On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness

  Tink grinned. “Yes.”

  Janner let out a wail.

  “Shh!” Tink grimaced. “I’m just saying there’s a lot more to this little town than we thought. Our mother has a hidden stash of jewels that we didn’t know about. Mister Reteep gets an Annieran journal in a crate from Dang. He has a hidden map. And some mysterious person with perfect aim saved our lives yesterday.”

  Janner cocked his head. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I heard Podo and Ma say they think they know who saved our lives too.”

  Tink’s brow creased.

  Janner looked hard into Tink’s eyes. “And there’s something else. Something about our father.”

  Tink was silent.

  “His name was Esben.”

  “Who told you that?” Tink asked softly.

  “I heard Mama say it yesterday. I don’t think she meant to.”

  “Esben,” Tink said to himself.

  The brothers sat on the bed with the weight of their father’s absence heavy on them until Leeli opened the door. “What are you both doing on the top bunk?” she asked, smiling and climbing into her own bed, Nugget right beside her.

  “Nothing,” Janner and Tink said in unison—and a little too quickly.

  But Leeli didn’t take notice, and soon she and Nugget were asleep.

  Janner climbed down to his bunk where he lay awake long into the night, his head swirling with questions and his heart full of worry. The look of hatred in Slarb’s eyes had burned itself into his mind. He could hear the Fang’s hissing voice, smell the rotten breath, and feel all over again the sting of the venom dripping onto his neck; he was all too aware of the responsibility he had to keep watch over his brother and sister.

  Tink’s head appeared, dangling down from the top bunk.

  “You awake?” Tink whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “We leave right after lunch,” Tink said, and disappeared again.

  “No!” Janner whispered, but Tink was snoring loudly, pretending to be asleep.

  20

  Into the Manor

  Even as they treaded north toward the Blaggus Estate for a brief game of Zibzy, Janner knew they would be visiting Anklejelly Manor that afternoon. He had argued with his stubborn brother in heated whispers during their chores that morning, but it soon became clear that for Tink, fear and common sense were no match for his curiosity.

  They were no match for Janner’s either. He had been unable to stop thinking about that mysterious warning on the map, right next to the alluring X. Besides, he told himself, Tink was going with or without him. Who else would protect his little brother?

  So in the hot early afternoon, the Blaggus boys won the game as usual, and Janner and Tink bade them farewell. When they were sure they weren’t being watched, they struck out running through the high weeds of the old lane, around a bend, and up a hill until they were well out of sight of the estate.

  The lane north of the Blaggus Estate was overgrown. Few had traveled it since the homesteads beyond the Blaggus family’s estate had been burned and abandoned in the war. It wasn’t long before Janner doubled over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. Tink had outrun him and was waiting several yards ahead, looking at the countryside, trying not to look winded himself. The oaks that shaded the road had grown scarce, and the grassy land sloped upward, away from the town and the cliffs, and toward the dark edge of Glipwood Forest.

  Janner stood up with great effort and wiped his forehead with the front of his shirt. Tink pointed down the slopes at the roof of the Blaggus home peeking from the trees below them. Beyond was the Glipwood Township, a tiny strand of buildings in the distance. The Only Inn could be made out easily since it stood a story higher than the other buildings, but eastward the land dropped away into gray expanse. The Dark Sea of Darkness.

  Somewhere, each brother thought to himself, at the edge of the sea, beneath the shade of those glipwood trees, sat the Igiby cottage.

  For an hour Janner and Tink followed the ancient lane as best they could. Each time the road began to blend into tall stretches of heather and disappear, they would search anew for the faint depression of the path in the swaying grass. The line of the forest loomed ever closer, and soon Janner was pointing to the shape of what must be the ruined structure of Anklejelly Manor.

