Wildwood Imperium (Wildwood Chronicles 3)

“Perhaps . . . ,” began the owl.

Just then, a thought occurred to Prue. “The cog,” she said. “What about the cog?”

Owl Rex looked curiously at the girl. “Surely such a thing cannot help us now.”

“But it’s what the tree said—it said by reconstructing the mechanical boy, the true heir, it would unite the Wood. It would save it!” Prue’s face became vexed, working out the intricacies of the plan. “I mean, if it knew what was happening all along—maybe it wasn’t the Synod it meant to save itself from—but this Verdant Empress woman—Alexandra!” She turned to Esben and looked at him sharply. She understood, plainly, that perhaps her quest must, at some point, reach its stopping point. Its searcher must come to rest eventually, even if the desired outcome had not yet been achieved.

“We need you to start making the cog,” she said.

The bear gulped, once, loudly. He held up his two hooks and said helplessly, “That woman robbed me of my tools. Without Carol, I’m not sure I can.”

“You have to try,” pressed Prue. She looked around her, surveying the gathered crowd. “Someone will need to be your hands.”

Seamus, the bandit, stepped forward. He held out his knobby, weatherworn fingers. “I’m as good as any at molding a horseshoe or a hobnail,” he said. “Not entirely sure what sort of cog needs be made, but I can give it a shot.”

“Maybe,” said the bear, somewhat unsteadily, his voice lacking the sort of steely pluck one typically expects at times such as these. He studied his prosthetic hands, uncertainly, in the wan light of the day before saying to the congregation of bandits, “We’ll need a bigger fire, a hotter fire.”

Just as the gathered bandits had all raised a collective “Aye!” and set about collecting what loose branches they could find from beneath the worming ivy, Esben the bear turned his solemn eyes to Prue and said plaintively, “I’ll do my best.”

“And that’s all we could hope for,” she replied, placing her hand on his arm.

Brendan the Bandit King stood apart, gauging the placement of the sun in the hazy sky. “She’s got some time on us. If she’s on to the Ossuary Tree, it won’t be long before this Verdant Empress will cross the pass and into North Wood.” He spat angrily at the writhing ground. “Us on foot, she’d long have laid the Council Tree to waste before we made Wildwood, even without all this damned ivy everywhere.”

Owl Rex offered up a smile. “Then we will not travel on foot,” he said, before unfurling his wings and leaping into the air. He wheeled about, some hundreds of feet above their heads, before spiraling upward and rending the air with the loudest birdcall many of the bandits and South Wooders assembled had ever had a chance to hear. It echoed through the still woods, among the ivy-crowned trees and the falling buildings and the sad, desolate landscape of this desecrated world: a resounding cry, a call to arms.

CHAPTER 26

The Birth of Giants

The children had decided they’d spend the day at Bandit Hideout Deerskull Dragonfighter recuperating from their ordeal the night before, catching up on sleep and prepping for their long walk to South Wood, where they’d (hopefully) find Curtis’s friend Prue and reunite Carol with his long-lost machinist counterpart. The kids passed the hours exploring the many walkways of the hideout while Curtis helpfully fitted his sister Elsie with a pair of handwoven moccasins—she’d been going it one-shoed since the duct-rats’ escape from the stevedores in the security elevator shaft. They were a trial pair he’d been working on in order to keep his hide-working skills up to snuff, and it was a great fortuity that they actually fit Elsie’s small feet.

“Thanks, Bandit Curtis,” said Elsie, wiggling her toes against the doeskin.

“Don’t mention it,” replied her brother, smiling.

Once night fell, however, Rachel found she couldn’t sleep. She’d dozed a little that morning, when they’d first arrived at the hideout—though certainly not enough to replenish the amount of energy she’d expended, physically and emotionally, in her maiden saboteur action. She felt emboldened by everything that had taken place, and that night, after the salvaged dinner had been eaten and the wood-carved dishes had been cleaned and stowed, she sat with her palms to the crackling fire while the rest of the crowd, the five Unadoptables and Carol, all collapsed into a sardine-packed row and fell into dreamless sleep. All night she listened to the soughing of the tall trees as they were gently rocked in the dark’s noisy breezes; she heard the hooting calls of owls and the cries of the night birds. She must’ve dozed off at some point; when she awoke, the air was warm and the light was bright through the stain of gray clouds in the sky; she’d lost track of the passing of time in this bizarre new world, and her head felt as heavy and confused as it had ever been. The other sleepers had long roused; their mossy cots were all empty.

Curtis walked into the hut and saw his sister wake and prop herself up by her elbows; he was carrying a handful of wineskins, dripping full with water. Setting them by the door, he picked up a nearby willow branch and stirred at the smoldering campfire.

“Morning,” he said. “You slept well. It’s getting on midday!”

“I think I was up most of the night,” was her reply.

“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Well, you’ll get used to it. I didn’t sleep much, either, when I first came here. Except for that first night, in the Governess’s warren. But I had some blackberry wine to help with that.” He smiled sheepishly before suddenly growing self-conscious of this admission. “It was sort of forced on me.”

“Where’s Nico?” asked Rachel, seeing the empty spot next to her pile of moss.

“He volunteered for lookout,” said Curtis. He stirred the fire a little more before saying, “Seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” said Rachel. “Though I don’t know what he’s thinking about all this.”

“Seems to be taking it in stride. I guess the Industrial Wastes were kind of their own weird universe. This isn’t that big of a change.” He paused in his fire stirring and said, “It’s good to see you guys again, Rach.”

“You too, Curtis.”

“How are Mom and Dad doing?”

“I guess okay, considering that they’ve been traumatized about you.”