A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [136]
Jasher held up a finger. “If you overthrow the emperor, I promise to personally inform all of the custodians of the Word.”
“We’re not going to overthrow anyone if we don’t get moving,” Rachel said, staring around uneasily.
Jasher began sculling aggressively, the long oar sloshing loudly in the water, throwing big ripples across the otherwise calm surface. Jason sat attentively in the bow, occasionally giving a puffballs a gentle squeeze, hoping to keep creepy animals away.
The day was hot and humid. Jason enjoyed the strange and exotic sights of the swamp. He wondered whether he had appreciated the scenery as much on the way in. He doubted it. After all, this time the sights were among his first memories. The animals he glimpsed stayed a good distance from the skiff. Only the floating masses of slime seemed indifferent to the cargo of puffballs.
* * *
The light was dimming when they finally saw the muddy bank marking the end of the swamp and the beginning of the marshlands. Jason noticed an unusual, fat frog sitting on a log.
“Look,” he told Jasher, pointing. “That one has a third eye.”
Jasher instantly fell flat. “Get down. A human eye?”
Jason and Rachel huddled low in the vessel. “Maybe. It’s on the chest.”
“Blast!” Jasher jerked a small knife from his boot. In one motion he rose to his knees and flung the little weapon.
Jason peeked over the gunwale and saw the knife pierce the frog just above the foreign eye, sending the amphibian backward off the log. Grimacing, Jasher speedily guided the skiff to the bank. “Somewhere, a displacer has learned where we are and that I travel with you. Someone must have stumbled across our trail. There must be quite a manhunt underway. We should move swiftly.”
He and Jason dragged the boat out of the water and overturned it. In the waning light they hurriedly concealed the vessel. Jason noticed that Jasher’s hands were raw and covered with dried blood and the flattened remains of burst blisters.
Night fell as they marched away from the edge of the swamp. Unseen clouds blotted out many of the stars. Well after dark they found a fairly dry spot to bed down. Rachel had kept many of the puffballs from the boat, and she arranged them around their little campsite. The presence of the mushrooms let Jason rest easier.
The next morning, before any evidence of sunrise had colored the sky, Jasher awakened Jason and Rachel. They set off immediately, munching on the last of the gutplug while they walked.
“We must clarify our next move,” Jasher said.
“Okay,” Jason agreed. “Who is this guy Kimp?”
Jasher smiled. “That was the best news we took from the swamp. Finding the Temple of Mianamon would have been a daunting journey. Now locating the second syllable will be simpler, though perhaps equally perilous.”
“At least it’s still perilous,” Jason said with mock relief.
Rachel elbowed him. “This is serious.”
“Kimp serves Maldor,” Jasher said. “Not long before Galloran was taken, he captured Kimp. That must be when he placed the tattoo. You must understand, Kimp collects tattoos. Most all the surface of his body is marked in green and black ink. Assuming the mark left by Galloran remains, all you must do is read it off his shoulder blade.”
“Do you know where this guy is?” Rachel asked.
“That is the best part. I do. I spend a lot of my time monitoring Maldor and his chief henchmen, searching for opportunities to strike. Kimp currently dwells in Harthenham Castle, where the Eternal Feast is held.”
“I have an invitation to the Eternal Feast,” Jason reminded everyone.
“It has been on my mind,” Jasher said.
“Will they still accept it?” Jason wondered.
“Have you formally rejected the invitation?” Jasher asked.
“No.”
“This is your first invitation?”
“Yes.”
“There was no expiration listed?”
“No.”
“Then it remains in force.”
“Did it go in the water with you?” Rachel wondered.
“No,” Jason said. “I had it in my bag in the skiff. It should be fine.”
“Where is the castle?” Rachel asked as they pushed through