Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

Prue smarted at Richard’s disbelief. “I swear to you, Richard,” she said, “one of the coyotes said he was going to report another to the Dowager Governess. I heard it very clearly. And I don’t even know what that title means.”

Richard swallowed hard. “Well, Governess—she was the female heir to the seat of governorship. And Dowager—that means she was made a widow. When her husband died, see.” He let out a low whistle between his lips. “Hoo, boy. If she’s alive—and putting together an army, no less—I gotta think that bodes ill for Governor-Regent Svik and the folks of South Wood. I’m sure the Governor-Regent will want to hear your story. So far, no one’s come forward to give witness to what the birds are claiming. He’s not buying it from the birds alone.” Richard pulled another cigar from his jacket pocket and began chewing on the end thoughtfully.

“Maybe the Governor-Regent can help me after all,” said Prue. “I mean, if this Governess woman is really a threat to his country, he’ll have to help me get Curtis back! And then, who knows; maybe she can lead us to Mac.” She put her forehead in her hand. “I can’t believe I’m saying this stuff. I can’t believe I’m here, in this weird world. In this mail van. Contemplating talking birds and a Dowery Governess.”

“Dowager,” corrected Richard.

“Right. And her army of coyotes.” Prue looked imploringly at Richard, the only friendly face she’d seen since arriving in this strange land. A flood of emotion overcame her. “What am I doing here?” she asked weakly.

“I suppose,” responded Richard, “things tend to happen for a reason. I have a suspicion that you being here ain’t an accident. I tend to think you’re here for a reason, Port-Land Prue.” He spit a wad of tobacco out the window. “I just don’t think we know what that reason is yet.”

CHAPTER 7

An Evening’s Entertainment;

A Long Journey Ended; Going for a Soldier

Despite the fact that it was now nightfall and he was as far away from his parents as he’d ever been, deep in an underground coyote warren and the captive of an army of talking animals and their strange and mysterious leader, Curtis was feeling pretty good. He’d had seconds of the venison stew, which he’d found to be incredibly tasty, and he’d lost track of how many times his mug of blackberry wine, which he found to be equally wonderful, had been refilled. His present circumstances, he reasoned, would seem pretty strange and frightening if he were to look at them in the cool light of day, but there, in the warm confines of the earthy burrow with the braziers burning and the moss below him so comfortable, everything looked particularly rosy. He was captivated by his host, the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, and fancied that with every refill of his mug, he grew more charming and charismatic himself. He was regaling her with the true story of how he and a classmate had broken an entire row of fluorescent lights while pounding nickels flat on an anvil in metal shop. He had struck one nickel at a bad angle, and it had shot up like a bullet and “blew out the whole light! BOOOOSH! And, like, everyone was going ‘WHAAAAT?’” He paused for effect while Alexandra laughed heartily. She motioned to an attendant to refill his mug of wine. “And I just walked over to the . . . oh, sure, I’ll have a little more . . . over to all the broken glass and just picked up the nickel and was all like, ‘I’ll be keeping this, thank you very much.’” He laughed and mimicked slipping the nickel into his jeans pocket. He slurped down more of the wine, spilling some on his coat. “Oh boy, that’ll leave a stain!” He laughed so hard he had to set the mug down and collect himself.

The Governess was laughing with him as well, though her laugh trailed off as she began speaking. “Oh, Curtis, how charming. How excellent. You are truly one of a kind. No wonder you braved these woods alone. You are a singularly independent spirit, aren’t you?”

“Oh, well, yeah,” said Curtis, attempting sobriety. “I . . . well, I was always kind of a loner, I guess. Kept to myself, you know. But that’s sort of how I, um, roll. You know, looking out for number one. Et cetera, et cetera.” He sipped at his mug. “But I’m good in a team, too. Really. I mean if you’re ever in need of a partner, I’m your man. Prue didn’t believe me at first, but we made a pretty good team for a bit—we were, like, real partners.”

“Who?”

“Who? Did I say someone’s name? Prue? I think I said, who, as in: ‘Who wouldn’t believe me?’” Curtis turned pale. “Wow. This stuff is really strong.” He fanned himself with his hand and set his mug down.

“Prue. You said the name Prue,” said the Governess, her face growing serious. “So maybe you weren’t alone after all in your little foray into the woods.”

Curtis clasped his hands between his knees and breathed deeply, exhaling loudly. The wine had had an unexpected effect on him: He had totally lost track of what he was talking about. He found himself struggling to return to his senses. “Okay,” he said finally, “I might not have been totally straight with you on that front.”

The Governess arched an eyebrow.

“It was Prue’s idea to come into the woods—she’s my, well, friend, I guess. She’s a classmate. She sits two rows over from me in homeroom. And we have honors English and social studies together. We’ve never really hung out that much, though, outside of school.”

Alexandra impatiently motioned her hand for him to continue. “And what brought you into the woods?”

“Well, I followed her this morning. See, she was coming into the woods to look for her . . . her baby brother, who was . . .” Here he trailed off, glancing around the room. “I would say that this would sound crazy, but considering all that I’ve seen today, it seems pretty ordinary actually. Her brother was, I guess, kidnapped by crows. A bunch of ’em. Swarming around. They just picked the kid up and took him into the woods here, and so Prue went after them.”

The Governess was staring at Curtis intently.

“And I went after her. Thinking she could use the help. And here we are,” Curtis finished. He looked at Alexandra pleadingly. “Please don’t be angry. I know I said I came here alone at first, but I wasn’t sure what was going on or if you guys were, y’know, trustworthy.” Massaging his belly, he puffed his cheeks and blew through puckered lips. “I don’t feel very well.”

There was a long silence. A cold, musty breeze blew through the room, guttering the flames of the braziers. A coyote attendant in the corner coughed, cleared his throat, and excused himself.

“Oh, we’re very trustworthy, Curtis,” said the Governess, breaking the reverie. “I think you should not be afraid to tell us anything. This must be quite a shock for you, having grown up in the mundane Outside, with your everyday experiences and your domesticated animals, so short on intelligence they haven’t the capacity to

speak. I can understand your reticence in trusting me, especially after my Commandant and his brutish underlings handled you so disrespectfully. They can be a miserable bunch. I can only offer my humblest of apologies. We’re just not used to visitors here.” The Governess was tracing her finger along the eddying grain of the armrest’s wood. “And I can tell you directly that this is not the first time we’ve heard complaints about those meddling crows. Their species as a whole tends toward this sort of mischievous activity. I can’t imagine they mean to do anything untoward with your friend’s brother. It’s likely that they’ll keep him around for a bit and play with him like some bauble, and once they’ve tired of his company, they’ll return him to the place from whence he was stolen.”

“P-play with him? Really?” asked Curtis.

“Oh yes,” replied the Governess. “Though I don’t imagine they’ll do him any real harm.” She thought for a moment and continued, “As long as he doesn’t fall from one of their nests.”

“Fall? From their nests?”

“Yes, I would expect that’s where they’ll be keeping him. Notoriously, they make them rather high in the trees. But he should be fine; crows are very protective of their possessions. He’ll be perfectly safe provided he doesn’t get stolen by a neighboring buzzard or something.”

“A buzzard would steal him?”