Janner wondered what his friend, old Oskar N. Reteep at the bookstore, would say when he saw the Igibys with no parents in sight. Would Oskar give him more work in the store or let him take home more books? Maybe he’d finally allow Janner to read the books reserved only for older folks, the thick ones on the top shelves with the ancient binding. He smiled to himself. Responsibility might not be so bad after all.
“So what happened back there?” Tink asked as they jogged down the lane.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” Tink sounded disappointed. “No spanking?”
“No. No spanking.”
“So when you’re twelve you can be a stinker and not get whomped?”
“It’s complicated,” Janner said, thinking again of his father. He wondered when he’d show Tink and Leeli the picture.
“I can’t wait to be twelve.” Tink grinned deviously, and they rounded the corner onto Main Street.
Janner smiled back at his brother, but inside, he was troubled. Esben. Esben Igiby, he thought. Knowing his father’s name made Janner think of him as a real person, not just a happy shadow from his dreams. Many days he didn’t think much about him, but whenever the other children in Glipwood spoke of their fathers, or when they asked Janner why he lived with his old grandfather, he felt like an oddity. He knew that Leeli and Tink felt it too. Everyone else in Glipwood had grown up there, or somewhere nearby. But whenever Janner asked Podo or Nia where they had come from, the answer was always silence. All he knew was that Podo had grown up in the cottage, and that his great-great-great-great-grandparents (Janner’s great-great-great-great-great-grandparents), Edd and Yamsa Helmer, had built the cottage two hundred years earlier, when Glipwood was little more than a cluster of buildings.1
Now Glipwood had one main street with several buildings on either side. Shaggy’s Tavern stood on the left, its dark green shingle bearing a picture of a dog with a pipe hanging from its mouth. Beside it was the biggest building in town, Glipwood’s only inn. Its sign read, THE ONLY INN at the top and below that, in smaller letters, “Glipwood’s Only Inn.” The Shoosters, a kindly old couple, kept the inn warm and clean, and the smells that floated out of the kitchen made the whole township hungry. Across the street was a barbershop called J. Bird’s, where Mr. Bird usually could be seen sleeping in one of his chairs. Next to the barbershop squatted the town jail, where Fangs lounged on the stoop and hurled insults at passersby.
Wide, mossy oak trees stretched their boughs over the streets, offering welcome shade from the summer sun. Children with sticky faces straddled high limbs, munching on various desserts. Everywhere Janner looked were men and women of different shapes and sizes. The women wore long, flowing, brightly colored gowns, and the men who strolled beside them puffed pipes and sported silly round-topped hats. Occasionally a horse-drawn carriage would squeak by, its occupants peeking smugly out the window.
Janner, Tink, and Leeli, with Nugget by her side, made their way through town, past the inn (always full this time of year, being Glipwood’s only inn), past Ferinia’s Flower Shop and the old rickety building that housed Books and Crannies. A sign hung in the window:
OSKAR N. RETEEP
PROPRIETOR / BOOKSELLER / INTELLECTUAL / APPRECIATOR OF THE NEAT, THE STRANGE, AND/OR THE YUMMY
Oskar N. Reteep, a round man with a short, white beard and very little hair on top of his head, waved at them from his front porch where he sat in a rocking chair puffing on a long pipe. He had combed long wisps of hair over his freckled brown egg of a head in a vain attempt to hide the fact that he was bald. The breeze was stirring a long tendril of hair about as if it were waving at the children too.
“Ho there, Janner!” he called, smiling and beckoning to the children.
“Hello, Mister Reteep,” Janner hollered over the noise of the crowd.
From the window behind Oskar, a little man with pointed ears watched them. Zouzab Koit was a ridgerunner,2 whom Oskar had adopted six years earlier upon opening a crate that was supposed to have been full of books from Torrboro. Instead, Oskar had been shocked to find a starving, frightened Zouzab cowering inside.