  Tink picked up his pace and soon they stood before the manor, its craggy back to the forest. The two gaping second-floor windows made Janner think of the eye sockets of a skull watching their approach. He stopped in front of a rusty iron gate that hung sad and crooked on ancient hinges. Neither brother spoke, unwilling to admit they were afraid and wondering what foolishness had made coming here seem sensible.

  It was clear that the manor had once been a beautiful place. Several tall and mildewed statues of people in various poses dotted the courtyard. One was of a fat man eating a lamb chop (the sight of which caused Tink’s stomach to growl loudly, the sound of which made Janner jump an inch off the ground). Another statue nearer the house depicted a laughing woman swinging a terrified cat by its hind leg. Another statue, covered in vines, was of a weeping man scratching his large belly with a rake. Dangling from the rake handle was a cluster of stone grapes.

  The roof of the mansion had long ago collapsed, and everywhere weeds and vines had begun the slow work of pulling the stones and aged timbers back to the earth.

  Janner turned and looked back down the long slope at the distant town.

  “We came this far, didn’t we?” he said uncertainly. He took a deep breath and passed through the gate.

  The air was quiet as a grave. No bird sang. No wind blew.

  Janner shuddered at the thought of the many beasts that roamed the forest. He wondered how often those beasts ventured beyond the trees and into places like Anklejelly Manor. Or were the animals afraid of ghosts too?

  Tink followed his older brother past an old stone bench in what appeared to have been a flower garden lined with stones, now overgrown in a tangle of budding weeds. The front of the bench bore an inscription.

  Janner pulled the vines away and read: BRIMNEY STUPE ENJOYS HIS SOUP.

  Tink’s stomach roared. “Did we bring anything to eat?” he asked, knowing they hadn’t.

  Janner ignored him. “Let’s have another look at the map,” he said.

  They sat on the bench and Janner examined it, trying hard to ignore the dire warning about entering the place they were about to enter.

  The edge of the forest behind the house was a tangled green wall, silent and grim, and as Tink stared into it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was staring back.

  “Is there anything on here that tells us exactly where to go?” Janner said. “It says, ‘In the catacombs below is hidden in the hollow.’ I guess that means we need to find a way down.” He pointed to the foundation of the manor. “Under there.”

  Tink looked long at the skull-like stare of the manor and shivered. “Why are we here again?”

  “Because you talked me into it, that’s why.”

  “You know, a snack would be good about now,” Tink said. “Maybe we should head back and—”

  “Nope,” Janner said firmly. “We came this far, and you’re not backing out.”

  “It was just a suggestion,” Tink said, forcing a chuckle. The sound of his laugh was unnatural there in the ruins.

  Janner told himself there were no ghosts in the manor, and the warnings on the map were only there in case it fell into the wrong hands. Never mind that it had, he argued with himself. But if that were really the case, Oskar hadn’t bargained on two young boys finding it. He must have forgotten that in the mind of a boy, a warning isn’t much different from an invitation.

  “Come on,” Janner said with resolve, and Tink followed.

  They crunched through the thick brambles that surrounded the stone manor, looking for any sign of a cellar entrance. Janner smelled the musty scent of old things, and inside every window passed, he saw tumbled stones and fallen rafters in th
e dim light. From the rear of the manor, he and Tink peered through a back door that led to what must have been the kitchen. Vines covered a long, cracked counter with stone-cut wash basins. The ceiling of the first floor had caved in above the kitchen, allowing shafts of sunlight to cross a tangle of old wood, pots, and fallen stones on the floor.

  They moved on through the brush around the mansion and passed a dry fountain that housed a prickly rosebush on the rear lawn. Beyond the fountain, the forest glared at them.

  Janner’s skin crawled. “Let’s go back around to the front,” he whispered.

  Tink nodded gravely and followed his brother back around the house. Neither brother would admit it, but they each felt better with something between them and the trees.

  That is, until they rounded the corner. The two brothers stood at the main entrance to the house, peering into shadows. The air was still and heavy with the afternoon heat.

