On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (8 page)

15

Two Dreams and a Nightmare

T
hat night, after telling the story to Podo four times, the children slept. Tink dreamed of sea dragons and pie. Leeli dreamed of sea dragons and dogs. Janner dreamed of sea dragons and his father.

Janner had one of the nightmares he often had about his father, and all he could ever remember in the morning was a boat and fire. There was another dream, one in which he could almost make out his father's face, a dream full of golden light and green fields. That bright dream filled him with the same feelings as Armulyn's song had the night before, feelings that somehow hurt and felt good all at the same time.

But this night he had tossed in his bed with the heat of the dream fire surrounding him, roaring in his ears.

When Janner woke he was sweating, but birds were chirping and the golden light of dawn eased through the windows. It felt as though the previous day's events were part of his nightmare, and the world of his warm bed and the sturdy old cottage so full of life was the only real one. The Fangs seemed about as dangerous as weed snakes.

Janner stretched and sat on the edge of his bed. Happy beams of sunlight landed on the floor and scattered the shadows. Leaning against Leeli's bed was a freshly made little crutch that Podo must have spent most of the night making. Carved into the crosspiece in small, neat letters was the inscription L
EELI
I
GIBY:
L
IZARDKICKER

Janner could hear the clatter of Nia preparing breakfast in the kitchen, humming in muffled tones. He smiled to himself, stretched, and ambled into the main room where he lay down on the cushioned couch, yawning while he scratched his head. He was staring up at the timbers in the ceiling, letting the fresh fire in the hearth warm him when he heard the familiar
tap-clunk, tap-clunk, tap-clunk
of Podo approaching the front of the cottage. Janner heard him grumbling to himself even before the door opened.

“Rotten stinking rodents…teach
you
to touch my totaters…lucky I've only got one leg, you, you, worm-eating, ankle-biting…”

Janner peeked over the back of the couch to see Podo hobbling through the door with a sack full of vegetables over his shoulder, his boot and the bottom of his peg leg wet with dew. The grumbling resumed as Podo made his way through the kitchen door. Janner was barely able to keep from snorting with laughter. When the door swung shut, the smell of cooked eggs and bacon drifted into the room, and Janner's stomach rumbled. Just as he got up from the couch, he heard the thump of Tink dropping down from his bunk, right on cue with the arrival of breakfast.

When Janner entered the kitchen, his mouth was watering. On the table sat three plates of hot food. His mother smiled at him from the stove where she was frying more eggs and bacon.

“Good morning, jailbird,” she said. The back door was ajar and Podo was already bounding through the field toward the garden, bellowing something indecipherable. Janner sat down at the table and dug into his food just as Tink bumbled through the kitchen door and headed straight for his chair. Nia pecked them both on the cheek.

“Leeli coming?” she asked. Tink nodded with a mouthful of bacon.

Leeli came through the door and stretched so taut that her nightgown came up to her shins. Nugget trotted past her to nose his way out the back door, eager to assist Podo in wrathful pursuit of the thwaps.

Leeli greeted her brothers with a light backhand on each of their shoulders as she scooted past with the L
IZARDKICKER
crutch from Podo. Tink and Janner grunted, their mouths full of bacon.

“I see you have a new crutch, dear,” Nia said.

Janner and Tink took sudden interest in their sister and complimented her between gulps of milk.

“The three of you slept late, so eat quickly and get dressed. The Dragon Day festival is over and life goes back to normal today,” Nia said, placing a plate of food in front of Leeli. “Your chores and studies are waiting.”

Janner thought that his mother looked tired, which was odd since he always had the feeling that she'd been awake for hours before he stumbled in for breakfast. There was something in her eyes—
was it worry?—
and she seemed to move a little slower. But when she put two more slices of hot bacon on his plate and tousled his hair, he decided it was probably his imagination.

For as long as they could remember, Nia had taught the children what she called T.H.A.G.S.
¹
Janner studied writing and poetry. Tink spent his time painting and drawing. Leeli learned to sing and to play the whistleharp. Tink had asked his mother once what was so traditional about learning the T.H.A.G.S. when not one other child in Glipwood was forced to spend hours upon hours drawing the same tree over and over from different angles.

