8: Gorge-gobbler

Just before bedtime, they met in Windslow’s room. They both had backpacks they hoped would travel with them if they dream-slipped tonight. Windslow had a camp saw, hammer, compass, flashlight, rope, slingshot, pepper spray, a handful of nails, and his walkman and earphones. Hillary had bug spray, toilet paper, a tablet and pencils, safety pins, scotch tape, needle and thread, extra socks, moist towelettes, flashlight, and her walkman and earphones.

“Well, your stuff is just as dumb,” Windslow said to his sister, trying to keep his voice low. “I need this stuff so I can rescue you. I’m getting you out of Fistlock’s place.”

“Windslow, the shaft where I left Molly is barely big enough to crawl through and… and you don’t even have a wheel chair there. Do you even know where I am in that world? I don’t. You don’t even know where you are.”

“The wizards know. They’ll help me. I know they will. If I could just figure out how to close this stupid thing…” he said and pressed his thumb against the book latch without success. “Maybe I could trade the book for you? Fistlock is supposed to know how it works.”

“I don’t think we should trust him,” Molly said and buckled the straps on her backpack. “We need to find a way to stop going there in our dreams. And not sleeping won’t work. Find out everything you can if you dream-slip there tonight. No rescue. Promise me?”

“I could…”

“Windslow!”

“Okay. I promise, but here.” He pulled the rubber band off his wrist and handed it to her. “Wear this. It’s supposed to keep Fistlock from dream snatching you.”

“If the book travels with you, Windslow, and you end up in the cell, then we’re both in big trouble.”

“The wizards said it’s made from a rare plant. I cut this one from an old bicycle tire. It’s real rubber, not that fake stuff,” he said and held up a black rubber band nearly identical to the one he offered Hillary.

“I’ll wear the fake one,” Hillary said and grabbed it from her brother.

They talked more that night. When Bill hollered, ‘lights out.’ They both headed for bed.

***

Fistlock gave the bell another shove. Bitterbrun’s shoulders banged against the brass, giving off a muffled ring. He hung upside down inside the bell, his head just poking out past the bottom. He had to turn his face so the clapper wouldn’t hit him in the face again.

“The men searched everywhere, your Ruthlessness. The girls couldn’t have gone far. I wasn’t away that long.”

Fistlock shoved again. This time a small foil wrapped square fell from Bitterbrun’s clothes and landed on the wooden boards covering the opening to the well.

“What’s this?” Fistlock asked and unwrapped the foil.

“The chocolate you sent the scritch for. I even made her eat a bunch to keep her awake. I don’t think she dream-slipped yet.”

Fistlock touched his tongue to the corner of the chocolate, then sniffed it. “You’re sure she ate some of this?”

“I watched her eat it.”

“Distinctive smell,” Fistlock said and flicked his wrist.

Bitterbrun dropped in a heap on the well cover. He quickly rolled off and tumbled to the floor just before the planks faded and disappeared.

“I’d turn you into a gorge-gobbler, but I don’t have the time. Fetch me one.” Fistlock rested his elbows on the table while he waited. Bitterbrun ran from the room and came back quickly, holding a long pole out at an angle in front of him. A large birdcage hung from the end. The room filled with snarls and growls.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, straining to keep the cage suspended off the floor.

A ball of black shiny fur filled the inside of the two foot round cage. The hairs bristled and stuck out from the bars as the creature twisted, exposing two bright green eyes, a double row of needle teeth and ivory claws that scraped across the cage bottom. Fistlock held the chocolate between the tips of his finger and thumb, barely grasping one corner. His hand shook as he slowly moved the chocolate closer to the cage. The gorge-gobbler snarled and lurched. The cage swung and Fistlock jerked his hand back.

“Hold it steady!” He yelled at Bitterbrun. “If that thing nips me, you both go down the well together!”

Carefully he moved the chocolate forward again. The beast held still and sniffed, its pink nose puffing aside the hair that covered it. It began clawing toward the top of its cage. Fistlock helped Bitterbrun hold the pole.

“They went up there,” Fistlock said. A grin spread across his thin lips. “Let it out.”

Fistlock took the pole and held the cage up toward the bell while Bitterbrun pulled a long set of tongs out of his back pocket and climbed up on the table.

“Ready, your Smartness?” Bitterbrun asked.

Fistlock nodded and held the pole steady.

Bitterbrun leaned over and used the tongs to unclasp the birdcage door. The hairy creature leaped to the bell and climbed.

When the snarls faded, Fistlock looked up the shaft. Bright brass gleamed through claw scratches in the tarnished surface of the bell. The gorge-gobbler was gone.

“But it if kills the girl,” Bitterbrun said as he jumped down, “you won’t get any information from her.”

