Wildwood Imperium (Wildwood Chronicles 3)

One of the other riders, Curtis’s fellow bandit as far as either Elsie or Rachel could reckon, had overheard them. He approached and gave a small bow before speaking, “I wouldn’t be overconcerned for your friend,” said the bandit, an older boy with a wispy mustache. He smelled like pinecones. “The ivy just sleeps ’em. He’s like a caterpillar in a cocoon; should be fine once we get back to ’im.”

“Oh,” said Rachel, adjusting her composure to the new arrival. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“Name’s Henry. And you are . . .”

“Rachel,” she replied. “Mehlberg. And this is Elsie. We’re Curtis’s sisters.”

The boy looked surprised. “Sisters? Aye, I heard he had sisters. Pleasant surprise. It’s a family affair, I suppose, you Outsiders comin’ in here.”

Rachel smiled shyly; Elsie gave the bandit a polite curtsy and watched as the other bandits—young and old, men and women—all gravitated toward her brother. He was telling his incredible story: the fall into the Gap, his travels through the Underwood, his return to Wildwood, and his construction of Bandit Hideout Deerskull Dragonfighter. Septimus had crawled back to his preferred spot on Curtis’s shoulder and was busily footnoting everything Curtis said with his own particular perspective.

“And that’s when these guys showed up,” Curtis explained to the enthralled crowd. “Completely random! And—you wouldn’t believe it—but they had . . .” He paused here, suddenly remembering himself. “Prue!” he shouted loudly. “Where’s Prue?”

“Yeah,” said Septimus. “Where is she?”

“Flown on ahead, with Owl Rex and another gang of bandits,” said Brendan. “The ones you see here stayed behind in South Wood, mustering arms, before we lit out. And a good thing we did; we weren’t far when we heard your shouts. Turned around to investigate and lo and behold.” He gestured out to the gathered children. “We found you lot—kids in a tree!” He paused for a second before saying, “And one old man. Who’s he?”

“That . . .” Curtis found he could barely get the words out; in all the excitement of being reunited with his fellow bandits, he had quite forgotten about this other serendipitous discovery. “That—is Carol Grod!”

This information received a blank look from Brendan.

“That’s the OTHER MAKER!” shouted Curtis. “The one we’ve been looking for!”

“That’s him? The one who had his eyes out?”

“Yes!” shouted Curtis, waving Carol over to them. Martha, seeing the gesture, grabbed the old man by the hand and led him to where Curtis and Brendan were standing. “Meet Carol. Carol, meet Brendan the Bandit King.”

“It’s an honor,” said Carol. “Thank you for swoopin in.”

“This is the man,” spoke Brendan, savoring his words. “This is the one who Prue’s after? To make the thing?”

“The cog,” corrected Carol, somewhat proudly. “The Möbius Cog, to be exact. One of my finest designs.”

Brendan put his hand to his forehead and massaged his temple, his mouth slightly agape. “Then I expect we should get you to South Wood. They’ve already started work.”

“Started work?” asked Curtis. “Who’s started work?”

“The bear with the hooks,” replied Brendan. “We left Seamus with him to be his hands. To be honest, though, unless this Moldiest Cog of yours is the sort of thing you’d shoe to a horse, I expect your services will be much needed.”

Carol shook his head. “They won’t get far. I suppose either one of us, me or Esben, could re-create the thing—but not without our hands or eyes. It is why Alexandra committed the atrocity she did.”

“Well, it certainly did the trick,” said Brendan, before putting his fingers to his lips and producing a loud whistle. “Brownfeather!”

One of the eagles walked to where he stood and bowed. “Yes, King?” he asked.

“Get this man to South Wood, as fast as your wings will carry him,” instructed Brendan. He looked at Carol again, saying, “Can you manage the journey?”

“As long as I have a little help,” said the blind man, nodding down to the girl at his side.

“Hello,” said Brendan. “And you are?”

“Martha Song, Your Excellency,” the girl with the goggles said. “At your service.”

“Very well,” said Brendan. “Fly, the two of you, to South Wood. Quickly. And may the Ancients grant you speed.” He then turned to the rest of the assembled and spoke:

“The rest of you, mount up. We fly for North Wood, to the defense of the Council Tree. Every soul here, bandit or no, must be prepared to shed their blood for the cause. Our world—and the world beyond it—relies on our actions today. Our numbers may be small, but our courage needs must be the size of mountains.

“And as you fly, let the call go out to the surrounding countryside: The Wildwood Irregulars have marshaled again to set things to right. Birds: Those of you without riders, search the hollows and warrens of Wildwood. Find the areas untouched by the ivy’s spread. Anyone willing to fight by our side will be welcomed; their efforts will not go unrewarded.”