Betrayal in the Highlands (22 page)

“But I want to see if they’d help us,” Edmund continued. “Grab our valuables and the book. Abby, use your gift for snooping and see if anybody’s out in the hallway. We can’t let anyone know where we are.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

That evening Edmund, Pond, Fatty, and Becky sequestered themselves in Abby’s small room at the other end of the hall. While Pond and Fatty slept on the floor by the open window, Edmund and Becky lay on the sofa pushed up against the door.

Edmund, however, didn’t get much rest. He kept thinking about Abby and how headstrong and naïve she was—and how pretty. From the corner of his eye, he watched her petite breasts rise and fall beneath the blankets as she snored lightly in her bed. He knew it was wrong; gentlemen shouldn’t leer. But he couldn’t help it. The torment of his yearning distracted his mind from the perils that pursued him. It also gave him a sense of purpose—he had to protect Abby and, if he could, win her heart.

When fatigue finally overpowered him, disturbing dreams plagued his sleep. In one, Kravel had captured Abby, hung her from a tree, and slowly cut off her hands and feet as she screamed and pleaded for mercy. Edmund woke drenched in a cold sweat, Kravel’s laughter still stabbing at him. He spent the rest of the night sitting in the dark, quietly crying.

In the days that followed, Edmund hid in Abby’s room, teaching Fatty how to play checkers. When Fatty won his first game, the big man actually wept, tears of joy pouring down his ample face. Edmund was so touched he began to teach Fatty other games like Nine Men’s Morris and Knucklebones. Surprisingly Fatty was fairly good at some of them, and together they’d played the days and nights away.

Meanwhile, Pond and Abby had traipsed around Long Ravine, selling some of the gems and jewelry from the troll’s lair. Finding buyers wasn’t always easy, and Pond drove a hard bargain; but by the evening on the third day, they had amassed over seven thousand gold pieces—enough for the four of them to live comfortably for many years. They had also purchased two draft horses and enough supplies for their long journey northward to Rood.

“So what now?” Pond asked as they ate in Abby’s room.

It was the dinner hour of their fourth night in Long Ravine. Somewhere in the lush forest along the river, people were singing. The merry music of flutes floated up to their window as a group of girls cheered and clapped.

Edmund didn’t want to leave. Long Ravine had everything he’d ever wanted in a home, including wonderful food and music and scenery he’d never get tired of looking at. But he knew they had to get to Rood. Sooner or later, Norb was going to tell somebody about the diary and the formula, and Edmund had to get to him before that happened. What he’d do when he saw Norb, however, he hadn’t yet decided.

“Ed?” Pond prodded.

The spoon slipped from Edmund’s hand, falling into his bowl of bean soup with a clatter.

“I suppose it’s time.”

“Not anxious to leave Long Ravine?” Abby asked, shoveling marinated fish into her mouth like a cattleman who’d been without decent food for several months. Only Fatty, who used his hands instead of utensils, had more disgusting table manners; he slurped his soup directly out of the bowl, letting most of it dribble onto his protruding stomach, and tore at his chicken like Edmund did when he had been held captive in Thorgorim.

Edmund stared at Abby as she devoured the trout.

“What?” She hunched over her plate, mouth full. “I’m hungry.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine!” Straightening her back, she began to take more ladylike bites. She sneered at Edmund.

“Ed?” Pond prodded again.

Edmund pried his attention from Abby and stared out the window. Daylight was just about gone. Lights from the city twinkled in the growing blackness, and the air smelled sweet and warm, like spring after a very cold winter.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” he said, wishing he could stay longer.

“Before dawn?” Pond asked.

Edmund shook his head and sipped another spoonful of soup. It was too spicy for his taste but after eating his magically created biscuits for so long, he appreciated any real food he could get.

“No. In every book and in every tale, people trying to escape from someplace always leave before dawn. Edith will be expecting that.”

“Good point,” Pond said, cutting his steak. The knife scratched against the bottom of his plate in a rhythmic screech.

“We’ll leave at noon,” Edmund said. “The city will be busy, and we’ll be more likely to slip out unnoticed.”

“So are we headed to the monastery or not?” Abby asked.

Edmund regarded her, not really having heard what she’d asked.

