Their victory had been decisive, their losses minimal. The afternoon’s battle had been a resounding success, and Curtis the crowned hero of the day. Alexandra trotted her horse alongside the procession, smiling proudly on.
When they arrived at the warren, the great hall was alight with burning braziers, and the smell of a hearty stew drifted from the burrow entrance. A crooked, brazen melody was struck up by a motley brass band and the procession marched Curtis in five circles around the Governess’s throne room before depositing him, with much fanfare, on the moss of the throne’s dais. A mug thrust into his hand was filled to the brim with blackberry wine before he had a chance to demur.
The Commandant quieted the room with a loud bark.
“Listen up, curs!” he shouted when the clamor in the room began to calm. “You stinking mongrel dogs!” He grabbed a nearby soldier and with a free arm—the one not holding an overflowing mug of wine—ensnared him in a savage headlock. “I’ve not seen a more putrid, fetid stink of mange in all my days.” The room paused, unsure of what to expect from the commander. The Commandant smiled and snarled, “And we gave ’em what for today!”
The room exploded in a cheer, and the Commandant planted a sloppy kiss on the forehead of his imprisoned soldier before letting him go. Then, staggering over to brace himself on the shoulder of another coyote, he stiffened and grew serious.
“The woods will resound with our victory. In time every animal will be talking about our actions. Our presence will no longer be ignored. And when we march into South Wood, those pasty pansies will have no choice but to lay down their arms, and the gilded halls of Pittock Mansion will resound with the echoes of our celebrations.”
He was interrupted by Alexandra, who had strolled through the celebrants to seat herself on the ornate throne. “What’s left of the Mansion,” she said coolly.
The Commandant, sensing he had overstepped his bounds, bowed deeply, his mug raised high.
“Wh
en we’re done with South Wood, there won’t be two walls standing to support an echo,” Alexandra hissed.
“Aye, madam,” said the Commandant. The tone of the room had chilled considerably.
“But tonight, we celebrate our victory!” the Governess shouted, rising to stand before the throne. “And we raise our mugs to Curtis, cannon killer, bandit vanquisher, tree crusher.” She had turned to Curtis and was smiling, her wooden chalice proffered in a toast. He blushed and raised his mug in return. The room solemnly joined in, a sea of rough-hewn cups raised in salute. “Strike up the band!” she hollered, looking back out into the hall, and the drawling buzz of a trumpet launched the brass band into another drunken tune. The soldiers cheered loudly and returned to their celebrations. Grinning ear to ear, Curtis tapped his hand on the knee of his navy britches to the beat of the music.
“They’re never going to believe me back at school,” shouted Curtis over the band’s manic playing. “Never in a million years.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t return to school,” Alexandra replied, her eyes wandering the room of celebrating coyotes.
“What, drop out? My parents would . . . ,” started Curtis. He then blanched momentarily. “Oh,” he continued thoughtfully. “You mean . . .”
“Yes, Curtis,” said Alexandra. “Stay with us. Join our fight. Leave your plain, simple human life behind. Join the Wildwood brigade and savor the taste of our inevitable victory.”
“Well,” said Curtis, “I don’t know. I think my parents would be pretty upset, for one thing. They already had my spot reserved for sleepaway camp next summer, and I think they might’ve even paid a deposit.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, I cherish you, Curtis. I really do. But there are more important things at stake here. The salvation of Wildwood hangs in the balance. You have proven yourself today; you have shown us all that within that little frame beats the true heart of a warrior.” She gestured to the room full of soldiers. “I have tremendous respect for the coyotes. They took a remarkable risk when they came to my side. But one longs for the company of humans. And I do not expect to build a cabinet of advisers from these ragtag canines—they’re far too impetuous.” She took a small sip of her wine and fixed her gaze on Curtis, her tone growing serious.
“I want you to be my second in command, Curtis. I want you to be by my side when we march on the South. I want you to sit next to my throne when it is laid on the smoldering rubble of the Mansion. And together we could rebuild this land, this beautiful wild country.” Here she paused, her eyes drifting slowly away from the activity to fix on some distant, elusive point. “We could rule together, you and I.”
Curtis was speechless. Finally, setting down his mug of wine, he found his voice. “Wow, Alexandra. I mean, I don’t know what to say. I might have to think about it. It’s kind of a big thing to just ditch out on my parents and my sisters and my school like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong: This is amazing. Everybody’s been really kind to me, and I have to say, today was pretty epic. I didn’t really think I had it in me, either.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Just give me a moment, is all.”
“Take however much time you need, Curtis,” said Alexandra, her voice softening. “We have all the time in the world.”
One of the coyotes who had witnessed Curtis’s impromptu firing of the cannon came wobbling over to the dais, gesturing to Curtis. “Curtishh! Shir!” he slurred, after sloppily saluting both Curtis and Alexandra. “I’m telling the sh-sh-shtory of your cannon sh-shot. Those mongrels don’t believe me! You gotta back me up here!”
Alexandra smiled and nodded to Curtis, mouthing, Go. Laughing, Curtis accepted the soldier’s paw to help him up from the moss. The coyote slung his arm over Curtis’s shoulder, and they walked off together over to a group of soldiers who were gathered by the wine barrel. Alexandra watched him intently as he wandered away, her finger scratching absently at the wood of the throne.
CHAPTER 12
An Owl in Irons; Curtis’s Conundrum
Really?” asked Prue in disbelief. “His teeth?” A sparrow flew over the shoulder of her chair and, picking up the poker in its claws, began stirring the glowing embers of the fire.
Owl Rex nodded.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Never underestimate the power of grief, Prue,” said the owl.
“So suddenly Alexei was back to life? Just like that?”