The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) (20 page)

“You did it!” cried Nick.

Finch was not celebrating. He stared aghast at the distant end of the long table and pointed with the knife. “Look!”

A single dark twiggy leg hooked over the corner of the tabletop, then two more, and the first spider-head hauled itself up. It stood there, propped on all eight limbs, with the bald baby head bobbing up and down in the center. The hideous thing was tuckered out from the climb. It panted, with its too-long tongue hanging from its fanged mouth and dribbling drool. It stared quizzically at Nick and Finch, unsure if it should approach them alone.

“Get me out!” screamed Finch, his words blurring together.
“Get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out!”

“Give me your knife. Now!” said Nick Finch slapped the handle of the dagger into Nick’s hand. He ran around Finch’s cage to the side with the door. But instead of picking the lock immediately, he stepped back out of arm’s reach.

“What? What are you waiting for?” Finch screamed, in a voice hoarse from shouting.

“Promise you won’t hurt me,” Nick said.

“I promise! I swear! Now get me out! I’m begging you!”

“All right. Watch that thing for me, though.” He put the tip of the knife inside the keyhole.

Finch shouted frantic instructions at him. “No, not there, the other side! Feel around for the little pin—it’s like a lever you have to lift—and get the knife under it! Have you got it? Now push down on the handle to force it up, and turn the blade as you push—that’s right!
Look out behind you!”

Gnasher snuffed out the last of the fires in the great hall. Only a few harmless piles of embers were left. Those would die on the stone before long.

But why was the smoke still growing thicker? Gnasher raised his nose and sniffed. He saw smoke running like an upside-down river along the ceiling of the corridor to the rope-weaving room. If that room was on fire, full as it was with the dry shreds and husks of the vines, there would be no putting it out. He would be
lucky to retrieve his armor and weapons from the end of the corridor.

Gnasher threw back his head and howled, rapping his fists against his skull.

Enough of this. It was time to leave this place. Just one more trip back to his room to collect the prisoners—he would still have his revenge on them for releasing his mother. And then, let the conquest begin.

Nick whirled around to see the spider-head rushing at him, its legs clattering across the surface of the table. Its fangs were bared and its gaze was fixed on his ankle. He drew back his foot and kicked savagely at the thing as it went for his other leg. There was a satisfying thud as he struck it hard, right under the chin. The creature didn’t weigh much—the head felt as light and hollow as a dry gourd—and it flew up and tumbled in the air before landing on its back a good distance away. The spider-head howled and its skinny legs went wild, scratching at air as it scrambled to right itself. It limped in a circle with its eyes crossing and rolling. Then it wandered too near the edge and blundered off. A second later there came a sickening sound, like the splat of rotten fruit on the stone floor below.

“The lock! Get the lock before more—” began Finch, and then he cut off his own words with a strangled, frightened screech. Nick looked to the end of the table. Dozens more of the disgusting things had mounted the
tabletop. Now they waited quietly at the far corners, their numbers amassing as the slower members of the brood reached the top. The early arrivers stood high on their legs, bobbing in place to separate rhythms, whispering to each other in shrill voices that made Nick’s flesh crawl With every passing second, another one or two climbed over the side and joined the swarm.

There were at least fifty now, enough to overwhelm the man and the boy. They advanced cautiously, fanning out across the width of the table as if following some unspoken battle plan.

“The lock!” screamed Finch.
“Open the lock, the lock, the lock, the lock, the lock!”

Nick slid the knife back inside the keyhole. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what to do. The horde was halfway there. They were getting bolder, coming faster. Their whispers grew fiercer, and some giggled with excitement.

Nick found the pin with the knife’s blade. He held the handle tight and lifted his feet off the floor to put all his weight into the task. The pin moved and the bolt popped.

With a chorus of squeals, the spider-heads dashed forward in a chaotic mob, the fast hopping over the slow. It sounded like a storm of hailstones sweeping toward them across the wooden plain.

Finch shoved the cage door with both hands. Nick was on the other side and the door slammed into him as it swung open, knocking him back and down. The little
knife fell out of the lock and stuck upright, twanging, in the table’s surface.