  “A lantern would be nice,” Janner said, eyeing the dark entrance.

  Then they each took a deep breath and walked side by side over the threshold, into the ruins of Anklejelly Manor.

  21

  The Horned Hounds

  At first, Janner and Tink could see nothing but darkness. Then they realized they were in a wide, empty room with stone walls. A once-elegant staircase led upward, into the light of the roofless upper level. Rubble, old wooden beams, and scraggly weeds covered the floor. Everything of value had long since been plundered, but the faded glory of the manor was apparent. It wasn’t hard to imagine dinner parties long ago with well-dressed men and women ascending and descending the wide staircase, or eerie laughter echoing in the huge, empty rooms—or Brimney Stupe, whoever he was, strolling through the corridors of the mansion at night with a candle held above his head.

  It was not hard to imagine, in other words, that there were ghosts.

  “Did you say something?” Janner asked, his nervous voice echoing in the room.

  “No, did you hear something?” Tink whispered.

  “No, did you?”

  “Only you, asking if I said something.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “Because you did.”

  Janner stepped carefully through the debris of the main room and peeked through the doorways that led deeper into the house. He led the way back to the kitchen area, where the ceiling was gone and the sunlight made them feel much more comfortable. Tink poked around in the empty cupboards while Janner peeked under fallen beams, hoping to find some hint of the treasure Oskar had mapped.

  Just as Janner began to relax, and Tink began to think he might like to visit more often, a crackling noise sounded from just outside the kitchen window.

  The Igiby brothers froze.

  It was the same sound they had made when they walked through the brambles around the house. Something was outside, and it was getting nearer.

  Janner held his breath and put a finger to his lips. He motioned for Tink to follow. Quiet as mice, they tiptoed back to the front entrance of the manor and peeked out the door.

  Across the yard, a gray creature was sniffing the bench where they had sat. It looked exactly like a dog—except for two tusks jutting upward from its snout and a dangerous-looking horn that crowned its head, and the fact that it stood at least as tall as Janner.

  A horned hound, Janner realized. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  Tink stood perfectly still. But it had been hours since he’d eaten. We really should have brought something to eat, he thought. The sight of the stone bench reminded Tink of the inscription on it, which reminded him of Brimney Stupe enjoying his soup, which reminded Tink that he hadn’t eaten a thing since they’d left the cottage that day. His stomach rumbled. Loudly.

  Janner froze in horror as the hound looked directly at the boys standing just inside the house. It raised its horned head and howled a piercing, hungry howl. Then it whirled and bore straight toward them.

  “Quick!” Janner said, bolting through a doorway on their left. In the distance, an awful chorus of other howls answered the first. Janner could think of nothing to do but move further into the manor and hope to find some place to hide from the hounds.

  The doorway led to a long hallway, where occasional holes in the ceiling allowed for thin shafts of sunlight. The hall was lined with doors on either side, so Janner picked one at random and pulled Tink after him. Outside, the howls grew in volume and number.

  “Psst! There’s another door!” Tink said. In the rear of the room was a doorway, smaller than the first, leading to an even deeper darkness.

  “Come on! It’s dark, so stay close,” Janner said, running to the doorway. He stepped through—into empty air. Tink caught Janner by the shirt and pulled him back. Janner gasped and steadied himself on the door frame. Tink dropped to his knees and reached down into the opening, hoping for steps or a ladder.

  There were none.

  “This is a dead end,” Janner said. “Come on!”

  But their way was barred. Standing in the doorway from which they had come was the dim shape of a horned hound. The only sound in the room was the creature’s panting. Its hungry eyes glistened in the dark, and a low growl filled the room. The hound stepped forward and two more of the horned beasts appeared in the doorway behind it.

  “So this is what the map meant about pain and woe, huh?” Tink said, his voice shaking like a leaf in a storm.