Ridgerunners were a little people, and little known in Skree, but Oskar, a self-proclaimed Appreciator of the Neat, the Strange, and/or the Yummy, decided that Zouzab most certainly qualified. Zouzab’s descriptions of his homeland and harrowing life in the Killridge Mountains were very Neat, as were his stubbly hair and pointed features. His dress and behavior were quite Strange. He wore leather breeches and a patchwork shirt of many colors that billowed around him like a hundred tiny flags. Strangest of all, he couldn’t help climbing on everything taller than himself, which was most things. As for his being Yummy, Oskar didn’t care to speculate.
Janner thought how they looked rather silly together—Oskar round as a pumpkin and Zouzab short and thin as a shorn weed.
Leeli waved at Zouzab. His beady eyes widened and he ducked out of sight.
“Where’s Podo?” Oskar asked wiping his glasses on his vest.
Janner tried to sound nonchalant. “Back at the cottage. Said we could come alone today.”
“Ah-ho.” Oskar eyed Janner through the spectacles perched back on the end of his nose. Janner beamed. “Come bright and early day after tomorrow, eh? I found an absolute trove of books on my last trip to Dug-town. I’ll need help loading them in.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be there.” Janner began to think of all the books he would read next.
Oskar squinted one eye at Tink and looked him up and down. “And bring that skin and bones brother of yours too. We could use the extra hand, and by the look of it, he could use the exercise.”
Tink’s eyes widened. “Really, Mister Reteep?”
“That’s right, lad.” Oskar smiled down at Leeli. “What do you think of all this fuss, lass? Glipwood is a different town for a day, isn’t it?”
Leeli looked around at the folk milling past them, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells that were so foreign to the sleepy little township. She smiled. “I like it. But after a day of it, I’ll be glad when things are back to normal.”
Janner rolled his eyes. “Well, I wish Glipwood was like this every day. I wish The Only Inn was always full of travelers and merchants with news from Torrboro and Fort Lamendron or tales from explorers who’ve gone beyond the edges of the maps. Did you ever think about the fact that there might be whole continents that no one from Skree has ever seen? That no one anywhere has ever seen? We’ve never even been to Fort Lamendron, and Podo says it’s only a day’s ride from here. All these rich people from Dug-town and Torrboro get to really see Aerwiar, not just shovel hay all day…”
Oskar raised his eyebrows at Janner, whose speech trailed off at the quizzical reaction of his friend. Oskar then wiped his brow and pressed the single waving lock of Reteep hair back to his forehead. “So. Glipwood is too small for Janner. What say you, young Tink?”
Tink sniffed the air. “I want some sugarberry pie.”
“Janner,” Oskar said, “there’s more to the world than just seeing it. If you can’t find peace here in Glipwood, you won’t find it anywhere.” Oskar gestured at a carriage rolling by. “These folks may appear wealthy, but no one really is anymore. If you look close enough, you’ll see the suits and dresses these so-called rich folk are wearing are tattered and patched. No earrings or necklaces adorn the women. No rings sparkle on the men’s fingers.”
Janner saw that it was true. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? Annoyed, he nodded to Oskar and toed at the dirt. It was his day to be corrected by the grownups, he thought.
“Lad, it’s one thing to be poor in pocket—nothing wrong with that. But poor in heart—that’s no good. Look at them. They’re sad in the eyes, and it’s a sadness no amount of money could repair. Why, they hardly remember what it’s like to laugh from the belly anymore.”
“But they seem to be happy, Mister Reteep, don’t they? We could hear the laughter and music from up the lane,” Leeli said.
&nbs
p; “People come to Glipwood to see the dragons because it’s one of the only freedoms they have left. Sure, they sleep under their own roofs with their own families, and broken though it is, this is still their own land. But this is a far fling from freedom, young Igibys. Some of us still remember what it was like to stroll through town after dark or to ride a horse through the forest without fear.” Oskar’s voice grew angry, and it seemed to Janner that he was no longer talking to them but to himself. “It’s beginning to feel like the Fangs have always been here, that Gnag the Nameless has always ruled us, taxed us, and stolen our young.”
Janner looked at the half smiles on the people’s faces. He saw the way the people cowered away from the sneering Fangs on the jail stoop. There was sorrow underneath all the merriment, and for the first time Janner was old enough to feel it.