“You're an Igiby,” she said, as if that answered the question.

No other boy in Glipwood had to read as many old books or write as many pages as Janner, and no other girl in town knew how to play an instrument. All three of the children had some proficiency in each of the T.H.A.G.S. but spent the vast majority of their time perfecting only one.

Janner remembered with a stab of panic that later that day he and Tink were supposed to help Oskar N. Reteep in the bookstore, which was right across the street from the jail. What if Commander Gnorm saw him and changed his mind? He might send for the Black Carriage after all. What if Slarb attacked again? Then he thought about Books and Crannies, about all the stories on all the shelves in the store, and the warm thrill of being there overshadowed his fear. Janner swallowed the last of his breakfast. “Mister Reteep asked me and Tink to help him with a big shipment today. Is it all right to go into town?”

Nia took her time flipping the eggs and bacon in the frying pan while they waited for an answer. “Not really, no. It's not all right. It's never safe for you to go into town, especially after what happened yesterday.” Janner's shoulders slumped. “But we can't live in fear,” Nia said. “We
won't
live in fear.” She turned and looked hard at her boys, wiping her hands on her apron. “Just be careful, and stay clear of that awful Slurp.”

“Slarb,” Tink said.

“And don't forget to return the books you borrowed, Janner. You've finished them, haven't you?” Nia asked.

“Yes ma'am.”

“What did you think?”

“I read
In the Age of the Kindly Flabbits.
²
It was okay. The other one was better,” Janner said, clearing his dishes from the table. He had devoured a second book, one about dragons that actually flew and battles and a band of companions. It was full of high adventure, and Janner was sad when it ended, mainly because his life in Glipwood was so uneventful by comparison.

Nia turned back to the stove. “Your father loved that story.”

Janner smiled at the thought of his father, whoever he was, enjoying the same book. With a great commotion, Podo
tap-clunked
up to the back door and kicked it open. He was out of breath, holding two furry thwaps in an outstretched fist for the world to see.

“TWO!” he roared, and thrust the thwaps into the same sack he had used the previous morning. The old man bent over Nugget and rubbed his head fiercely, then stepped inside. “No fear, no fear, ladies. I'll not toss 'em over the cliffs,” he said with a wink at Janner.

When Podo saw Leeli his face lit up as it always did. “There's my little lizardkicker, Leeli the Brave!” He squeezed the back of Tink's neck. “And you! Tink the Quick, who dove into the fray—weaponless—and wrested the lady from the snake man! Now where…” He searched the room for Janner, who was standing by the kitchen door, unaware of the grin on his own face. “Ah! Janner the Strong! Backbreaker, who leapt onto the Fang like a toothy cow and lived to tell the tale!”

“Oh Papa, stop it,” Nia said, filling Podo's plate. “Now children, go on and get dressed,” Nia said, waving them off and setting Podo's hot breakfast on the table. While the smiling children filed out of the kitchen, he growled with a twinkle in his eye and swept Nia into the air and over his shoulder. The last thing Janner saw as he exited the room was his mother demanding to be “placed back down this instant.”

After feeding Danny the carthorse and the hogpig, the boys had to help Podo collect fertilizer (compliments of the hogpig) and spread it over the summer garden (for food that would eventually be eaten by them all, including the hogpig). This set Janner thinking all kinds of thoughts about life, death, and fertilizer.

Leeli stayed inside with Nia, preparing food, stitching a tear in a pair of Podo's breeches, and cleaning the ashes out of the fireplace. When she was finished, she sat in the front room practicing a new song on her whistleharp and memorizing the words to the holiday classic, “Round the Gumpkin Danced the Meep.”

They each went about their chores with gladness, even Tink and Janner when they shoveled the hogpig droppings into the wheelbarrow.
³
It was hard to complain when the sun was warm and their bellies were full, not to mention the fact that they had escaped death and torture three times the day before. But if Janner had been watching closely that morning, he would have seen how often his mother peeked out the window toward the town, and he might have noticed the troubled look in her eyes. If Janner had thought about it, he might have wondered why Podo had stayed so close to both boys all morning, and why his trusty club remained at his side.