  Janner thought about his duty as the eldest. Only days ago, Leeli nearly died at the hands of a Fang because he hadn’t paid attention. Now this. Why can’t I be like our father, he wondered. He died in the Great War, trying to protect those he loved. For one shameful moment Janner felt a flash of anger at Tink for talking him into coming to Anklejelly Manor in the first place. Why should I be the one to risk my life for my little brother when it’s his fault we’re here in the first place? Janner was tired of bearing the responsibility for his brother’s folly, and he wanted to forget Tink and run for his life. Maybe he could push his way past the hounds and find a better place to hide in the mansion. Maybe—

  The idea to flee was only a brief thought. Janner knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave his little brother behind. He could hear Podo’s raspy voice in his mind. “Part of being a man is taking much care of those you love.”

  The first hound in the doorway twitched.

  Janner felt it more than he saw it, and he knew that it was about to spring. Without another thought, he stepped between Tink and the beasts, spun his little brother around, and shoved him through the doorway.

  Tink screamed as he fell, and Janner heard the beasts lunging, their hot breath on his neck as he too leapt into blackness.

  22

  The Catacombs Below

  Janner’s head throbbed. The world spun, and he felt like he had been asleep for days. When he managed to open his eyes, he saw a rectangle of dim light above him, and the shapes of the frenzied beasts filled the doorway, snarling and barking. One of them yelped and backed away. Janner looked to his right and could just make out Tink hurling a stone up at the horned hounds.

  The stone missed its mark and popped through the rotten wood ceiling as if it were nothing more than paper. A shaft of sunlight stabbed into the room. Janner shook away the dizziness and wobbled to his feet to help his brother.

  Rock after rock flew at the horned hounds, and when struck the hounds yelped like puppies and backed away. The brothers began to enjoy themselves as only boys can do when they’re throwing rocks, and a contest ensued as to who would hit the last hound.

  The largest of all the hounds, as tall as Janner, snarled and bared its tusks, prancing in the doorway. Tink hefted the rock in his hand, reared back, and with a mighty roar let the stone fly. The rock struck the last beast squarely in the eye and the hound crumpled to the floor, its head lolling over the edge.

  The brothers doubled over with hands on their knees, panting.

  Janner grinned at his brother. “Nice shot.”

  Tink smiled back. “You a
ll right?”

  Janner put a hand to the side of his head. “I…think so. The fall didn’t hurt you?”

  “No, but if you ever plan to push me over the edge of something again, let me know first. I almost wet my pants.”

  Janner looked around the room but could see very little in the dim light. He picked up another rock.

  “What are you doing?” Tink asked.

  Janner pitched the stone through the brittle ceiling, letting in another beam of sunlight, then threw several more stones until they could see their surroundings clearly.

  The side of the cellar opposite the high door was cluttered with a pile of old crates and dry timber, but the room was otherwise bare. The only way out was the way they had come in; the doorway was twice as tall as Janner, and the walls too smooth to climb. Janner poked through the stack of timber, hoping to find something he could lean against the wall and climb. But all the planks that would have been long enough were too brittle to hold him. Most of the old wood was rotten and eaten through.

  “Tink, get on my shoulders. Maybe you can reach the door.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tink said, eyeing the doorway above them. “That’s a long way up.”

  “I’m taller than you, and you can’t hold me up. Besides, you just fell from up there and you’re fine. Now come on.”

  Janner bent over and with much grunting managed to stand up with Tink’s feet on his shoulders. Tink trembled and strained but still couldn’t reach the doorway. Even if he could, Janner thought, the horned hound whose head is dangling over the edge might still be alive. It probably was good that Tink couldn’t reach. Janner paced the cellar floor trying to think of what to do, and the more he thought, the more frustrated he became at himself for being there at all. This treasure-hunting business was foolishness, and Janner needed to get his little brother home. If they didn’t get back soon, Podo and Nia would be at least as terrifying as the horned hounds.

  Tink was at the other end of the chamber, toeing at the pile of wood.