The Mapmaker's Sons (17 page)

“You might suggest nothing.”

“Of course. My apologies. Given the importance of the sword, I was only concerned—”

“Given the importance of the sword, do you truly believe I would let its fate rest in the hands of the incompetent fools who surround me?” Keegan tightened his fingers around the stem of his goblet. “I have made the necessary arrangements. There will be no failure. The sword will be delivered into my hands by this time tomorrow night.”

“Your faith in me is truly touching,” said a voice from across the balcony. A lone man stepped from the shadows and moved toward them. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

Keegan turned, eyeing him coolly. “You're late. I trust everything is going according to plan?”

“Of course. Exactly as you desired.”

“The mapmaker's sons suspect nothing?”

“How could they? I've been the model of care and concern. First, saving Tom's skin in the bell tower just in the nick of time, and then ensuring he and Porter escape the evil clutches of you and your men in the warehouse.” Umbrey paused, giving Keegan a small bow. “With all due respect, Sire.”

“You should have gone with them.”

Umbrey shook his head. He reached for a goblet and poured himself a generous serving of wine. “I would have only slowed them down. I'll be here to receive them when they return. That's all that matters.”

Keegan frowned and looked out into the night. “You're certain they will find the sword?”

“If the Sword of Five Kingdoms is meant to be found, they are the two to find it.”

The wavering response was not lost on Keegan. He reached inside his pocket and removed a small silk pouch. “Five simple stones,” he said, spreading them carefully on a highly polished table. “Some men look at them and think they are worthless. Other men behold them and see the power to rule the world. Which do you see, my one-legged friend?”

Umbrey smiled. “I, Sire, am a practical man. I do not see stones at all. I see opportunity. I did not ask for a mewling babe to be dropped in my hands, but since one was, why should I not benefit from the situation? As I hope to grow old one day, why not make that age a vastly more comfortable one?”

A cynical smile touched Keegan's lips. “You see money.”

“That was our bargain, was it not?”

“All those years you pretended to be a trusted friend to the mapmaker, yet now you betray his sons.”

“Some opportunities simply don't allow for sentimentality.” Umbrey released a dramatic sigh. “A shame, but who am I to question the way the world works?”

Keegan studied him for a long moment, then nodded to the sergeant, who removed a velvet pouch from his vest pocket and tossed it on the table. Heavy gold coins spilled across its surface. “A small taste of what is to come.” Umbrey reached for the money, but Keegan covered the coins with his hand. “I believe you know what will happen if you fail to deliver.”

A look of mock horror filled Umbrey's features. “May I be stripped naked before a crowd of thousands and roasted alive over a bed of burning coals.”

“A colorful fantasy, but one I'm afraid I won't be able to indulge. Too much trouble. Should you fail, I'll simply have my men slit your throat.”

Umbrey inclined his head. “There will be no need for that. The brothers trust me. Everything is going exactly as planned. They will do whatever I tell them. You will have Salamaine's sword.”

T
om woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. His hand had rested on top of the curled map as he slept. Suddenly aware of a sharp, stinging sensation, he pulled his hand back to find a large splinter lodged in the center of his palm. A warning of some sort, he recognized instinctively as he pulled the splinter free. Warning him not to enter the Miserable Forest? Or something more sinister—a vision of Umbrey's peg leg rose unbidden in his mind. But the image skirted away before he could fully grasp it, leaving him edgy and uneasy.

He sighed and stared up into the sky. The stars had faded. He had no idea what time it was, but something about the faint pink quality of the light suggested daybreak. Great clouds of fog rose from the swamp, drifting across the open ground like ghostly tumbleweeds.

His gaze fell on Willa. She sat by the small fire they'd built the previous night, absently poking it with a stick. Something about her stance told him she'd been awake for a while. Porter and Mudge still slept. Tom rolled to his feet and moved quietly to the fire, seating himself across from her.

Their eyes met. She had twisted her hair into a loose braid;
pale violet smudges showed beneath her eyes. “Get any sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not after the drumming started.” Late in the night—or perhaps at some early hour that morning—the four of them had awakened to the sound of drumming coming from deep within the forest. The drumming had gone on for hours, as steady as a heartbeat, like the pulse of some great, sleeping giant. Tom shifted, and Professor Lost's journal pressed against his ribs. It had been poking him all night—a large part of the reason he hadn't been able to get comfortable. He removed it and tossed it on the ground.

“What is that?”

“Homework.” At her puzzled look, he continued, “A means of torturing children where I come from.” She opened her mouth as though to ask, but he waved the question away. “Never mind.”

She shrugged and reached for her pack. “Hungry?”

Tom nodded, and she cut two thick slices from a loaf of dark bread. Using these as plates, she topped each slice with bits of gamey-tasting roasted fowl, a handful of gooey figs, and flaky wedges of dry, brick-like cheese. They washed it down with a bottle of sweet red liquid, the juice of a fruit he didn't know, but whose sharp tang reminded him of pomegranate. It was the same meal they'd had last night, but Tom wasn't complaining. It tasted good.