Finch snatched up the knife. He looked at Nick lying at his feet and paused for a moment. Then he saw the spider-heads closing in fast, and thought only of escape. He tucked the knife into the sheath at his calf, and reached through the bars of the cage for the bone with the thread wound around it. The other end of the thread was still knotted to Nicks cage. Finch ran backward to the edge of the table, holding the bone loosely so that it rolled in his hands and the thread unwound.

Nick got up, rubbing the back of his head, and turned in time to see Finch step back off the tables edge, just before the first of the spider-heads reached him.

“Thanks for the escape, Nick. You’re on your own!” called Finch as he dropped out of sight. The thread snapped taut between him and the cage.

A small group of spider-heads broke ahead of the pack and swarmed upon Nick. He jumped and grabbed the bars of his cage, drawing his legs up beyond the reach of the clutching legs and stabbing fangs. He pulled himself up the bars and onto the solid roof of the cage and then turned, ready to kick the first ugly head that popped up.

The smooth, slender bars were an obstacle for the spider-heads. They tried to climb but lost their footing and slid back to the tabletop. For a moment Nick
thought he’d found safe refuge from the monstrosities. But dozens more were arriving, and they crawled on top of their siblings and gripped the bars. The next to arrive climbed on top of those, and the heap of ugly heads and writhing legs piled up rapidly against the side of the cage. They would reach Nick in moments.

Finch looked something like a spider himself as he turned the bone in his hands and let the thread out slowly to lower himself from the table. When it was completely unwound, he would be close enough to drop to the floor without injury.

When Finch looked down, preparing to let go, he saw a group of spider-heads waiting for him, surrounding the spot where he would land. Above him, he saw three more beginning to follow him down the thread. Something splashed on Finch’s cheek from above. It was a tiny drop of poison from one of those fangs. An instant after it landed, his cheek went cold and numb.

Finch swung his legs forward, then back, and started to swing. The spider-heads below scuttled back and forth to match his motion. Finch continued to thrust and kick, and the arc of his swing grew longer. The creatures below scrambled to keep up. Above him, the trio of spider-heads descended quickly.

Finch timed his release as best he could and flew out beyond the creatures. He laughed as he landed on his
feet with athletic grace, while the abandoned thread and bone swung back and forth in the air. Only two spider-heads were on it now.

The pile of spider-heads had reached the top of Nicks cage. They spilled over the edge and ran at him. Nick hopped across to the other cage.

The spider-heads had not anticipated this, and none was waiting on top of the second cage to intercept the boy. He slid down the bars to the tabletop.

There was no way to follow Finch down the thread; the spider-heads blocked that path. Now the frantic horde was coming at him, spreading out to block every escape. Nick did the only thing left to do. He turned and sprinted to the end of the table, and when he reached the edge, he leaped out as far as his legs could propel him.

He was airborne forever, it seemed, running in space, and he thought for a moment that he would not make it over the wall surrounding the pool. The tip of his shoe even clipped the stone as he went by, and then he slapped the water hard. It stung every inch of him. He plunged deep into the cold black pool, and when he stopped sinking, he brought himself to the surface with a few hard kicks and a broad sweep of his arms.

Nick saw the spider-heads gathered along the edge of the table, wailing miserably. He shook his fist at the creatures and whooped in triumph. “Ha!”

Finch didn’t see the smallest of the brood leap off the rope after him. Before he took his first step for the door, the leggy thing landed on his back and sprang for his neck, and he screamed and twisted as the tiny fangs pierced the skin behind his ear.

He reached over his shoulder and clawed at the spider-head. His fist closed around one of its legs and he whipped it over his head and dashed it to the floor. The skull broke in two against the stone, but the legs went on twitching and crawling, dragging the halves in opposite directions before their strength began to ebb.

Finch cursed, but the words came out in a mumble. The fangs had been in him for only an instant, but suddenly his neck and face were numb, and he couldn’t feel his legs or arms anymore. He tried to lift his hand but it barely responded. Looking down, he saw his legs wobble, but it was like watching someone else’s legs. He toppled over onto his back. He expected pain when his head struck the floor, but there was none—only the dull
thock
of head on stone.