“No need to,” Fistlock answered. “She doesn’t have the book. I’ll send some of her body parts as a message to whoever does. There’s a link between them. I don’t need her alive to use it.”

***

There was no ‘ka-plunk.’ Windslow opened his eyes. He was sitting in the pink chair, facing three shoring wizards. “Haggerwolf, Lark--”

Windslow had to duck under the burst of light that shot from Fernbark’s wand. All three wizards jumped to their feet and pointed their magic sticks at him.

“Don’t sneak up on us like that, boy!” Haggerwolf grumbled.

“Sorry,” Fernbark said and put his wand inside his robe.

“I didn’t sneak,” Windslow said. “One minute I was no place and the next minute here. What am I supposed to do, ring a bell or something?”

“No need to be ornery,” Haggerwolf said.

“Yes there is,” Windslow said and checked for his backpack. It wasn’t there. “My sister is here too. Fistlock has her.”

Windslow told them everything he could remember about the dungeon, and passages. He also showed them his improvised rubber band, cut from an inner tube. He was proud of himself for fooling Hillary. He thought she would take the copy and had switched them. She took the real rubber band. Larkstone warned Windslow about taking that kind of a risk. He agreed with Hillary about what would happen if Fistlock got Windslow and the book. The wizards weren’t too happy to learn about Hillary’s companion, but wouldn’t say anything more.

“Did you have those things I asked you to make for me?” Windslow asked.

“We had the Forge-Twiddlers make them,” Fernbark answered. “They’re the only ones who could do it in a day.”

“Where are they?”

“I have them.” Fernbark reached into his vest pocket and took out something that he held between his thumb and finger. “Here they are,” he said and handed two perfectly crafted, inch and a half long crutches to Windslow.

“I can’t use these. They’re supposed to be bigger and long; from my armpit to the floor.”

“Hm… seems we jotted down the ‘under your armpit’ part but not the dimensions. The Forge-Twiddlers worked from your sketch.”

“See, they’re perfect,” Larkstone said. He took one of the crutches and placed it on top of the sketch. “An exact match. Don’t worry about it. We can fix them. Now let me take a look at your back.”

Windslow was both worried and excited about what Fernbark was going to try with his magic. Haggerwolf had assured Windslow that Fernbark was a skilled healer. It wasn’t the reassurance that convinced Windslow to let them try. It was the thought that they couldn’t do much more damage. Whatever Fernbark did made Windslow’s legs burn. They jerked and quivered, but it was good to feel pain; to feel anything in them again.

“It’s just kind of a patch,” Fernbark said when he was done. “I still don’t know what’s wrong. I just made what’s there a bit stronger. It’s magic, so it won’t travel back with you. It should help. Ready to try?”

Windslow nodded as Haggerwolf and Larkstone helped him to his feet. Fernbark used more magic to fix the size of the crutches and adjusted them when they were in place under Windslow’s arms. Fernbark mixed ground herbs into a cup of water for Windslow to drink. Fernbark claimed the brew would help Windslow’s muscles strengthen. He gave him the pouch of pungent smelling dried plants and told him to drink a cup of the brew every day in both worlds.

Ready and nervous, Windslow took his first step in two years. It was shaky, and his legs burned, but he stepped.

***

“Wakie up. You back.”

Hillary opened her eyes. Waking up here was just like waking up back at home. It took her a moment to adjust to the dim light. She was relieved the fake rubber band had worked, not wanting to think about starting all over again from the dungeon. She probably wouldn’t get a second chance to escape from there. “Why did you wait for me, Molly? You could have gone on without me.”

“Not wait. Go explore. Just places where itty-bitty light. Not spooky dark place. No way out. No got key. Gota go quick. Scratchie thing at door,” she said and pointed at the wooden access panel just behind Hillary.

Hillary looked back over her shoulder. She heard clawing and a muffled snarl. Something unpleasant was on the other side of that door and she didn’t want to wait and find out want it was. She reached for her backpack and skinned her knuckles on the rough stone wall. Her backpack didn’t dream-slip with her. She rose up enough from her laying position to peek at her clothes. That night she went to bed in the jeans and the flannel shirt she wore camping. She was still wearing them. “Let’s get out of here and check the spooky places,” she said and pulled a candle and matchbook from her pocket. Twenty feet ahead the floor turned to stone, eliminating any chance for light to filter into the passage.

They paused long enough to light the candle. Each time Hillary held a match close to the wick, a small puff of wind blew the tiny flame out. Down to her last match, Hillary struck a flame while Molly sheltered it with cupped hands. Far behind them, both girls heard the faint sound of splintering wood. They crawled faster and moved through two more rooms full of wooden wheels and gears. Each time they closed and locked the wooden access doors behind them. Each time they heard snarling and clawing on the other side of the doors.

