The Indigo King - James A. Owen [19]
The man and his Sweeps were looking around the stilt-houses on the opposite side of the road, far from where the companions were hiding. For a brief instant, John and Jack both harbored the notion that they could sneak away, but then one of the Sweeps stood stock still, like a chipmunk. It sniffed the air several times, and then turned and looked directly at the companions.
The Sweep ran to its master and whispered to him, and the great man and his hideous children all turned around and began to move across the road.
Suddenly a ball of flame erupted in the center of the road, throwing a blazing light over the whole area. For a moment the Sweeps’ master locked fury-filled eyes with John, but he retreated from the fire, pulling all the children back inside himself. Mounting the carriage, he wheeled the unicorns about and disappeared over the hill.
“That was lucky as all Hades,” John said, rising from where he’d been crouching. “Very lucky.”
“It weren’t luck, really,” came a muffled voice from above. “The Sweeps can withstand a lot, but the Wicker Men hate fire more than anything.”
A thin, limber man dressed in tattered clothes dropped down from the stilt-house to the left of them. His face was wrapped in cloth save for his eyes, and his arms were bandaged to the fingertips. From the blackened cloth, they could tell he’d been badly singed in saving them.
“Naw,” he said, waving off their concern. “I’s been burned worse, see?”
He unwrapped the cloth from his face to reveal old scars along his right cheek and chin. The companions all gasped in shock—but not because of the scars.
It was Charles.
“Scowler Charles!” Uncas said joyfully. “Of course it be you who rescued us! Of course!”
“Who’s Charles?” said the man, eyeing the badger suspiciously. “I only helped you out ‘cause I hate the Wicker Men. It weren’t to save you lot of idiots a’tall.”
“These are scowlers … uh, scholars, not idiots,” Fred said defiantly, “and they are two of the greatest men in all the world.”
“It doesn’t matter why,” Jack said, offering a hand that was studiously ignored. “Ah, I mean, there’s no one in England I’d be happier to see right now.”
“England?” the man asked. “What’s an ‘England’?”
“What kind of question is that?” John sputtered, spreading his arms. “This is England. This country, where we live. England. Great Britain. Home.”
The man looked puzzled. “I don’t know where you blokes come from, but this is Albion. Always has been, as long as anyone can remember. There are some what call it otherwise, but not aloud, not unless they be brave, or foolish. The king’s minions, like that one what just run off, have seen to that. I shouldn’t even be sayin’ as much as I have.”
“Either way,” John said, “we are truly grateful for your help. I’m John.” As Jack had done, John stuck out his hand, which the man finally shook.
“Strange, stupid travelers from afar, you can call me Chaz,” he said hesitantly. “Welcome to the Winterland.”
PART TWO
Fractured Albion
CHAPTER FIVE
Tat terdemalion
The fishermen had wondered about the cart, and the scrawny horse that pulled it, and the solitary driver who had waited with it by the river’s edge for nearly three hours. He was unshaven and unkempt, but wore robes of great quality and worth. His cart was battered and poorly kept but could withstand such treatment because its builders had been masters of their craft. And the steed was thin, but its bearing was noble. This driver was, despite the appearances, a great dignitary, or even possibly a king who sat in his cart next to the river.
The wild-eyed look he wore, coupled with the fact that he seemed to converse only with himself, encouraged them to leave him be. The fishermen moved their nets farther down the river and left him to his own devices.
The king (for that was, in fact, what he was) had been lured to the riverside by a promise. All he need do was wait for the man depicted in an illumination he’d been given, then deliver him to the distant tournament that had already commenced. And for this, the king would be given his heart’s desire