The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (12 page)

It was sometime in the night when he heard a rustling noise and awoke. The moon was full and high and the night was filled with shadows. Nizz looked for the two children but they were no longer tucked into their blankets. Instead, they were both standing by the river’s edge, staring at strange, twisted shadows that played over the water. The children seemed mesmerized.

Nizz looked up and he could see that the shadows came from great shapes that were darting and moving beneath the moonlight. Huge bats? He felt a deep fear of being eaten, and tucked lower into his clover patch. The world he had found, which seemed so pleasant at first, now seemed ominous and filled with danger. He wanted to call out to the children, to warn them, but even if he had allowed himself to speak, his body seemed incapable of even a low buzz. He watched, stricken with fear. The shadows darted and drew closer, until they made a dark circle in the air, whirling above the children’s heads. The shadow made a black circuit around the moon—a moon that Nizz now realized was a great deal closer in the sky than his own, familiar moon.

Could it be, he wondered, that he was not only in a different place on Earth, but also in a different time? A time in which the moon clung closer in the sky, and
when Dull Bees such as himself were just beginning to think, to record? If a bee were to speak to these children, they would no doubt be shocked and even horrified.

All this went through the bee’s mind in an instant. The children stared at the dark circle as it lowered to them, closer and closer still. There was a whining, grating noise in the air. They were still as statues. Nizz knew that something was very wrong, and only he could stop what was about to happen.

Nizz did not even hesitate. He buzzed quickly through the grass and landed on the girl’s shoulder, for she seemed the wiser of the two.

“Quickly!” shrieked Nizz in her ear, breaking his vow with two raspy syllables. “You must not look. The shadow is terrible danger!”

The girl winced and tore her eyes from the black-rimmed moon and stumbled back a step. Nizz flew to the boy.

“Run!” he said. “Run toward the darkness of the forest. This shadow is a bad thing. Do not look at it!”

The boy, too, passed a hand over his eyes, as if awakening from a deep sleep. The girl caught his hand and they turned and ran, abandoning their precious blankets and sack of food by the riverside. Nizz buzzed along beside them, urging them on. Now that his voice was unleashed, he used it to great effect, punctuating every command with sharp buzzes and whirs. The children, now back to their old selves, followed his directions: “Run right, now straight. Head for the darkest part of the woods. Do not stop!”

Nizz could still see the moon winking through the trees, but he knew it was dangerous. The light helped guide the shadow to the children. Suddenly and without warning—and to his immense relief—the world went entirely and completely dark. He could not even hear the children’s breathing and hurried footsteps. He could not see trees, or the cold and ominous moon. Then he realized he was trapped in a smooth dark tunnel. It was the very tunnel through which he had entered this world. He wriggled his body, painfully inching toward a wan light that now shone at the exit.

Back in the cell in the Shrike’s stronghold, Tully had shut the lid of the wooden box.

Copernicus followed the Shrikes at a safe distance, sniffing for the scent of the Balehounds. They had been put back in their keeps, he thought, since the scent was cold. The Shrikes were talking nonstop, which made it easier to follow discreetly—not that Copernicus was ever particularly noisy.

The Shrikes seemed excited and happy, which made Copernicus’ snout twitch in disgust. Horrid little rodent-birds! Minions of greater evils! That they seemed to have so much power here troubled him excessively. For whom were they working and why? He stayed close along the wall, in the shadows, where he could hear the Shrikes’ nickering clucks and rattles.

“Number 375 says that this may be the breakthrough,” said one Shrike.

“I, for one, am ready to leave this cold dungeon,” said another. This Shrike had a black hatchmark above its right eye, so Copernicus determined to call him Hatch.

The first Shrike, who was rounder and fatter than some of the others, he would call Fatty. Copernicus nearly laughed in that breathy way that snakes do.

“You’ve always hated it here, Number 215,” said Fatty to Hatch. “You do not realize how important our work is?”

“I long for the sun,” said Hatch, and Copernicus felt a strange sympathy with the creature.

“The Hundred do not care for the sun,” said Fatty warningly. “And neither should you.”

Hatch made a guttural grunt in reply, and the two Shrikes marched in silence. Finally, Fatty’s excitement broke through once again.

“If this succeeds we will meet our masters,” he said. “I have often wondered what they will say; how they will thank us. What do you think, 215?”

“I think they will have little use for us once this is over,” said Hatch sourly.

Fatty breathed in sharply. “Never say such things!” he hissed. “The Hundred will be most thankful for the hard labors of the Shrike force. The Shrikes will be elevated above all other creatures. The Shrikes will inherit the bounty of the earth once the other creatures are forced into submission. The Shrikes—“

“Stop!” said Hatch. “You and all the rest simply parrot the teachings. You do not think.”

Offended, Fatty moved forward in the crowd to distance himself from Hatch. He cast the Shrike with the black mark a curious, sidelong glance, as if the things Hatch was saying were pure poison and not to be tolerated.