Abby rolled her eyes again. “Look,” she said, still chewing, “I eat like a boy. That’s not going to change. Now”—she swallowed hard—“where the hell are we headed?”

Edmund dabbed his lips with a white linen napkin. “That reminds me.” He laid the napkin across his lap and turned to Fatty, who sat on the sofa, an entire cooked chicken clutched in his huge hand.

“Hey, Big Guy?”

With the chicken still wedged in his mouth, Fatty lifted his eyebrows in question.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Edmund said again. “We have to talk about something.”

Fatty pulled the chicken away. His chewing slowed.

“How would you like to learn how to read and write?” Edmund asked him.

Fatty’s expression lightened, and he turned toward them more fully. But then, appearing to have realized something, his eyes dulled. A piece of chicken skin fell from his mouth. Becky snatched it before it hit the ground.

“I think you can learn,” Edmund said. “Just like you did with checkers and everything else. If you really applied yourself and had a good teacher, you’d be reading in no time!”

Fatty’s eyebrows rose a little.

“That’s why I want to bring you somewhere,” Edmund continued. “It’s a couple days’ ride from here, b-b-but, but I think you’ll like it. There’s this monastery with very kind monks who’ll teach you your letters.”

Fatty looked again at Pond and then at Abby, who nodded eagerly.

“And games!” she said. “They’ll teach you how to play lots of games!”

Fatty smiled, showing yellow teeth laced with chicken meat and brown gravy. He grunted in agreement.

“Now … now the thing is,” Edmund said, wondering how to broach the subject. “We …” He motioned to Pond, Abby, and himself. “We won’t be st-staying with you for long. Do you understand? We’re going to be leaving you in, in the good hands of these wonderful monks.”

“But we’ll visit often!” Abby said, smiling broadly.

Fatty looked at Abby and then at Pond, who were both nodding enthusiastically. Fatty’s face slackened.

“They have wonderful food there,” Pond said. “All you can eat!”

The others agreed, praising the food and telling Fatty about how much he could have. But it was clear Fatty wasn’t happy. Getting to his feet, he towered above them. He grunted, face pinched.

“What?” Edmund asked. “I’m sorry, but I—”

Pointing the chicken at Edmund, Fatty grunted again. Partially chewed food fell from his mouth. Becky dashed around him, gobbling up everything before it could be taken away.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Edmund said. “I don’t understand.”

Fatty’s grunting became shrill. Jabbing the partially eaten chicken at Edmund, he shook his head. Then he stomped his sizable foot and beat the chicken against his own chest, gravy and pieces of meat flying in all directions.

“I don’t think he wants to go,” Abby said to Edmund. “Is that right, Fatty?”

Fatty spit out his food and thrust the remains of the chicken at Edmund. Again he beat it against his own chest, more meat flying through the air. He stomped his foot a second time, grunting louder.

Edmund shrugged. “I’m sorry, Big Guy. I don’t … I don’t understand.” He turned to Pond and Abby. “Do either of you?”

Fatty screeched.

He threw the cooked chicken against the wall, spraying meat and gravy throughout much of the room. Nails clicking on the wooden floor, Becky seized what she could and ran off underneath Abby’s bed, wolfing down the morsels as fast as possible.

Fatty pointed at Edmund then pounded his fist against his own food-covered chest, eyes pleading. But Edmund sat puzzled and helpless.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I don’t know what—”

Fatty drove his finger at Edmund. Eyes filling with tears, he looked desperately around the room, searching for something—anything—to convey his thoughts, until he let loose a hollering sob and put his hands together. Then he opened his hands like he was reading a book.

“You want Edmund to teach you to read?” Abby asked.

Nodding, Fatty fell to his knees, the floor shaking under his tremendous weight. He put his hands together again, begging.

I couldn’t. He’s a moron!

He’s not as stupid as everybody thinks he is.

“Fat … Big Guy,” Edmund said, correcting himself.

Fatty crawled toward him on rotund knees, tears rolling down his rutty cheeks and mixing with the food amassed there. Pond and Abby frowned at Edmund; neither of them envied his position.

“Big Guy!” Edmund said to the wailing giant. “Please! Please! You’re going to, you’re going to draw attention to us!”

Fatty kept screaming.

“Fatty, please! People are going to—”

His shrieks hit even higher notes.