16

In Books and Crannies

J
anner, Tink, and Podo walked to town after their lunch of apples and butterbread. Podo had insisted on accompanying them, which made Janner and Tink feel safer. The closer they got to Main Street, the more anxious they were about being seen by Slarb or Gnorm or any of the Fangs they'd been so unfortunate to meet the night before.

Glipwood was eerily quiet now that the many visitors had packed up their belongings and left town for another long, sad year in Fang-infested Skree. J. Bird's lanky form could be seen inside his barbershop, sweeping. Ferinia's Flower Shop had a C
LOSED
sign in the window. The Only Inn's windows and doors were wide open, and Podo waved at Mr. and Mrs. Shooster, the proprietors, busy changing the bedding and shaking out the rugs. Shaggy sat snoring on a bench outside his tavern.

Without turning his head, Janner stole a glance at the jail. Commander Gnorm, to his relief, was dozing in his rocking chair on the jail stoop with his pudgy greenish hands folded across his chest. The rings on his fingers glimmered, even in the shade. Janner pulled his eyes away and moved a step closer to Podo.

“You lads run along to Oskar's,” said Podo. “I'll be watching over ye from the tavern. I feel the need to wake up old Shaggy and wet my whistle.”

Janner started to protest but caught himself. While he didn't want to spend even a minute alone so close to the jail, he also wanted Podo to know that he could be brave and responsible. “Yes sir,” he said, straightening his back to his full height. “Come on, Tink.”

The brothers moved carefully past the jail to Books and Crannies, where Zouzab was perched like a vulture at the apex of the roof, his patchwork shirt waving like a flag in the breeze.

Janner waved to the ridgerunner.

“And hello to the Igiby men,” said Zouzab. His voice was soft and delicate. “I trust your time at the festival was pleasurable?”

Janner was surprised that Zouzab didn't seem to know about their near-death experience the night before. “Yes,” he replied. “It was an eventful day.”

“Is Mister Reteep inside?” Tink asked.

“Inside, yes. Many are the boxes that arrived by wagon not an hour ago. Many new books for you to read, Janner Igiby.” Zouzab was courteous, but Janner always felt like there was far more going on behind his little eyes than his mouth ever spoke.

Zouzab said no more and watched them enter the bookstore.

Books and Crannies was a place of wonder. Rows upon rows of books, many of them tattered, charred, and ancient looking, filled every shelf and corner nearly all the way to the high ceiling. Tall books, skinny books, books about daggerfish, books about the lineage of the kings of Skree, books about the rise and fall of the use of sugarberries in cake, books of legend about Anniera, books about books about other books, all organized according to subject in a maze of shelves.

But it wasn't just books. Rolls of maps and odds and ends and surprising surprises were lying here and there among the many volumes, in plain sight but easy to miss in all the clutter. No matter how many times Janner had been inside Oskar's store, he still managed to get lost at least once before he made it to the office at the back of the building.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Janner smiled and took in a deep breath. He loved the musty smell of the place. Tink had only visited a few brief times, so his eyes shot back and forth, trying to take in all there was to see. As they made their way toward the back of the store, they saw a wooden bowl full of dusty old spectacles. Beside the spectacles was a tiny, beaked skull with three eye sockets.

“Look!” Tink whispered.

Janner smiled, enjoying Tink's excitement. On another shelf was a jar of dead, bright orange insects, and on yet another was a miniature wooden castle with a mouse watching them from the spire window. Janner came to a dead end and stopped in front of a shelf labeled B
OOKS
A
BOUT
B
LACKSMITHING AND/OR
P
IE
, and Tink, so focused on trying to read the spine of every book he passed, collided with him. Janner's feet got tangled in themselves and he pitched forward. He tumbled to the floor, knocking over a fat, round candle from the shelf. Glaring at Tink, Janner picked up the oily greenish candle and set it back in place. A handwritten label on the candle said S
NOT
W
AX
. Janner retched, wiping his hands on the front of his tunic.
¹

“Eh? Who's there?” came a muffled voice from somewhere nearby. Suddenly several books on the shelf to their right slid backward and vanished—replaced by Oskar's spectacled face peering at them from the other side. “Ah! Janner, Tink, I didn't hear you come in,” he said with a smile. “There's a lot of work to be done, so no dillydallying. Time for browsing later. Follow me.”