“Watch out,” thought Copernicus. Individual ideas were not appreciated among the Shrikes, and Hatch was clearly an unusual member of the species. He almost seemed to have emotions. Copernicus decided he would stay near Hatch and hear what he had to say.

By now the Shrikes had entered a long auditorium, at the end of which was a raised dais. The ceiling was very high, and it could have been a lovely room if not for the lack of natural light and the absence of any artistry in the bare, industrial architecture. They all took seats on stone blocks and waited expectantly. Copernicus found it an easy task to hide in the crevices beneath the stone seats, and he stuck close by Hatch as the rebellious Shrike found his seat. A low thrumming began as all the Shrikes flapped their stubby wings in unison, and clacked their beaks. Strange electricity in the air made their fur stand on end, like sharp spikes. Copernicus noticed that while Hatch flapped his wings dutifully with the rest, no sound emerged from his beak.

Finally, with a crescendo of clacking and shrieking, a figure emerged abruptly onto the dais. Copernicus raised his head gently to see who it was.

It was doubtless the largest Shrike he had ever seen. Fully double the size of its brethren, this Shrike was hideous in every aspect. In fact, it was less a Shrike than a Fantastic Grout—a horrible amalgam of the species without any of the warmth or charm of Fantastic Grouts Copernicus had known. Aarvord, he thought pitifully, where are you, and what is this thing?

The Shrike-Grout stood there stupidly, and Copernicus wondered if it was the Supreme Leader of this group. It certainly seemed menacing enough. But, no. In the next moment, a small and wiry Shrike with great, bushy eyebrows stepped onto the dais, and brushed past the creature. He spoke in a squeaky voice.

“Behold what we have done!” he screamed, gesturing to the Shrike-Grout with a great sense of propriety. “We have succeeded!”

The entire auditorium erupted in a chorus of clacks and shrieks. Most of the Shrikes leapt to their webbed feet in order to better view the creature, and Copernicus was lost beneath stamping fur, feet, and feathers.

“Be seated!” ordered the bushy-eyebrowed Shrike and they obeyed, as one.

“It is stupid, yes. But it does what we ask of it,” said Bushy (Copernicus had already named him). And Bushy poked at the Shrike-Grout and commanded, “Cut!” He handed it a length of board.

The creature extricated a ragged, bony saw from beneath its feathers—something made of bone and hide and sinew—and it sawed the board neatly in half.

The Shrikes erupted again as if they had seen a particularly pleasing circus act.

“Stupid, awful things!” thought Copernicus. “Don’t they want to know how this thing was
made
. It doesn’t seem right, not at all. And why bother cutting wooden boards? What purpose could it serve?”

“This is but the beginning!” howled Bushy. “This is the beginning that will lead to the release. For you know what is next, my friends. You know what we are working on, tirelessly, night and day. What all of us are working on. A Went that will obey us. Those earthbound creatures, with no imagination,” he sneered. “Those pitiful
plants
. For they are nothing more fancy than that, my friends. Plants! Much as the vines and tendrils that do our bidding!”

The Shrikes stirred and muttered, angry now. Their Went prisoners had frustrated them, and now they wanted satisfaction. Copernicus watched Hatch, and saw that he seemed almost caught up in the fervor—but not quite. Hatch’s eyes appeared as glassy as did the others, true, but he did not sway in his seat as the others did. He was quite, quite still. And, as Hatch watched the creature on the dais, Copernicus thought he could see his
beak twitch with disgust. “He thinks it’s wrong, too,” thought the snake. “He knows that this isn’t right.”

“It will not be long, my Shrikes,” said Bushy. “You have been faithful and tireless. You have tried everything within your power. Some efforts have been close. All have eventually failed. Until now. This—” he paused dramatically. “This will be the final effort.”

Without warning a strident horn sounded in the auditorium. “Intruder alert! Release the Balehounds!” shrieked a high Shrike voice. Copernicus stiffened. He must get out, quickly, but there was nowhere to go. He had but one choice, and it was a dreadful one. A gate opened at the side of the auditorium, as the Balehounds were released from their keeps. Their claws skittered over the stone floor. Copernicus knew that there was one thing that they loved above any other meal, and that was
snake
. There were so many of them. Copernicus twitched in terror, and then he did the only thing he knew he could do. He shot up the stone seat and tucked into the feathers and fur of Hatch.

“Please,” he whispered. “I am a friend. Do not turn me in.”

Hatch did not move or even acknowledge that Copernicus had climbed atop him. Copernicus took this for assent. It was the only option he had at that moment.

But much to his surprise, he was not the intruder they had been seeking. From the safety of Hatch’s feathers, he could see the Balehounds drag a form from beyond the curtains that rimmed the dais. Someone had been hiding in there, and it was Aarvord. The Fantastic Grout looked thin and unhappy, but none the worse for wear—except for the fact that a Balehound’s teeth were hooked around one of his arms. Copernicus shuddered, and the Shrike whispered two words: “Stay still.” Copernicus relaxed, hoping that he was really with a friend. A dubious friend, perhaps, but the best this place could offer.

Aarvord was pulled forward onto the dais and the Shrike-Grout looked at him dully.

