On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (11 page)

21

The Horned Hounds

A
t 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

J
anner'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 all 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.

“Janner!” he called. “A stairway!”

Thank the Maker,
Janner thought.
We can get out of here.
He crossed the room and looked, and his shoulders slumped.

Tink was grinning, pointing to a narrow passageway that led
down
into shadows.

“No, Tink,” Janner said.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean'?”

“We're so
close,
that's what I mean. We can't just go home!”

Janner was speechless.
How can I be expected to watch over my brother when he has no appreciation of the danger we're in?
Only moments ago they'd been nearly eaten by a pack of horned hounds, and now Tink was more concerned about poking around in a cellar than his own life.

Tink took the first few steps down into the passage for a better look. “Aha!” he said, sounding a lot like his grandfather. He reemerged with an oil lantern and a box of matches covered with cobwebs. Blowing dust from the lantern, Tink lit it, and started down the stairway without another word.

Janner looked around the room again, wishing desperately for another doorway to appear, but there was none. He had no choice. With a sigh, he followed his little brother deeper into the bowels of Anklejelly Manor, trying not to think about the warning on the map:
For in the catacombs below is hidden in the hollow, a way that leads to pain and woe, sadness, grief, and sorrow.

The deeper their descent, the more the air grew cool and heavy. Cobwebs dangled from the passageway's low ceiling, and Janner's ears were full of the sound of his own breathing and the echo of footsteps on stone.

After several cracked and broken steps down, Tink and Janner came to the bottom of the stairs. The passageway was more of a cave than a tunnel; the walls rough and moist. The floor was damp enough that neither Janner nor Tink wanted to crawl, but the ceiling was too low to allow them to walk without stooping.

They inched along in an uncomfortable hunch, Tink holding the lantern and peering ahead into the blackness beyond the lamplight; Janner could scarcely see anything but Tink's rear end.

Neither of the boys had thought about the possibility of ghosts since their narrow escape from the flesh-and-blood horned hounds, and Janner was smiling in spite of himself. He couldn't deny the thrill of creeping through a secret passageway in the cellar of an ancient house, and he knew that Tink was smiling too. Janner broke the silence with a whisper.

“How does it look up there?”

“Nothing to see yet—wait, the passage is turning a little…”

The passageway veered right and the ceiling rose enough that the boys could stand up straight. They groaned with relief and stretched their backs. Their tension, fear, and excitement bubbled to the surface as nervous laughter. They walked a few more feet, slowly, and the passageway widened enough that the two of them were able to walk side by side. Neither of them spoke as they inched their way deeper into the corridor.

At last they came to the end of the passage, where a rusty iron door barred their way. Its hinges were embedded in the tunnel rock, and it was set as square and solid as if it had always been there. Whoever had put the door there had meant to keep out intruders. In the center of the door was a metal plate with several neat rows of round metal buttons the size of knuckles. There was no keyhole.

Tink tried the handle and found it locked.

“Of course,” Janner said with disappointment.

A moment passed, both boys studying the door.

“Hang on,” Tink said. He pressed one of the rusty buttons. With a loud click, it sunk into the door. “Janner, look. I think this is a lock. We just have to figure out the right combination of buttons to push, and the door will open. See?” He pressed another button. “There are…ten rows of…eight buttons each. That's only eighty buttons.”

“That's ridiculous.” Janner shook his head. “We have no idea how many buttons need to be pressed, or in what order. We'd be here for the rest of our lives, which I don't plan to spend here.” He paused. “Besides, it could be a trap.”

Tink took a deep breath and placed a hand on the handle.

Janner felt a moment of panic. “Don't.”

Tink winked at Janner and tried the door handle again. The door didn't budge, but the buttons Tink had pressed clicked back out, flush with the rest.

Janner braced himself for something awful. But nothing happened. He tried once more to convince Tink to give up, but his little brother continued to ignore him as Janner sank to the floor and waited. Surely Tink would grow bored soon and give up on his own.

But he didn't.

Instead, Tink unrolled the map and examined it by the lantern light. “There must be something here…”

“Tink.” Janner sighed, exasperated. “If there's a lock on the door, maybe it should stay locked.”

Tink ignored his brother, intent on the map. He mumbled, “Some kind of a code…” He held out the map with one hand and raised the lamp with the other, casting the map's shadow on the tunnel wall.

Just before Tink gave up and began to roll up the parchment, Janner saw it—points of light in an uneven pattern cast by the tiny holes in the map. Janner's frustration vanished. “Tink, unroll the map.”

Tink stared in confusion as Janner shone the lamp on the map and carefully guided Tink's hands to position the map in front of the buttons on the door. The points of light were too closely clustered at first, so Janner took a few steps back. Then Tink saw it too, plain as daylight: four of the points of light lined up with the four corners of the button rows, and the rest lit up seven more, roughly in the shape of the letter W.

Janner held the map and lamp steady while Tink pressed each of the corresponding buttons. Tink reached for the handle again.

“Wait—” Janner said, putting a hand on Tink's forearm.

Tink looked at Janner like he was out of his mind.

“Are you sure about this?” Janner asked.

Tink rolled his eyes.

“Well at least open the door slowly,” Janner said.

With a deep breath, Tink turned the handle and with a click, it unlocked. Then he pulled open the door with a loud creak.