“I'm glad you hung on to the food,” he said after a minute. “If I'd been carrying it, I probably would have chucked it at the dogs for them to fight over.”

“That would have been clever. I was too terrified to think of anything but getting away.”

“You thought of the pepper powder.”

She frowned. “It's worthless unless you're at close range,” she said. She withdrew a small pouch of the stuff and tossed it to Tom, then gave the fire an impatient poke. “I shouldn't have frozen on the cliff like that. It was stupid.”

“Heights bother a lot of people.”

“It wasn't that. It was the dogs. I was shaking so badly I was certain I'd fall. The dogs were right there, right below me. I could
smell
them. I thought—” She broke off abruptly. Her body seemed to be humming with an energy she couldn't contain, her words trapped inside her.

“Everyone was scared,” Tom said.

She looked at him, then lowered her gaze, her eyes locked on the fire's twisting blue flames. “When I was young, very young, a group of hunters came to our door late at night. The harvest had been good, but most of it had been taken by The Watch. People were hungry. The hunters thought they'd try their luck looking for game in the swamp. The dogs found them. These were large men, skilled with their weapons. Together they were able to fight the dogs off. But not all of them escaped. The dogs dragged one man away …

“My father had inherited my grandfather's skills. He was known for his healing remedies. But it was far too late to do anything for the hunter. The dogs had ripped his clothing apart, torn open his flesh. The man's moans … it took him hours to die. It would have been more merciful had one of his friends slit his throat when they found him.”

Tom looked at her, stunned. “You saw what the dogs would do if they caught you, but you kept going into the swamp?”

Willa attempted a weak smile. “It's the only place I can find the herbs I sell.” She gave a loose shrug. “I'd never ventured that far into the swamp before yesterday. Never actually
seen
the dogs.”

“You're brave. Braver than I would have been.”

A rueful smile touched her lips. “No. I just pretend I am.”

“Maybe pretending is enough. It got you through the swamp.”

Their eyes met and held for a moment. She turned away, rubbing her hands over her arms as though warding off a chill. “The swamp was once part of the forest. It's said that Draydor bred the beasts specifically to guard against poachers.”

“Where I come from, those are definitely not dogs.”

Willa leaned forward, studying him intently. “Where
do
you come from?”

“I've been wondering that myself,” Tom admitted, glancing at the map. “Obviously I didn't grow up here in The Beyond, or in any of the Five Kingdoms. I mean, I know
where
I grew up, but I don't know how it's connected to where we are now.”

“Father called it the Other Side,” Porter answered from behind him.

Tom turned to find his brother and Mudge coming to join them. The mood of quiet intimacy he and Willa had shared suddenly shifted.

Porter helped himself to a generous serving of food, assembling the bread plate the same way Willa had. He made a second plate and passed it to Mudge. Though Porter looked alert and ready to go, Mudge was almost comically unkempt. His clothing was rumpled, his eyes half-shut, his hair standing on end. He accepted the food with a yawn and plopped down to eat.

“You won't find the Other Side on any map,” Porter said, nodding toward the parchment. “Father rarely spoke of it. He certainly wouldn't have drawn it on a map that might be found. In some ways he protected it even more than he protected the sword.”

Willa looked at him.”What exactly is the Other Side?” she asked.

“According to my father,” Porter replied, “the Other Side is a land created by exiles. People fled there during the Dark Days. They sealed the passage after them so no one, good or bad, could get through. They were done with legends, battles, magic. They wanted to shut the past out completely. Build a new world. It was supposed to be … safe.”

“What was it like to live there?” Mudge asked, studying Tom with rapt fascination.

Tom hesitated, comparing what he'd seen of Mudge's world to his own. He struggled to put his impressions into words. Some things were obviously different. No cars, planes, cable TV. Lacking magic, he'd grown up in a world that relied heavily on science. But that wasn't the only difference. He thought of Professor Lost and his structure and order, the rigidity of his rules. Granted, he'd been safe there—temporarily, at least. But he hadn't felt anywhere near as alive. Everything felt more intense here. Everything looked more intense here. Even the way things smelled and tasted was different. Stronger. As if all of his senses were turned up a notch. There was cruelty here, yes. But wild beauty as well. It was as though the world in which he'd lived was just a watered-down version of what life really was.

Just as Tom was about to speak, something struck him. He looked at Porter. “You said the passage was supposed to be sealed, but people found a way to get between worlds. How does that work?”

Porter shook his head. “Father never told me. Only he and a few others—men he trusted completely—knew how to move from our world to yours.”

“Yet The Watch found a way through,” Tom mused. “Somebody must have shown them where the passage is, how it works.” He looked at his brother. “Who else knew about it besides our father?”

“I'm not entirely sure. Umbrey, naturally. He and Father were always close. And the scribe who discovered Marrick's prophecy, of course.”

“Why ‘of course'?”

“He's the one Father entrusted to raise you on the Other Side. Very intelligent man, apparently.” Porter paused, thinking. “He had an odd name. Martin Looking … Mordred Loose …”