Oskar came back to himself and smiled at the children. “Ah. But it’s a fine day, is it not, Igiby children? There’s a time to think hard and there’s a time to ease up. Now you run along. As the great Thumb of the Honkmeadow wisely wrote, ‘The games are starting soon enough.’” Oskar waved them on with a wink while he puffed his pipe and palmed his hair back to his bald pate.
With somber hearts, the children made their way down the crowded street. Janner was deep in thought, staring hard at Commander Gnorm, the fattest and meanest Fang in Glipwood. Gnorm’s feet were propped on an old stump, and he was gnawing the meat from a hen bone, his long purple tongue slurping noisily. Gnorm hurled the bone at an old man walking by and the Fang soldiers hissed and laughed as the man bowed and wiped the grease from his face. Janner found it hard to believe that there was a day when no one in Skree had ever heard of the Fangs of Dang.
Past the jail, in front of the little building that housed the printing press, a cluster of people stood in a circle laughing at something. Above the heads of the onlookers, two ragged boots were kicking around in the air.
Janner and Tink grinned at one another.
“Peet the Sock Man!” Tink pointed and took off running. “Come on, Leeli! Let’s see what he’s up to.”
They pushed through the crowd and saw the strange fellow walking on his hands in the middle of the circle. He was chanting the phrase “wings and dings and purple things” over and over, kicking his feet to the rhythm. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were shadowed, and the creases around them gave him the look of having just finished crying. He wore ragged clothes and was filthy, as were the dingy knitted stockings he wore on his arms up past his elbows.
Onlookers tossed coins, but to the residents of Glipwood, this was normal behavior for Peet. Earlier that summer, in fact, Peet crashed into the street sign at the corner of Main and Vibbly Way (which was quite innocent, as it was standing still and in plain sight). After insulting the sign’s mother, Peet challenged it to a contest, though it quite stoically showed no sign of retaliation. He took a hard swipe at it, missed, spun in a circle like a circus dancer from Dugtown, and collapsed into the dirt where he snored noisily all that night.
Janner applauded with the crowd as Peet flipped back onto his feet, adjusted his hair with a flourish, and skipped away with one eye closed and a socked hand in his mouth, leaving the coins in the dust. Janner grinned after Peet, whose bushy head bounced up the dusty side street and around the corner.
“And he’s gone,” Janner said.
“Do you think it’s true that he lives up near the old forest?” Tink asked.
Janner shrugged. “He’d have to be crazy to live there.” In the years before the war, rangers and trappers braved the forest and tamed the deadly beasts that prowled within it. But the Fangs had taken every weapon in the land. Every sword and shield, every bow and arrow, every dagger and spear, every farm tool that could be used as a weapon was locked away and guarded.3
“Well if anybody’s crazy enough to go near the forest, it’s Peet.” Tink paused. “The Blaggus boys said they saw him riding a toothy cow like it was a horse up by the forest, whipping its rear with a switch and singing a ballad.”
Janner snorted. “No way. Nobody could survive a toothy cow. Besides, the Blaggus boys are too jumpy to go anywhere near the forest. They’re pulling your strings.” Janner turned to go. “Come on.”
But he stopped in his tracks and grabbed his brother’s arm. He couldn’t see Leeli. His head whipped to and fro, scanning the crowded street.
“Where’s Leeli?” he cried. “Leeli!”
Tink tapped him on the shoulder. Janner whirled around to find his brother pointing to the ground at Janner’s feet. Leeli was sitting there scratching Nugget’s belly, looking up at him innocently. He sighed and felt his insides quiver with relief. In the space of a few seconds, he had envisioned Leeli lost or hurt, and he felt a tinge of the painful guilt he’d bear if something ever actually happened to her. But nothing ever does, he thought bitterly. Here we are at the Dragon Day Festival, and I’m a nervous mess since the minute we arrived. Over nothing at all.
What could possibly happen in just a few seconds?
6
A Bard at Dunn’s Green
Come on,” Janner grumbled, relieved but annoyed at himself for panicking.
Tink reached down to help Leeli to her feet, but she ignored him and got up with the help of her crutch.
