightened and flourished his cape, then yanked his blade from Sneem’s limp body and wiped it on a patch of the creature’s leather armor.
Podo, Tink, and Janner never moved. All three of their mouths hung open. Janner made out a bright red symbol on the front of the man’s black shirt. An F and an S curled and swooped like thorny vines across his chest.
The Florid Sword set his bright gaze on the Igibys. “And who on this coal black night art thou?”
“I’m Podo Helmer. This is my family.”
“Helmer. Family. Words, nothing more! And more words I have for you. Three of them: The Florid Sword! I am he! Aha!”
Fang footsteps thudded in the distance, louder with each step. The Florid Sword grabbed Sneem’s scaly ankle with both hands and dragged him toward the river without another word.
“What was that all about?” Tink asked.
“The Florid Sword,” Podo said with admiration. “Never heard of him.”
“I’ve heard talk of a hero who swoops down from rooftops,” Oskar said, “who foils the Stranders when they’re up to no good and takes great pleasure in upsetting the Fang rule in this part of Skree. I’ve never heard him called the Florid Sword before, though.”
“Well, who is he?” Nia asked.
“Nobody knows.”
Janner caught himself smiling. He imagined climbing the buildings, bounding from rooftop to rooftop in a black disguise, Fangs in pursuit.
“Look,” Tink said.
The man in black was barely visible in the shadows of the riverside docks, but after a faint splash, the bright red emblem on his chest reappeared as he approached the Igibys again. Janner and Tink were so enraptured with the mysterious hero, they nearly forgot that a Fang regiment was drawing near.
“Be thou gone, friends! Take cover!” the Florid Sword cried. “‘Tis well after midnight, and thou shan’t be spared if thou art snared!” The swordsman waved, bowed grandly, and sprinted up the center of Green Blossom Avenue.
Podo sheathed his sword and boosted Leeli onto his back, then bustled everyone down the street to the Roundish Widow. Just as Oskar said, between the tavern and the next building lay a narrow alleyway.
Janner was first into the shadows. Old crates were strewn here and there, along with a pile of cracked dishes and a bucket of rusty nails. Two figures stood, startling Janner so badly that he nearly tripped. He blinked, unable to make out any details in the darkness. The figures—men—made no further movement and didn’t speak.
When Podo trotted up with Leeli on his back, Oskar broke the tense silence.
“I can’t see clearly, old friend. Is that you?”
“It is,” came the answer. The voice
croaked like a digtoad.
“Ah! Good! I’m sorry we’re late.”
“It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re safe. The Florid Sword is about tonight. He’s got the Fangs alert and unhappy.” Janner heard fighting in the distance.
Podo pushed forward and extended his hand. “Podo Helmer. Ye must be Ronchy McHiggins.”
The man nodded. Janner’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he saw that Ronchy was a small man, much smaller than his voice suggested. He wore an apron covered with grease and handprints. It was too dark to see much about his face other than that his hair was slicked back and his moustache, wider than his head, curled out like the antennae of a grasshopper.
Podo turned to the other man. “And who’re you?”
“I’m Landers. Migg Landers. I’ll be your guide to the Ice Prairies.” He was nearly as tall as Podo and at least as strong. Like Oskar, he was mostly bald, but unlike Oskar, he didn’t bother trying to hide it. “Been there many times myself, and I can’t imagine why you’d want to go. But Ronchy here says you can pay. You can pay, right?” His voice was smooth and careful; something about it bothered Janner.
“Aye. We can pay,” said Podo.
Landers held out a hand and waited.
For a moment, Podo didn’t move. Then he grunted and said, “Oskar, me pack if you please.”
Oskar handed the pack to Podo, who opened it and removed a pouch without taking his eyes from Migg Landers.
“This should be plenty.”
“Skreean coin or gold?”
“A little of both. More gold than gray.”