Not far past the last room, the passage branched. Nothing obstructed the right branch. A wire grill work set in a heavy rod frame guarded access to the left. It had only been a few seconds since Hillary had clearly heard splintering wood and very loud snarls.

“This way,” Hillary said. She unlocked the wire grate and pressed back against the passage wall to make room for Molly to wiggle past. “Hurry!” she said. She gave her friend the candle and pushed on Molly’s boots to help shove her past the opening.

The snarling made Hillary’s heart race and she could hear what sounded like nails scraping on stone. Halfway though the opening, something grabbed her tennis shoe.

The hairy creature held the bottom of her tennis shoe in its spiky teeth. Wild green eyes looked at her as the beast violently shook its head like a dog. Both girls screamed. Hillary kicked hard with her other foot with no effect.

Molly grabbed Hillary’s hands and pulled while Hillary kicked again and again, hoping her shoe would come off. She twisted her hand away from Molly’s grip and reached for her back pocket. She had nearly forgotten about the can of pepper spray she took from her brother’s pack.

“Close your eyes!” She screamed at Molly. Hillary directed the pepper spray at the creature’s eyes. It didn’t blink but did stop shaking her foot and stopped snarling. A little pink nose puffed away the hair that covered it and sniffed the air. The teeth let go of her shoe and a long red tongue with grey patches curled upward and licked across the beast’s eyes. It sniffed again and began licking the floors and walls.

Hillary scrambled through the opening and clanged the grate shut. Her hand shook as she reached back with the key. The creature watched her but kept licking pepper spray.

“Great, it likes the stuff; like beastie salsa,” she said as the lock clicked. The slurping stopped and the tongue disappeared back into the mass of hair.

She flinched when the creature jumped at the grate. Long claws stuck though the grill, shaking and rattling the wires as the beast lurched, shook and pulled at the door. Foamy saliva ringed the creature’s mouth, and big droplets spattered through the screen. The girls crawled as fast as they could. The snarling faded as they moved farther away.

Hillary led, brushing away spider webs as they took another side branch. They couldn’t see more than a couple feet ahead or behind with only the candle for light. Only an inch of candle remained below the flame and Hillary could feel the heat on her fingers. Twice, hot wax burned her. She nearly dropped the candle both times.

“There’s an opening up ahead, Molly,” Hillary whispered over her shoulder to her spiky haired friend. “Maybe it’s another room.”

It was a room, but not what Hillary expected. The light from her candle didn’t reveal much. The shaft opened high up the wall of a long narrow space. Wood panels formed the far wall and she didn’t have enough light to see the ceiling. She could make out the shape of a normal size doorway just at the edge of her candlelight.

“Take a look, Molly,” Hillary said and squeezed herself against the passage wall so Molly could slide up beside her. “Anything look familiar? Do you know where we are?”

“This good way out,” Molly said. “We be safe. Better place than back thata way. Hear scratchy sounds and metal bang. Big rat thing again.”

“Are you sure? If we go down there, we won’t be able to get back up. This passage is too high.”

“Good door. No lock, that one. Close to outside place. Nobody see us.”

Hillary twisted around and slid out the passage, feet first. She dangled from her finger tips, took a breath and let go, landing quietly on the stone floor. She had Molly wait while she explored as far as she dared.

“Hold the candle down as low as you can,” Hillary said. She’d found a torch sticking from the wall just past the doorway. Stretching on her tiptoes she reached up to light the torch with the candle. The first two times she tried, the candle flame bent to the side from a soft wind that came from nowhere, nearly puffing out the candle.

“Go way,” Molly said.

“What?”

“Not Hillre,” Molly said. “Flame-fluffer again. Shadow beastie. Blow stuff out.” She held out her doubled up fist. “Go way. Got biggie magic from Hillre world. Shoo.” She opened her hand and threw. Coffee grounds sprinkled down on Hillary’s head.

“What are you doing,” Hillary said, louder than she should have.

“Get rida fluffers. Try torch again.”

Hillary shook grounds out of her hair and stretched again. This time the candle flame stayed steady while it dripped hot wax to the passage floor and spread itself to the torch. After helping Molly down, Hillary saved the candle stub and used the torch to examine the door.

“Molly, there’s no latch. How do we open it and what’s on the other side?”

“Don’t know. Magic maybe. Not been here before.”

“I thought you said--”

“This away out, betcha,” Molly said and moved past the door toward the darkness.

Hillary stood still for a moment and listened, then held the torch up and followed after Molly.

Back the way the girls had come, a small pink nose sniffed at the tiny puddle of cooled wax.