Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Prue’s body seized up, mere steps from the freedom of the front door.

“How many times have I told you, the Governor takes cream with his chamomile tea?” continued the voice.

Prue looked over to the source of the scolding and saw, through a door off the foyer, a man—a butler of some sort—giving a stern lecture to a girl who Prue saw, in the faltering lamplight of the small room, to be none other than her maid, Penny. The man was holding a tray with a teacup and a kettle on it.

“Sorry, sir,” was Penny’s sheepish reply. “It won’t happen again.”

Penny’s eyes looked up and in an instant she saw Prue, frozen in the foyer. Her eyes widened. So did Prue’s. They stared at each other for a moment before the butler spoke.

“Well, I don’t expect you’ll make the mistake again. Otherwise, it’s back to the scullery with you—and that’s going easy!”

Penny looked back at the man. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Understood, sir. Give me the tea, sir, I’ll bring it to the Governor.”

The butler huffed his approval and handed the tray to Penny, exiting the small room through a door in the rear, his back to Prue all the while. When he had gone, Penny looked at Prue, her eyes again wide with surprise.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Prue realized she had no choice but to be honest.

“I have to go see Owl Rex,” Prue whispered back. “He sent me a note. He said I should come see him. Tonight!” She toed the ground in front of her ashamedly. “And, oh gosh, I kind of locked someone in my bathroom, this dog who I think was guarding me. I might be in a bit of trouble.”

“You did what?” whispered Penny, appalled.

“I . . . locked him in my bathroom. It’s okay, I left a bag of gorp in there, in case he gets hungry.”

Penny was momentarily speechless. Finally, she hissed, “Well, don’t go that way! There are sentries every fifteen feet out the front door!”

Prue looked at the doors in front of her, bowled over by the fact that that had not occurred to her. “Oh.”

Penny rolled her eyes. “What were you gonna do, lock them up in your bathroom too? Come this way.”

Prue joined Penny in the small room, which appeared to be a kind of servants’ staging area. Penny set down the tea tray and opened the small door through which the butler had left. She peeked her head around the corner and, satisfied that all was clear, motioned for Prue to follow.

Penny led Prue down a tight labyrinth of passageways, lit by the occasional flickering gaslight. At some points, the passageways seemed to be just arteries connecting other corridors, where others appeared to be in use as pantries or larders, their walls covered in shelves holding bags of flour and rows of strange vegetables in jars. Prue lost track of their bearing after the fifth intersection was crossed, and she simply started following Penny blindly, acquiescing wordlessly to the maid’s every hushed “this way” and “follow me.” They finally arrived at a particularly ancient-looking door and Penny opened it, revealing a worn flight of stone steps leading down into darkness. Penny fetched two candles from a box on the floor and, lighting them both on an obliging gas lamp, she handed one to Prue.

“What’s this?” Prue whispered.

“The tunnels,” said Penny. “They run everywhere. We can take them into town.”

“What a

bout the tea? Isn’t the Governor expecting you?” asked Prue.

Penny smirked. “That old insomniac? He’ll get by.”

Prue paused at the doorway. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For helping. I don’t know what to say.”

“Listen,” replied Penny, “I could get in big trouble for this. But I’m a firm believer that you gotta do what you gotta do. And if the Crown Prince wants to see you, you go. God knows you’ll likely be better off than collecting dust in that guest room.” She studied Prue intently. “As soon as I saw you, my heart went out. To imagine losing a brother.” She sighed and held her candle into the doorway, illuminating the steps. The slightest breeze, cold and still, crept from the opening and it smelled of musty, damp stones. “Go ahead.”

Prue stepped down onto the smooth stone of the stairs, worn by what looked like a forgotten eternity of footsteps. The dankness of the stairwell was bone-chilling, and she shivered as she descended. Penny followed, closing the door behind her as she went. The candles in their hands projected flickering shadows against the brick walls, their flames quivering in the stagnant air.

At the bottom of the stairs, the corridor linked up to a single passageway that led in either direction into pitch-blackness. The walls of the tunnel radiated a wet chill, the expanse stained here and there by rivulets of water dripping from the arched ceiling. The ground was of ashy dirt, and Prue could feel the cold seeping through her shoes.

The construction of the tunnel changed as they traveled farther along; the red brick and mortar of the walls gave way to rough-hewn stone and granite. Sometimes, the tunnel seemed to be carved out of the earth’s rock itself. The ceiling towered above them and took on the aspect of a cavern; other times, they were forced to crouch over and shuffle through low passageways. After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at an intersection, and Penny pointed her candle down this new corridor. “This is as far as I go,” she said. “I have tea to deliver. Follow this passage. After a bit you’ll come to a ladder—take that to the surface. From there, you’re on your own.”

“Thank you so much,” said Prue. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”