The man poured a few of the coins into his hand and inspected them, then nodded and tucked the pouch away. “Fine. That’ll be all, Ronchy.”
“Oskar, you’ll be fine with Migg here,” Ronchy croaked. “He’s one of Gammon’s men. He’ll get you and your friends safe past the Barrier.”
“Thank you, old friend,” said Oskar.
Then Ronchy McHiggins looked straight at Janner. His eyes moved to Tink, then to Leeli, then back to Oskar. “It’s true?” he asked.
“Yes,” Oskar said. “It’s true, Maker help us.”
“Aye.” Ronchy turned to go. “Maker help us.”
He opened the side door to the Roundish Widow and stepped through. The door lock clicked into place behind him.
“Remove your packs and settle in. We’ll be here for a while,” said Migg Landers.
“Why?” asked Podo.
Migg took a threatening step forward so that he and Podo stood nose to nose. “For starters, old fella, don’t question Migg Landers. If I tell you to put on a dress and dance a whirl, you’ll do it, no questions asked. Since you and I are new acquaintances, I’ll not give you a pounding this time.”
Janner was shocked at the unwelcome change that had come over their guide, but he also felt a little sorry for him. Landers was under the mistaken impression that Podo Helmer was too old to be any trouble.
Podo stood tight as a bowstring, his bushy eyebrows low and angry, but he held his tongue. After a moment, he smiled a whiskery smile. “I understand, young fella. We’ll do as ye say.”
“Good. To answer your question, pappy, we can’t go anywhere till the next bell tolls and the Fangs change their guard. That means you’ve got an hour to bide. So doff your packs, plant yourselves on the cobble, and keep quiet while I check the street.”
Podo nodded. As Landers walked to the alley opening and peeked around a corner, Podo motioned for the boys to drop their packs. “It’s going to be a long trip, lads,” he said. “We need him, and if he has to feel like he’s the king of the heap, then I’ll keep me smelly mouth clapped shut for now. It ain’t a battle worth fightin’. Speakin’ of the king of the heap,” Podo said, removing Claxton’s pone from around his neck, “this belongs to you.” He tossed the medallion to Tink.
Outside the confines of the alley came the steady clop-clop-clop of marching, the bark of commands, and the crack of whips in the distance. Was Dugtown always this way or only when the Florid Sword was up to his mischief? Janner wondered. It would’ve been better if the caped hero hadn’t chosen this particular night to carouse, yet Janner was glad to have seen him in action. He relished the thought of a common Dugtowner—a cook or a woodsmith, perhaps—donning his disguise in some secret cellar chamber and then creeping into the streets to fight the Fangs of Dang.
“I don’t like the idea of traveling all the way to the Ice Prairies with someone as mean as him,” said Leeli as she settled herself on the ground.
The family and Oskar sat in a circle behind a stack of crates, their backpacks in a pile beside the back door of the tavern.
“Don’t worry, lass,” Podo said. “Once we get past the wall, I plan to teach Migg Landers a lesson on respectin’ his elders.” He craned his neck to see over the crates. “What’s he doin’, anyway?”
Migg Landers stood at the entrance to the alley, peeking around the corner at Riverside Road. Something wasn’t right. Janner tried to ignore the tickle in his stomach, a sense of warning he couldn’t explain. Migg Landers wasn’t an admirable man, but from what Oskar said, Dugtown had a great shortage of admirable men. Ronchy said he could be trusted, so what else could they do?
Tink fidgeted with the pone, chewing happily on a strip of diggle meat. The adults spoke in whispers, and Janner gathered they were discussing their food supply, guessing at how long their journey might take—things he would have found interesting if not for this nagging worry at the front of his mind.
Then he realized something had changed. The streets were silent. The drone of marching Fangs, the pop of the whips—all gone.
“Grandpa!” Janner whispered. “Something’s wrong!”
Podo glanced at the alley entrance and froze. The look on the old pirate’s face was enough to tell Janner that his feelings about Migg Landers were correct.
