Legend of the Three Moons (6 page)

They circled the first campfire and discovered why it was built so close to the Wartstoe Village track. The plateau was covered in prickly grass that crackled loudly underfoot, letting everyone within hearing distance know that someone was coming.

There were also sharp stones that cut through their boots; waist-high walls of snake bones, that fell with a clatter; deep groundhog burrows and deeper cracks that could swallow even a big Huntsman who wasn't being careful.

`Swift will feel the way with my spear,' whispered Lyla. `We'll tie him to us so if he slips we can heave him up.'

With Lyla's spear held out in front Swift felt every step before taking it. Sometimes he teetered on the brink of a hole and had to be pulled back. Sometimes his spear felt nothing and he took another direction. It was slow going but finally they passed the Huntsmen's camp and returned to the safety of the track.

The golden-rimmed moon had risen by the time they reached the next campfire. Lem crept towards it to ask the Huntsmen's dogs not to bark as they passed by. When he returned he told the others that it was a bandit camp and that he'd seen three men tied to stakes in the centre of a ring of tents.

`The dogs said if we don't want to be taken prisoner and be thrown off a cliff then we have to keep going.'

`But what if the prisoners are the potato farmers?' argued Celeste.

Lyla agreed. `Celeste is right. If they are the farmers then we can't leave them there.'

`And what if they're three
other
skin-us-alive bandits caught by
these
skin-us-alive bandits,' whispered Swift.

Celeste handed her bag and Splash to him. `One way to find out. I'll creep up and if they're the farmers I'll cut them free and if they're not, I won't. Meanwhile you continue on to Wartstoe Village so that if I have to make a run for it we'll all be running in the same direction.'

Celeste held her breath as she crept through the ring of tents to where the men were tied to three stakes surrounded by firewood. The closest man was the farmer who'd argued with Abel Penny. She cut his and the second man's ropes without waking them. But the third, whose head was bleeding, was awake. He stared at her as if he was seeing a ghost. Putting her finger to her lips, she quickly cut his ropes and crept away.

Expecting to hear the shouts of angry bandits or the cries of farmers being caught again, Celeste ran to catch up with the others. They met on the track and raced towards the next campfire. They circled it and three more before they reached the point where the cliff track sloped downwards. Below them were what had once been the productive wheat fields of Wartstoe Village but were now only dry stubble.

In one field they found a burnt-out barn where they hid under a pile of mouldy hay. They were all sound asleep when a skinny rooster, not long for this world, crowed that it was morning. None of the children heard a sound.

Chad woke first, much later. He crawled out of the hay and he found they'd all slept through most of the day. He could also see that the closest cottage in Wartstoe Village was only a shout away. He shook Celeste awake and beckoned her outside. Five minutes later a tousled-headed Lyla and a shivering Lem joined them.

After complaining about how hungry and cold they were they talked over what they should do next. Lyla and Celeste weren't sure about their boy disguises, and the others were too young, so they decided that Lem would go to the village alone. They also agreed he should barter for food as well as information about Edith, and that he would pay for both with one of the jewels pried from the casket's lid.

`Leave the moment you have everything but return in a roundabout way in case someone thinks we have more jewels and tries to follow you,' instructed Lyla. `Meanwhile we'll bury the casket so that it can't be stolen.'

When Swift awoke and discovered that Lem had already set off for the village, he climbed into the barn's rafters where Chad was on watch.

Below them, Celeste and Lyla were washing their arms and faces in a barrel of water. They were worried about Lem so they talked about how brave he was, how good he was with his sword - even though he hadn't taken it - and how his gift of speaking to animals would surely help him if he met danger.

`As long as there are animals around,' added Celeste. Seeing the dismay on Lyla's face, she bit her lip and wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

Lem's pace slowed as he reached the village. Cautious and questioning by nature, he liked to know what he was walking into before it was too late. He was also not as keen to do this task alone as he'd made the others believe, but couldn't have them thinking he was afraid.

The village was a pitiful place with windowless cottages, sagging bark-roofed shanties, cracked mud walls and toppled fences that kept nothing in and nothing out. The few villagers he passed were gaunt-faced women or dirty-faced children peeking from doorways. All averted their eyes as if to return his look would cause them trouble.

Even the dogs, slinking from puddle to puddle, had nothing good to say.

