Fablehaven: The Complete Series (22 page)

She put her mouth to his ear. “If you play a trick on me, I promise I will kill you, I really will.”

“I won’t. I’m scared too.”

He slunk forward. Kendra tried to calm herself. Waiting was torture. She considered moving around the bush to take a peek, but could not muster the courage. The silence was good, right? Unless they had stealthily dropped Seth with a poison dart.

The pause stretched mercilessly. Then she heard Seth coming back less carefully than he had left. When he came around the bush, he was walking upright, saying, “Come here, you have to see this.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing scary.”

She went around the bush with him, still tense. Up ahead, in a clear area near the summit of the hill, she saw the source of the thin smoke—a waist-high cylinder of stone with a wooden windlass and a dangling bucket. “A well?”

“Yeah. Come smell.”

They walked to the well. Even up close, the rising smoke remained vapory and indistinct. Kendra leaned over, staring down into the deep darkness. “Smells good.”

“Like soup,” Seth said. “Meat, veggies, spices.”

“Am I just hungry? It smells delicious.”

“I think so too. Should we try some?”

“Lower the bucket?” Kendra asked skeptically.

“Why not?” Seth replied.

“There could be creatures down there.”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“You think it’s just a well full of stew,” Kendra scoffed.

“We
are
on a magical preserve.”

“As far as we know it could be poisonous.”

“It can’t hurt to take a look,” Seth insisted. “I’m starving. Besides, not everything here is bad. I bet this is where fairy people come for dinner. See, it even has a crank.” He began turning the windlass, spooling the bucket down into the darkness.

“I’m staying on lookout,” said Kendra.

“Good idea.”

Kendra felt exposed. They were far enough from the summit that she could not see anything on the far side of the hill, but they were high enough that she commanded an expansive view of trees and terrain when she looked down the slope. With little cover surrounding the well, she worried that unseen eyes might be spying from the foliage below.

Seth continued unwinding the rope, sending the bucket ever deeper. Eventually he heard it wetly hit bottom. The rope slackened a bit. After a moment he began winding the bucket back up.

“Hurry,” Kendra said.

“I am. This thing is deep.”

“I’m worried everything in the forest can see us.”

“Here it comes.” He stopped cranking and pulled the bucket up the last few feet by hand, setting it on the lip of the well.

Kendra joined him. Inside the wooden bucket, bits of meat, cut carrots, potato fragments, and onion floated in a fragrant yellow broth. “Looks like a normal stew,” Kendra said.

“Better than normal. I’m trying some.”

“Don’t!” she warned.

“Lighten up.” He tweezed out a piece of dripping meat and tried it. “Good!” he announced. He plucked out a potato and offered a similar report. Tipping the bucket, he slurped some of the broth. “Amazing!” he said. “You have to try it.”

From behind the same bush they had used as their final hiding place when approaching the well, a creature emerged. From the waist up, he was a shirtless man with an exceptionally hairy chest and a pair of pointy horns above his forehead. From waist down he had the legs of a shaggy goat. Wielding a knife, the satyr charged straight at them.

Both Kendra and Seth turned in alarm at the sound of his hooves racing up the slope. “Salt,” Seth blurted, dipping into his pockets.

As she fumbled for salt, Kendra dashed around the well, placing it between herself and the attacker. Not Seth. He stood his ground, and when the satyr was a couple of steps away, he flung a fistful of salt at the goatman.

The satyr stopped short, obviously surprised by the cloud of salt. Seth threw a second handful, groping in his pockets for more. The salt failed to spark or sizzle. Instead, the satyr appeared bewildered.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“I could ask you the same question,” Seth replied.

“No you can’t. You’re spoiling our operation.” The satyr lunged past Seth and slashed the rope with his knife. “She’s coming.”

“Who?”

“I’d save the questions for later,” the satyr said. He wound the rope until it was tight around the windlass, seized the bucket, and started down the hill, spilling soup as he went. From the far side of the hill, Kendra heard foliage rustling and branches crunching. She and Seth followed the satyr.

The satyr slid into the bush Kendra had crouched behind earlier. Kendra and Seth dove in alongside him.

An instant after they ducked out of sight, a bulky, hideous woman lumbered into view and approached the well. She had a broad, flat face with saggy earlobes that hung almost to her hefty shoulders. Her misshapen bosom drooped inside a coarse, homespun tunic. Her avocado skin had a ridged texture like corduroy, her graying hair was shaggy and matted, and her build bordered on obese. The well barely came to her knees, making her considerably taller than Hugo. She waddled from side to side as she walked, and she was breathing heavily through her mouth.

Bending over, she pawed at the well, stroking the wooden frame. “The ogress can’t see much,” the satyr whispered.

When he said it, the ogress jerked her head up. She yammered something in a guttural language. Shambling a couple of steps away from the well, she squatted down and sniffed at the ground where Seth had thrown his salt. “There been peoples here,” she accused in a husky, accented voice. “Where you peoples be?”

The satyr placed a finger against his lips. Kendra held perfectly still, trying to breathe softly despite her alarm. She tried to plan which direction she would run.

The ogress lumbered down the slope toward their hiding place, sniffing high and low. “I heared peoples. I smelled peoples. And I smell my stew. Peoples been at my stew again. You come out now to apologize.”

The satyr shook his head, slitting his throat with a finger for emphasis. Seth slid a hand into a pocket. The satyr touched his wrist and shook his head with a scowl.

The ogress had already closed half the distance to the bush. “You peoples like my stew so much, maybe you take a bath in it.”