“LANDERS, YOU TRAITOR!” Podo bellowed. This image of Podo would stay with Janner for a long time—this stout old mast of a warrior, eyes ablaze, the muscles in his shoulders and neck tight as sails in a storm.
Leeli screamed so long and loud that every Fang and Dugtowner within an arrow-shot of the alley must have heard.
“Ronchy, no!” Oskar groaned. “How could you?”
Janner turned, dreading what he would find at the entrance to the alleyway, though from the bitter stench in his nostrils he already knew.
“I thank you kindly for the coins, old man,” Migg Landers said with a grin.
Behind him hissed a wall of Fangs, swords bared, teeth dripping, scales glinting yellow in the torchlight.
Then, to Janner’s horror, a Fang leapt forward and sank its teeth into Migg Landers’s shoulder. The big man screamed, shuddered, and crumpled to the ground in a heap.
“Nowhere to run, Igibysss,” said the Fang.
32
Ronchy McHiggins Makes a Discovery
The Fangs had learned by now not to give Podo Helmer time to think. They rushed forward, their swords trained on Podo and only Podo. Janner heaved the pile of crates into their path. The Fangs batted and hacked the crates away and pushed forward.
Janner was certain Podo would leap into the fray and fight to his death rather than allow the Fangs to capture his grandchildren—and leap he did, but not at the Fangs.
Podo slammed his shoulder into the thick side door of the Roundish Widow. The door broke into pieces, and the sound of splintering wood mingled with the sound of splintering bone as Podo’s shoulder and ribs cracked. He tumbled to the floor with a cry of pain, but in one motion he rolled over, grabbed the nearest backpack—which happened to be his own—and disappeared into the tavern, cursing Migg Landers all the while. Nia swept Leeli into her arms and rushed through the door after him.
“Go!” Janner screamed at Oskar. He jiggled through the doorway sweeping up the boys’ backpacks as he went. Janner grabbed Tink by the arm and rushed through the door, skidding on bits of broken wood.
Claws scraped at his back and leg
s. He heard the clacking of Fang teeth and the squeak of Fang armor, and felt the heat of Fang breath on his neck. Janner knew Gnag still wanted the children alive, because it would have been an easy thing in that moment for the Fangs to run him and his brother through. But in their scramble to seize the boys, the beasts slammed into the doorway as one and jammed.
Janner crashed into a table and nearly fell. As he ran, he strained to see where the rest of his family had gone, but the tavern was pitch black. All he knew was that he still had Tink’s elbow in his grip.
It took the Fangs little time to regroup and enter the tavern in single file, but by then Janner had felt his way through a swinging door and into the common room of the tavern. Two large windows that looked out on Riverside Road faintly illuminated the tables and chairs spaced throughout the room. Janner heard his family somewhere ahead and the Fangs behind.
“Mama!” he cried. “Grandpa!”
“Here!” Nia answered, just as Podo kicked open the front door and the others darted out to the street.
“Come on!” Janner said to Tink.
But the brothers never made it to the door.
From the street came the sound of battle. Podo appeared beyond the doorway, a white-haired terror swinging his sword even as he hugged his wounded side with his other arm. The shadows of the battle stretched long across the room. Janner saw with black dread that Fangs surrounded his grandfather.
He and Tink were stuck. If they ran outside, they’d find themselves in the thick of the fight, and they had no weapons—Oskar had their packs. Behind them, more Fangs poured into the house.
Janner could see the outline of his little brother’s face, the glint of his wide, frightened eyes looking to Janner for help. But he didn’t know how to help. He was only twelve! How was he supposed to know what a Throne Warden would do? He wanted to ask Podo, or Peet, or Nia—or Esben.
Then came Podo’s voice from outside, sputtered between parries and thrusts of his sword: “GET BACK TO THE BURROW! BOYS! MEET AT THE BURR—”