`You are too well dressed,' growled one bent-eared hound.

`The fishermen from Mussel Cove will steal those boots,' warned a skinny cattle dog.

`The innkeeper is a thief and a murderer,' panted a third limping by with a sore the size of a dinner plate on its haunches.

`Go back. Go back,' barked a tan and black puppy that was so starved its flanks flapped together.

Lem scooped him up. `You poor little thing. If I get any food I will give you some.'

The pup snuggled its head under his arm.

The inn was a rambling manure-walled building with a shingle roof, four attic windows and one smoking chimney. To its left was a stable full of swayed-backed mules and horses. To its right lay a cobblestone yard jammed with vehicles. One was the potato farmers' wagon.

Lem placed the pup under the wagon. `Stay here,' he ordered. But the pup followed him through the inn door.

The stink of spilt ale, badly cooked food, and a floor that was never swept or washed of its layers of tobacco and phlegm, made Lem's empty stomach churn.

`Shut the door and sit down if you're staying,' grunted a man just inside the door.

The interior of the inn consisted of one large smoke-filled room with a ladder leading to the attic, a fireplace large enough for four men to stand inside and a sack- covered doorway leading to the ale room. Over the fire revolved a spit containing a lump of fatty meat, a roasting rooster and three crackling groundhogs.

A wizened old man turned the spit when he wasn't sticking his tobacco-stained fingers into the beef dripping and sucking them. Beside the sizzling carcases hung a soot-blackened soup pot and a smaller pot of mulled wine. The old man's finger dipped into these as well.

Pulled up around the fire were 20 split-log benches and 10 plank tables crowded with men drinking, talking, playing cards or sleeping. Around the inn's walls were smaller unlit tables where men could whisper secrets and not be seen. At one such table sat six drunken red-haired Huntsmen. Abel Penny lolled at another.

Lem wondered if he had changed into a giant pig and galloped all the way to the inn to reach it so quickly.

At a corner table sat the three farmers. The wounded one was resting his head on his arms.

Lem picked up the pup and whispered in its ear. `Who is everyone?'

The pup licked his ear and shared his thoughts. `The innkeeper, Petrie Wartstoe, watches you from behind the curtains. Abel Penny, the toll master, eats here every day. The farmers arrived this morning saying they'd been robbed by bandits and would have been murdered only a golden-haired cliff-spirit freed them.

`The bandits who robbed them never come to the inn. Instead they bartered the farmers' wagon and potatoes for snake meat from the red-bearded Huntsmen. The Huntsmen bartered the wagon and potatoes for ale.

`The men in the black-knitted hats playing cards over there are Mussel Cove fishermen. No one gambles better than a Mussel Cove fisherman.'

`The 12-fingered travellers in the capes and wide brimmed hats are merchants from Belem. Beware of them for they can rob the eye out of a needle while you're still sewing with it.'

Suddenly Lem's hood was snatched from his head. `Hey! No flea riddled mutts in here. We keep a clean establishment. Get him out!'

The speaker was a spiteful-looking boy with an oblong face, long yellow horse teeth, and broomstick arms and legs. He was so skinny that Lem thought a good puff of air would blow him over. For a second he was tempted to try. Then, remembering why he was there he opened the inn door and pushed the pup outside. `Wait,' he commanded.

`So what will it be?' demanded the bag of bones boy, hitching his filthy apron higher up his narrow chest.

Lem lowered his voice. `I wish to speak to the inn keeper,'

`What business have you with Master Wartstoe?' demanded the boy in a voice loud enough for everyone sitting nearby to hear.

Well aware that others were now listening, Lem answered as quietly as he could. `Bartering business. But not here, somewhere safer.'

`Be you saying our inn ain't safe?' demanded the boy. This time his voice carried to every corner of the inn. Everyone looked around.

Lem was so angry he wanted to slap the loud-mouthed boy. Instead he stared mutely at the boy's filthy shirt and trouser cuffs, which were too short for his bony wrists and ankles, and at his fat-encrusted apron, which was long enough to trip him.

The boy flicked the crumbs off a nearby table. `Who will I say you be and where be you from?'

`Wolf, from the palace,' said Lem, giving up on speaking softly.

At the word `palace' everyone stared at him, and the serving boy scurried off, collecting empty tankards as he went.