The venom was selective. Finch could hear and see and breathe, but otherwise could barely move. He had fallen face up, staring at the ceiling. The other spider-heads were coming now. He could hear their little feet scrabbling across the floor. And then they were on him. He knew they were there, could vaguely sense them crawling over him. He tried to shake them off but could
only manage a little twitch. One of the creatures climbed right onto his face and stared into his eyes for a moment before dipping its fangs into Finch’s cheek.

Nick climbed out of the water and onto the wall at the edge of the pool. His stomach went sour as he saw Finch prone on the floor, with spider-heads all over him and more on the way. Then the door to Gnasher’s room swung open, and the little creatures hopped off of Finch’s body and ran for the shadows. Nick slipped back into the water. He let himself sink deep, then swam underwater to the other side of the pool where he would be out of sight behind the wall.

Gnasher was already in a foul mood from battling the flames, but his anger redoubled when he saw the open cages, the hanging thread, and Finch on the floor. Some of the spider-heads were slow to run away. Gnasher lifted his foot and squashed them flat. “Nettlesome bugs! Look what you’ve done to my captive!”

Gnasher scooped up Finch’s limp body and stuffed him into the pouch he kept tied around his waist. Then he called out, in no particular direction, “Little morsel! Listen to me! I know you are here, hiding somewhere.

“I have no time to sniff you out, as much as I would like to. It is time to begin my conquest. But here is what I will do for you instead: Whenever I catch a child in the world below, I will tell them your name. Then I will crush them in the palm of my hand, in memory of Nick.
Your name will be the last thing they hear.”

Gnasher cocked his head, listening, hoping perhaps that his words would cause Nick to cry out. Then he strode to the door. “Farewell then!” The door slammed shut behind him.

Nick climbed out of the water again and stood dripping on the wall His chest was heaving, and his teeth and fists were clenched.

“Its not farewell. Not yet, you devil.”

Nick dropped to the floor and raced for the door. The spider-heads gave him no trouble. Most were still on the edge of the table, weeping for him, or climbing back down the legs. The ones that ventured back from hiding gathered around their smashed brethren and lapped up the ooze. Nick kept a wary eye on them as he passed by, but they were intent on their meal. He was grateful to leave Gnasher’s hellish room behind.

In the corridor, Nick took the knife from his pocket. It was a small weapon, but holding it made him feel a little braver.

Nick ran down the hallway. A thin haze collected at the ceiling high above. The closer he drew to the great hall, the thicker it became. The smell was pleasant compared to the castle’s ambient reek.

He approached the great hall with care, in case Gnasher was lying in wait for him. But the ogre was not there. Although the fires in the hall were mostly out,
heavy smoke from a second fire gushed from the opposite corridor.

There was no way to get to the treasure room now, but Nick did not care about the gold or jewels any more. He crossed the hall to the front door. Outside, it was liberating to see the open sky once again, and a steady breeze brought welcome fresh air. Nick breathed in, deep and long. Then he turned to the left and followed the wall around the perimeter of the castle.

He intended to put a slice in the rope—somehow.

Nick peered around the back corner. The cart was still there. Gnasher stood by it, looking around warily. Nick pulled his head back as the ogre glanced in his direction.

Nick wondered where Basher was, and then he heard the brutish ogre coughing violently. Risking another peek, he saw Basher emerge from the rear entrance, his arms heaped with weapons and armor. The brute ogre stumbled around, hacking and half-blind from the smoke inside the castle.

“Over here, fool!” Gnasher called impatiently. “Did you get all of it?”

Basher nodded. He brought the load to the cart and dumped it onto the flat area behind the spool. Then he leaned against the cart and tried to rub the sting out of his eyes with the back of his big fists.

“Come on, brother,” said Gnasher. “Were leaving now.”

“Uhh?” grunted Basher.

“We can’t stay here with Mother lurking about trying
to ruin our plans, can we? Come on. We’re getting out of this rotten place. Let the conquest begin” The ogres went to the front of the cart and took opposite sides of the crosspiece to push the cart along.