The books slid back into place and Oskar's footsteps thumped toward the back of the store. After three more dead ends, Janner and Tink found the owner of Books and Crannies pacing the floor of his storeroom with a pipe in his mouth.

“Now lads, I'd have thought your Podo would have taught you better than to laze about while an old man like me needs your help. What in Aerwiar have you two been doing out there?” he said.

“We took a wrong turn at S
KREEAN
H
ISTORY
,” Janner said, “and then another at P
OINTLESS
P
OEMS
and—”

“No matter,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I believe it was the great Chorton who wrote, ‘To worry over dallying brothers is not worth the trouble when a large shipment has just arrived.' Or something to that effect.”

Oskar's wide desk was cluttered with stacks of parchment, various kinds of pipes, feather quills, and bottles of ink. A nearly spent candle sputtered on a brass candlestick and lit up an ancient-looking map that was unrolled on the center of the desk. Tink moved closer to examine it.

“Easy, young Igiby,” Oskar said, scooting behind the desk and turning over the map. “Surely your big brother's told you that not everything here is permissible for young eyes. There are mysteries in the world that should remain mysteries for the young.”

Tink flushed, embarrassed that he was already in trouble. Janner caught his eye and gave him an encouraging wink.

“Where did all these books come from, sir?” Tink asked.

Oskar's eyes twinkled as they took in his shop with pride. It was easy to get Oskar to talk about his books. “The real question, young Tink, is where
didn't
these books come from. I traveled all over Skree after the Great War, salvaging what could be salvaged. You wouldn't believe the rubble. Those rotten Fangs burned our homes and cities to the ground. But as it always does, the dust settled. As the Skreeans began to unearth a life again, they also unearthed these treasures. Books. Only they weren't treasures anymore. Not to everyone. I knew that I had to gather them up, preserve them.”

At the mention of the Great War, Janner's thoughts once again returned to his father. He had never asked Oskar if he had known his father, or if he knew any details about his death. Until recently, the subject was studiously avoided in the Igiby cottage. When he had found the picture in his mother's room, it was as if a crack formed in the dam that held back his father's memory; Esben Igiby was seeping into Janner's thoughts, and there was no way to seal the leak.

Janner wanted to ask Oskar what he might know, but Oskar was busy dusting off piles of books and rambling. “Most people were working so hard at rebuilding and adjusting to life with evil snake men breathing down their necks that they didn't have time for books,” he muttered. “They were given to me or sold for pennies. As the infamous Bweesley the Leaf Thief said in his memoir, ‘Cheap is almost free.' Look around you, lads. This is the best of the old Skree. Or at least, it's what's left of it.”

Janner and Tink stood in the silence of the study. Suddenly the piles of books and cluttered shelves were somehow more than that. What Oskar had preserved was the memory of a world that had passed away—as surely as Esben Igiby had passed away. Oskar too seemed lost in thoughts about the past. He tenderly cradled a stack of books in his hands. “On Dragon Day,” he said, “the people who visit me come to remember who they were. They always leave sad.”

Janner pictured in his mind the faces of the people in town with their weak smiles and hollow laughter.

“Now then,” Oskar said, interrupting Janner's thoughts. “Here's what I need from you two. I'll sit here at the desk and keep record of the books and their categories—very taxing on the mind, I assure you—and you two unload the crates and stack them where old Oskar Noss Reteep tells you. Just holler out the title and author. Can you handle that?”

Janner's and Tink's nods halted as Oskar swung open the large double-door to reveal a stack of eighteen wooden crates of various sizes sitting on the lawn, piled precariously high. On top of the highest crate perched Zouzab, who smiled at the shock on the boys' faces.

“Well! We have much to do, I'd say!” Oskar chuckled as he sat at his desk and lit his pipe. “What was it the great poet Shank Po wrote?”

“Huh?” Tink asked.

“Ah yes,” Oskar said with a puff of smoke. “‘Get thee busy.'”