`So you've something to barter,' said a man sliding along the bench until his nose was jammed against Lem's. `What might that be? I might give you more than the innkeeper, if it be a thing I desire.' He winked and tapped his large nose with a filthy fingernail.

Lem noticed that he had six fingers on both hands.

`I be Jessup Birdsnest, a Belem Merchant of unusual and unlikely oddities. I buy anything incredible and strange. A smoked human finger would be perfect, or a hangman's rope - used of course. A dragon's claw fetches top coin, as does an invisible feather from an invisible bird, made visible naturally. Perhaps you have a fairy wing, though they be hard to find nowadays, there being no fairies left on the peninsula. A piece of the High Enchanter's shadow would be worth a noble's fortune. So what do you have, boy? And how much do you want for it?'

`I'm looking for an oracle.'

The man slid away so fast he almost fell off the end of the bench. `I don't do business with oracles. Not in public inns anyway.'

The skinny boy returned at that moment. `What be wrong with public inns, Jessup Birdsnest?'

The Belem Merchant put his sixth finger to his nose and winked at Lem. `Nothing, Isaac Wartstoe! Public inns are fine places. And yours be one of the best.'

Lem followed Isaac around the tables towards the ale room's curtain at the back.

As they passed by Abel Penny, the fat man sniffed and a look of recognition crossed his face, so he stuck his leg out to trip Lem.

Lem jumped over it easily but nearly bumped into Isaac, just as the younger Wartstoe pulled aside the ale room curtain to reveal the innkeeper.

Petrie Wartstoe was as skinny as his son and so tall that he had to thrust his head forward to avoid knocking it on the ale room's ceiling. With his oblong face, yellow teeth, pointed nose and long black coat he looked like a scavenging funeral stork.

`Name of Wolf, eh? From the palace, eh? Haven't seen anyone from there for a long time. They don't like coming through Snake Tree Wood and they've nothing to barter. So what have you got? And don't try to rob me or I'll set my dog on you, and he has teeth as sharp as a cut-throat razor.'

Petrie Wartstoe kicked the wolfhound at his feet and the dog snarled showing his sharp teeth until Lem spoke to it gently, with his thoughts. It wagged its tail at him and told him a secret.

Lem nodded at the dog, then spoke to the innkeeper.`I want to know where to find Edith the oracle and I want to barter for food.'

`Plus two barrels of Du Lac Du Mont ale,' demanded a sweating Abel Penny pulling aside the curtain and filling the ale room with his large belly. `He owes me a double toll. I know it be him because I never forget a smell.'

`And two barrels of Du Lac Du Mont ale,' added Lem. `But only if we do our business in private.'

The innkeeper's eyes narrowed to slits. `You heard him Abel Penny. You'll get your ale. But only if you go back to your bench.'

Once the toll master was gone Lem asked the innkeeper where the back door was.

`It be the door past the privvy. Now what do you have? Or are you just wasting my time.'

Not at all sure that showing the jewel to this evil looking man was a smart thing to do, Lem took the red stone out of his pocket. It glinted in the lamplight like a ripe, shiny cherry.

`A ruby!' gasped Petrie Wartstoe, his skinny fingers shooting out to snatch it from the boy's fingers. But Lem had already closed his fist tightly around the jewel.

`In exchange I want a large sack of food, two barrels of ale, and information as to where Edith lives. Agreed?'

`Agreed,' muttered the innkeeper unable to keep his greedy eyes off Lem's fist.

`Be warned' added Lem, `if you rob me I shall tell everyone in the drinking room where you have hidden the treasure you have amassed since the coming of the High Enchanter.'

`And what treasure be that, Master Smartyboots Wolf?' sneered Petrie Wartstoe, edging closer in the hope of grabbing the boy's wrist and prying open his hand.

Holding the ruby behind his back Lem whispered, into Petrie Wartstoe's dirty ear, exactly what the wolfhound had told him about where the innkeeper kept his ill-gotten treasure.

Petrie Wartstoe straightened up so fast he hit his head on the ceiling. He swore loudly, kicked the wolfhound and pushed his gawking son out through the curtain into the drinking room. Then he pounced on Lem and shook him like a sack of wheat. `Who told you? Was it my lazy son? I'll have his tongue if it was!'