Suddenly, the blast of a horn pealed through the summer air and the crowd cheered. The games were beginning. All day long, games would be played on Dunn’s Green, the wide lawn on the east side of town. Participants and spectators would stay there for most of the afternoon watching sack races, handyball,1 Zibzy, and wiggle the chicken. Everyone lay on quilts in the soft grass and watched the sports, nibbling treats purchased in town.
And that was exactly what Janner had in mind to do, if they could ever get there.
Janner pulled Leeli along by her free hand and urged Tink to keep up. “Could you two walk any slower?”
Tink was far more interested in the delicious smells wafting from the kitchens and makeshift stands where merchants were selling baked butter-dough pastries and fire-cooked swisher fins.
“Hang on, I want a berry bun.” Tink dug into his pocket with the hand Janner wasn’t tugging.
Janner was losing his patience. “I’ll buy you a berry dumpling later if you want. Come on,” he grumbled.
Tink relented, casting a long, regretful glance over his shoulder at a plump man in an apron basting a platter of buns with bright red jam.
When they finally arrived at Dunn’s Green, the Igiby children sat on the lawn and watched the festivities all morning and into the hot afternoon. When the sun slipped westward and the shadows began to lengthen, the people chattered more and more. At dusk the sea dragons would come, and the people would perch on the cliffs to watch them dance by the light of the moon. Janner could feel the anticipation in the air.
To his delight, Tink had spotted a merchant selling blueberry gooey-balls just behind them. He had spent the few coins Nia had given him, so Janner had begrudgingly shared some of his own just to quiet Tink’s stomach (and his mouth). Tink had no idea that his face was now smeared with dark purple. Leeli was content to passively watch the games while she tickled Nugget’s belly or threw a stick for him to fetch. The onlookers had tolerated this until she’d accidentally thrown the stick onto the playing field. When Nugget chased it, one of the handyball players (who was rolling awkwardly across the field, careful not to let his feet touch the grass) missed a pass from another player because Nugget got in his way. All eyes had turned angrily toward Leeli, whose cheeks burned as red as Tink’s were purple, but when the onlookers saw Leeli’s crutch, they softened their glares and the game continued. Janner was glad that Leeli was too busy scolding Nugget to notice the crowd’s pity, or she would have been even more upset.
Janner was as excited about all the unfamiliar faces around him as he was about the games. He wondered where all these people had come from, though the attire gave some folks away. The Torrboro citizens, for example, all dressed alike: The men wore little
black hats, coats with long tails (in spite of the summer heat), and pants pulled up to a shocking height. The buckles of their belts sat just a little below their chins. The fashionable women wore frilly dresses with patterns that depicted the noses of various animals; their black shoes were pointy and oversized, as if their toes were as long as feet themselves, which made the women lurch forward when they walked. To Janner, it was like watching circus clowns (which he’d only read about) desperately trying not to be funny. Most of them wore white gloves, so when a handyball player scored a goal the sound of their applause was more like thopping than clapping, and they’d say things like “Good show!” or “Ho-lo, mommy-crack-a-whip!” or “Boozie!” or “Indibnibly fine shot!”
The long-haired folk from Dugtown weren’t so odd in their dress, but their manner was shocking. Men and women alike were loud and their laughter sounded more like howling. Janner could tell that certain words they used were unacceptable to the Torrboro folk standing nearby, but the Dugtowners were oblivious. They growled and guzzled and made such a jolly racket that it was hard not to like them in spite of themselves.
Each stranger in Glipwood that day was a reminder to Janner that he had never, never left the town. They lit up his imagination and filled him with an ache to see the world. But then he would hear Leeli giggle or Tink burp and remember again that for now he would have to watch after his sister and brother in this dreadfully quiet little town—quiet, that is, except on the day the sea dragons came. He resolved to enjoy himself and pushed all unpleasant thoughts out of his mind.
Suddenly a commotion across the field interrupted Janner’s thoughts—and the handyball game. Onlookers near the opposite goal had turned around, trying to make room for something or someone. Excited whispers circulated through the multitude, but Janner couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. Voices rose up from the crowd, and even the players, sweating and covered with grass stains and dirt (though their feet were quite clean), stopped and focused on the fuss.