Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“Pssst! Curtis!” The voice came from above the cage. It was Septimus.

“I said: I don’t want you chewing on my rope! That’s final.” The midmorning tedium had cast a pall over the cages. The prisoners were silent, no doubt contemplating the hopelessness of their circumstance.

“No, no!” whispered Septimus conspiratorially. “Your friend—she’s here!”

Curtis looked up. “Who?”

Septimus, exasperated, shot a wary look down at the warden, who was noisily napping on the cavern floor. “The sister of that baby! She’s here!”

“Prue!?” shouted Curtis, before catching himself and whispering, “You mean Prue?”

The warden shifted in his sleep. He was curled around a stalagmite, his face buried in a pile of old rags. “Yes!” whispered Septimus. “I saw her—in the throne room!”

“What was she doing? Was she captured?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it must be serious. The Governess is giving her a good talking-to.”

“She came in with me,” came a voice from below them. It was Brendan. He spoke flatly, not attempting to hide his voice from the warden. “We found her just past the Old Woods. She’d been shot down riding an eagle; she had coyotes on her tail. We didn’t realize that until we’d gotten back to camp, but by that time the dogs were practically on us. I tried to get her away, but we were stopped on the Gap Bridge.”

Septimus and Curtis both stared down at the speaker.

“You’re Curtis, ain’t you?” continued Brendan, peering up through the bars of his cage. Curtis nodded. “The girl’s looking for you,” the King said. “She was worried about you. Said you guys got split up.”

“And now she’s captured?” asked Curtis. “Great. Both of us locked up in here.”

Brendan shook his head. “No,” he said, “I have a feeling the witch has other plans. She brought me straight in here—but had Prue brought to her chamber. It’s strange, but I get the distinct feeling the Dowager is afraid of this girl. Whatever the case, I don’t think she’ll be letting on that you’re in here.”

“Of course not!” rasped Curtis. “If Prue only knew what she was up to . . .” Here he paused and looked over at the rat. “Hey, Septimus: How’d you see her?”

Septimus nonchalantly eyed his claws. “Oh, I have my ways. There’s a whole circuit of tunnels that ain’t big enough for anyone but me in this place.”

“Can you get back there? Find out what they’re doing?”

Septimus leapt up and saluted. “Recon? I’d be happy to.” And with that, he scurried back up the rope and disappeared.

“So you promise,” said Prue. “You promise to find him. How can I possibly know if I can trust you?”

“Dear girl,” said the Governess. “There’s little benefit in me lying to you.”

Prue studied the woman carefully. “And you’ll bring him straight back to me, back home. Just like that?”

“Absolutely,” responded Alexandra.

Prue’s vision blurred a little and she paused, trying to measure her words. What could she say? “Do you need my address?” asked Prue faintly. The prospect of returning home was growing more and more attractive by the moment.

Alexandra smiled. “Yes, you’ll have to give that to one of my attendants before you leave.”

“And you’ll let me go, just like that?”

“I’d insist, for your safety, that you be accompanied to the border of the Wood by a small detail of soldiers—nothing serious, just to make sure you’re not hurt on the way. This is, as you no doubt know, a very dangerous neck of the woods.” The statement was spoken with an illustrative twirl of her finger. “We did the same for your friend Curtis. He was most appreciative.”

“And you swear,” repeated Prue. “You swear on the grave of your son. To find my brother.”

Alexandra looked at her guardedly. “Yes,” she said after a moment.

“I know about your son,” said Prue. “I know what happened.”

The Governess arched an eyebrow. “Then you know how I have been wronged. How those madmen in South Wood—my home country—have cast me out and put in place that puppet government. You were flying from there; tell me, how is my old homeland?”