“Stop this thing!” shouted Aarvord in his greatest booming voice. “This is wrong!”

The Shrikes shrieked with laughter. Copernicus felt a wild exultation; his friend was not a traitor! His friend would stand up for what was right!

Aarvord—in fear or else in rage—extracted every one of his tools at once, from the glowing appendage on his forehead to the saw-like protrusions on his arms. Bushy stood next to Aarvord, and he looked puny and weak in comparison with a Fantastic Grout in his fearsome, full bloom.

But the Bushy Shrike was not deterred. “What shall we do with this interloper, this escapee, who dares to interrupt our ceremonies? What shall we do, friends?”

The response of the Shrikes was immediate and unanimous: “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

Copernicus tucked his head low into Hatch’s feathers; he could not bear to watch this. Why had Aarvord hidden here, of all places? Why sacrifice himself to these stupid creatures? Coper vaguely wondered how Aarvord had escaped, and where his sister might be.

“Better still,” said Bushy. “Let them kill each other, for we have little more use for this oddity.” He gestured at the Shrike-Grout, which did not seem to acknowledge or understand. “Better yet, a test. Let us see how it will do our bidding. Let it prove its loyalty.”

Bushy approached the Shrike-Grout and said slowly, “Kill the interloper.” The Shrike-Grout seemed to perk up. It looked at Aarvord with menace. But it was clearly a stupid thing, and lacked any hardened battle skills. Not that Aarvord had ever engaged in more than fisticuffs, thought Copernicus dully. If this other creature had been bred for war, then Aarvord would be outmatched. Despite this, his friend had puffed himself up to an enormous size and his face was almost unrecognizable in its bloated, furious aspect. He looked a bit like Hen-Hen, thought Copernicus.

The Shrike-Grout may have been mentally dull, but it lashed out with sudden quickness and Copernicus gasped. Aarvord barely parried its initial thrust with a saw-toothed blade that emerged from somewhere near its elbow. There was an almost metallic clang, and the Shrike-Grout was deterred. Aarvord had released a shield of bone near his breastbone, just in time.

Copernicus wished he could help, but he knew that to leave the safety of Hatch’s feathers was certain sacrifice. (The Balehounds still sniffed noisily up and down the auditorium, as if they had just caught the scent of snake.)

The ugly fight continued, with the Shrike-Grout battling lazily, like an automaton—trying one trick after another. Aarvord did not attack but merely deflected each blow. The Shrike audience watched from their seats, as if at a particularly diverting theater performance, none rising to assist or even cheer on their pathetic creation. They made small clacking sounds of appreciation for the spectacle.

Aarvord, on the defense until now, suddenly struck out with a huge, spatulate paw and knocked the Shrike-Grout clear off the dais. It fell to the feet of the Shrikes in the front row, rolled into a ball, and let out a howl of anguish that was partly Shrikish in its shrieky, clacking manner and partly the mournful groan of a Fantastic Grout in terrible pain. The latter half of its cry of pain struck Copernicus to the core, and he quivered inside Hatch’s feathers with fear and rage. The Shrike-Grout did not move to continue the battle but, still, the Bushy Shrike prodded at it with a short stick.

“Get up!” he shrieked. “You have been commanded!”

But the Shrike-Grout only wept piteously.

Bushy turned its face to Aarvord. “You have won the right to kill it,” he said. “Come down and finish your work.”

Aarvord shook his great, froggy head. “I will not,” he boomed. “I will not do such evil.”

Hatch suddenly rose in his seat and Copernicus trembled with fear. Would he be discovered?

“Hail the great victor!” shouted Hatch. “He will be of use to us! He is strong! Hail the great victor!”

The Shrikes around him, stupid followers that they were, also rose, repeating the sentiment “Hail the great victor!” Bushy was clearly annoyed and flummoxed by this turn of affairs, but could do nothing to turn the tide of sentiment. More and more Shrik
es rose, parroting the phrase “Hail the great victor!” until the hall was alive with noise and clacking beaks.

“Very well!” screamed Bushy above the rabble. “Very well! They will fight again, in the dawn.” He turned to Aarvord. The Fantastic Grout stood stern against the rising chorus of Shrike-babble.

“It is well you did not kill him at once,” said Bushy in a low tone to Aarvord who shuddered at the threat in his words. “What would your sister have thought?”

“What’s this to do with my sister?” asked Aarvord.

“It is your own kin you seek to kill, friend,” said Bushy slyly. He laughed maniacally as Aarvord turned a darker shade of green and staggered for balance. “We’ll make use of you yet,” threatened Bushy, and gestured to a phalanx of guards. But the guards shook their heads. They had been infused with the chants of “hail the great victor” and like all members of stupid crowds they could not be swayed by reason. The chant continued, inexorably. Louder it grew. Aarvord walked down the length of the auditorium, quickly, faster now, and had left by the back entry before Bushy had whipped his guards into sense. By the time they had the wits to follow the Fantastic Grout, he was gone. Even the Balehounds seemed confused, and bounded to and fro like foolish puppies.