Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“NO,” said the officer impatiently. “The one I am currently standing next to, thanks very much.”

“Ah yes,” said Richard, his voice trembling slightly. “That one. Thing is, I’ve a customer who’s expecting that package, and I can’t imagine that they’d be too happy if—”

He was interrupted by the border guard. “Open it, Postmaster. I promise I won’t sully their dryer lint too much.” He was beginning to take on the tone of a cat toying with its prey. “There better not be anything illicit in that package, or you’ll be wishing there really were towels and toilet paper and ladies’ undergarments in there—quite the currency, I’m given to understand, in prison.”

Richard laughed uncomfortably

Prue prepared herself for the big reveal.

“What about the one next to it?” asked Richard suddenly. “Perhaps you’d like better what was inside.” He spoke in a suggestive tone.

“Listen, old man, I’m getting tired of your—” said the officer, before stopping abruptly. “Wait. What does that say?”

“I believe you can read it,” said Richard.

“It’s not . . . can it be?” asked the officer. There seemed to be a tremble of excitement in his stern voice.

“Allow me,” said Richard, his confidence returning. A creaking wheeze was followed by a loud crack, suggesting the crate just adjacent to Prue’s had been pried open, and Prue heard the officer catch his breath.

“All yours,” said Richard. “But I really must be on my way. I do have quite a bit of mail to deliver.”

“Quite right,” said the officer, his tone professional and short. “Quite right. Sorry to have bothered you.” Prue heard the sound of a terse hand clap, and a bevy of footsteps approached the van. “Jenkins! Sorgum! Please see to it that this box here is delivered safely to my quarters.” These instructions were followed by the sound of a box being dragged across the metal floor of the van.

“Very well,” said the officer. “Thanks for your time. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Richard. The shocks on the van groaned slightly as the two men left the cargo hold and bang, the doors were closed behind them. Someone—Prue imagined it to be Richard—gave a quick series of knuckle raps on the door, and she smiled widely.

The van roared back into life and, with a clatter of the transmission, heaved down the road and over the border into the Avian Principality.

After a time, the van took a sharp turn and drove for a stretch up a rough section of road before slowing to a stop. The doors were noisily thrown open, and Prue was greeted by the sound of a crowbar prying the top off the crate. In a moment, the lid had been tossed aside and Prue cautiously looked up to see Richard smiling down at her, the valleys of his wrinkled face illuminated by the hazy light of the van’s dim overhead lamp.

“Dryer lint? Undergarments?” These words emerged from Prue’s mouth like water breaking through a dam, though she immediately began laughing as soon as she’d said them.

“Oh, Prue,” he said, his smile giving way to an embarrassed frown, “I don’t know what came over me! All the preparation, and I’d given no thought to what I’d say was in the box. Undergarments, indeed! Thank the heavens that I still had that case of poppy beer from the North—quite a commodity, and banned in South Wood, no less. No soldier worth his salt would pass over a treasure like that!”

Prue leapt up and threw her arms around Richard’s neck. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she shouted.

Richard returned the embrace briefly before saying, “Come on, you’ve still got a long ways to go.” He helped her climb from the box, and, brushing a few petals of packing material from her jeans, she walked toward the door of the van. They had stopped in a kind of natural cul-de-sac, enclosed in a dense shroud of blackberry and western hazel bushes. The light was a deep blue-gray as the first glimmers of dawn filtered through the trees. Birdsong was everywhere here; the sound practically showered from the treetops. A flutter of wings heralded the arrival of Enver as he landed on a nearby branch.

“Enver!” cried Prue. “We made it!”

The sparrow nodded. “And not a moment too soon. They’ve closed the border to all travelers.” Enver looked up to the sky, the dewy air of morning ruffling his feathers. “He should be here any moment.”

“Who’d that be?” asked Richard.

“The General,” said Enver, and, as if the words were an incantation, a giant bird dove into the clearing, its wing beats disturbing the foliage like a small hurricane. It was a golden eagle, and Prue recognized him to be the same one she’d seen when they had first been on their way to South Wood. He landed on a low-hanging hemlock branch, dramatically setting the whole tree to shaking.

“Sir,” said Enver, bowing his head slightly.

The General steadied himself on his perch and glared down at Prue. “Is this the human girl? The Outsider?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Enver, nodding to Prue.

“Hello, sir,” said Prue. “We met before, I think. I saw you—”

The General interrupted her. “Yes, I remember.” He shifted his great talons on the branch and the leaves rustled wildly. “You were with the Prince when he was arrested?”

Prue nodded sadly. “Yes, sir.”