“Okay!” Edmund shouted. “Okay, Big Guy! I’ll, I’ll teach you how to read!”

Fatty stopped crying.

“But … but look,” Edmund said, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this mess. “There are some other things we need you to do first, okay?”

Fatty nodded his head fervently.

“All right, look, Big Guy, it’s just that … well …” Edmund hoped Pond and Abby would jump in and help, but they didn’t. They simply studied their hands and the meat-covered floor.

Then an idea came to him.

“You see, Big Guy, we”—Edmund pointed to himself, then to Pond, then to Abby—“we’re in danger. People, people like that evil woman you saw in the other room … well, they’re, they’re trying to hurt us. They’re trying to kill us. Me, most of all.”

Edmund waited for this to sink in.

“If you keep traveling with us,” he went on, “well, I’m afraid they might try to hurt you, too.”

Fatty recoiled, drawing his hands to his flabby chins.

“That’s right, Big Guy. They’ll try to kill you.” Edmund softened his tone. “You see, we … we really care for you and don’t want to see you get hurt. Do you understand?”

Gravy-covered hands still tucked under his cascading chins, Fatty bobbed his head repeatedly.

“So that’s why I think it might be best if you stayed with these wonderful monks for a while. Just until we finish what we need to do. After that we’ll all stay together like a big, happy family!”

“They can teach you to read, and how to play more games, and give you all the food you want,” Abby added with an encouraging grin. “You’ll be safe!”

Fatty swallowed. He tapped a finger at Abby, made a scary face, and pretended to slash at her with an imaginary sword. His eyebrows rose in question.

“Yes,” Abby said to him. “I’m in danger, too.”

Edmund stared at her, shocked.

She really understands this isn’t a game, and she’s still willing to come.

She only understands as much as she can. She’s a sheltered girl from a wealthy family. She’s practically nobility. She doesn’t know what evil is out there
.

Still, she has at least one eye open. That’s more than you had when all of this began.

Fatty pulled his legs beneath his sizable bulk and, using the sofa for support, heaved himself to standing, a strange expression growing across his filthy face. At first, Edmund thought Fatty was going to vomit, but then, standing in front of Abby, the big man pretended to brandish a weapon. He struck an oddly noble pose.

“That’s very sweet, Fatty.” Abby wiped away the chicken and gravy Fatty’s flailing had splattered across her clothing. “But we don’t want you to get hurt. This is our adventure. Yours is with the monks. Learn to read and you can go on all the adventures history has brought us.”

Fatty shook his head and pretended to block Abby from an unseen foe, shielding her with his massive arms.

He might actually be useful if he weren’t so fat.

You were fat.

I was never that fat! He can barely walk a mile without collapsing.

You couldn’t run down the street without doubling over.

Spirits sinking, Edmund evaluated their options.

You can’t just leave him behind. He’ll end up in the stockades again or worse. He needs help.

I know. But
…

While Fatty fended off some imaginary danger, Edmund groaned, hardly able to believe what he was about to suggest.

“Tell you what,” he said, “you can come with us, and I’ll teach you how to read when we have time …”

Grinning, Fatty gurgled.

“But,” Edmund added sternly, “you have to get in better shape, and you need to learn how to use the mace I gave you without hurting yourself or those standing around you.”

Fatty stepped forward and shook Edmund’s hand like he was trying to pump water from a well.

“Glad that’s resolved,” Pond said with some relief. “Now what? What’s your plan? Do you still want to head out at midday?”

“Yes,” Edmund replied, massaging his shoulder; it felt like Fatty had loosened it. “We’ll split up and then meet just outside the city. But we need to do a few things first. What do we have left from the troll’s horde?”

Pond took a bite of steak and mulled over the question while he chewed.

“We still have a good deal,” he said. “I’d say a handful or two of small gems that are cracked or flawed, and maybe three-quarters of a sack of high-quality jewelry and various priceless valuables that nobody around here has the money to pay what they’re worth. Well, except maybe the prince himself. But we couldn’t get an appointment to see him.”

Pond swallowed.

“Plus, we have about ten extra weapons that should go for good prices. And your book. I have no idea how much that’s worth should you want to sell it, too. All told, I’d say we could easily get another forty or fifty thousand gold pieces.”