Kendra resisted the urge to bolt. The ogress would be on them in moments. But the satyr seemed to know what he was doing. He held up a hand, tacitly signaling for them to keep still.

Without warning, something began crashing through the bushes about twenty yards to their right. The ogress pivoted and stumbled toward the ruckus with a quick, awkward gait.

The satyr nodded. They scrambled out of the bush and started down the hill. Behind them, the ogress skidded to a halt and changed direction, coming after them. The goatman pitched the bucket of stew into a tangled patch of thorns and bounded over a fallen log. Kendra and Seth sprinted after him.

Propelled by her downward momentum, Kendra found herself taking larger steps than she wanted. Each time her foot touched the ground became a fresh opportunity to lose her balance and tumble forward. Seth stayed a couple of steps ahead of her, and the swift satyr was gradually increasing his lead.

Heedless of obstacles, the ogress pursued them noisily, trampling bushes and tearing through branches. She breathed in damp, wheezing gasps and cursed periodically, reverting to her unintelligible native tongue. Despite her cumbersome size and apparent exhaustion, the misshapen ogress was rapidly gaining.

The slope leveled out. Behind Kendra the ogress fell, branches and deadfalls snapping like fireworks. Kendra glanced back, catching a glimpse of the burly ogress surging to her feet.

The satyr led them into a shallow ravine, where they found the wide entrance to a dark tunnel. “This way,” he said, dashing into the tunnel. Although it looked spacious enough for the ogress to enter, Seth and Kendra followed without question. The satyr appeared confident, and he had been right so far.

The tunnel grew darker the deeper they ran. Heavy footsteps followed them. Kendra glanced back. The ogress filled the subterranean passageway, blocking out much of the light filtering in from the opening.

It became hard to see the satyr up ahead. The tunnel was growing narrower. Close behind Kendra, the ogress gasped and coughed. Hopefully she would have a heart attack and collapse.

For a space, the darkness became complete. Then it began to brighten. The tunnel continued to shrink. Soon Kendra had to crouch, and the walls were within reach at either side. The satyr slackened his pace, looking back with a mischievous grin. Kendra checked over her shoulder as well.

The panting ogress crawled and then scooted forward on her belly, wheezing and choking. When she could worm no farther, she roared in frustration, a strained, throaty cry. After that it sounded like she vomited.

Up ahead the satyr was crawling. The passage slanted upward. They emerged through a small gap into a bowl-shaped depression. A second satyr stood waiting for them. The second had redder hair than the first and slightly longer horns. He motioned for them to follow.

The two satyrs and two children charged recklessly through the woods for a few more minutes. When they arrived at a clearing with a tiny pond, the redheaded satyr stopped and faced the others.

“What was the idea, ruining our operation?” he asked.

“Clumsy work,” the other satyr agreed.

“We didn’t know,” Kendra said. “We thought it was a well.”

“You thought a chimney was a well?” the redhead complained. “I suppose you sometimes mistake icicles for carrots? Or wagons for outhouses?”

“It had a bucket,” Seth said.

“And it was in the ground,” Kendra added.

“They have a point,” the other satyr said.

“You were on the roof of the ogress’s lair,” explained the redhead.

“We get it now,” Seth said. “We thought it was a hill.”

“Nothing wrong with pinching a bit of soup from her cauldron,” the redhead continued. “We try to be free with our assets. But you need to use some delicacy. A little finesse. At least wait until the old lady falls asleep. Who are you, anyhow?”

“Seth Sorenson.”

“Kendra.”

“I am Newel,” said the redhead. “This is Doren. You realize we’ll probably have to construct a whole new rigging?”

“She’ll rip the old one down,” Doren explained.

“Almost more work than cooking our own stew,” Newel huffed.

“We can’t make it come out like she does,” Doren mourned.

“She has a gift,” Newel agreed.

“We’re sorry,” Kendra said. “We were a little lost.”

Doren waved a hand. “Don’t worry. We just like to bluster. If you spoiled our wine, that would be another story.”

“Still,” Newel said, “a guy has to eat, and free stew is free stew.”

“We’ll try to find a way to repay you,” Kendra said.

“So will we,” Newel said.

“You don’t happen to have any . . . batteries?” Doren asked.

“Batteries?” Seth asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Size C,” Newel clarified.

Kendra folded her arms. “Why do you want batteries?”

“They’re shiny,” Newel said, nudging Doren with an elbow.

“We worship them,” Doren said, nodding sagely. “They seem like little gods to us.”

The kids stared at the goatmen in disbelief, unsure how to continue the conversation. They were obviously lying.

“Okay,” Newel said. “We have a portable television.”

“Don’t tell Stan.”

“We had a mountain of batteries, but we ran out.”

“And our supplier is no longer employed here.”

“We could work out an arrangement.” Newel spread his hands diplomatically. “Some batteries to repent for disrupting our stew siphoning—”

“Then we can trade for more. Gold, booze, you name it.” Doren lowered his voice slightly. “Of course, we would need to keep our arrangement private.”

“Stan doesn’t like us watching the tube,” said Newel.

“You know our Grandpa?” Seth asked.

“Who doesn’t?” Newel said.

“You haven’t seen him lately?” Kendra asked.

“Sure, just last week,” Doren said.

“I mean since last night.”

“No, why?” Newel said.

“Haven’t you heard?” Seth asked.

The satyrs shrugged at each other. “What’s the news?” Newel asked.

“Our Grandpa was kidnapped last night,” Kendra said.

“Your grandfather is a kid?” Newel said.