The Tenth City by Patrick Carman
Roland moved the Warwick Beacon closer to the rocks and then told us we’d have to swim the rest of the way.
“She’s taken quite a beating already. I’m afraid even a scratch on the bottom might break her to pieces.”
Roland was very caring toward the Warwick Beacon. It sometimes seemed as though the two of them were married to each other, facing the Lonely Sea together as the days slipped into years.
I took a last bite from the breakfast Roland had given us — dried fish and a crust of bread — and then I asked Warvold who was to go first.
“Why, you, of course,” he answered. “Armon can carry you along with the animals. We’ve already discussed it. He feels quite certain that the rope won’t be necessary, though I’ve warned him he’d better at least tie it around his waist in case he loses his footing.”
Armon looked down at us and nodded his approval with a smile. He had a strange contraption made of old sails on his back, and I realized it was there to hold me,Murphy, and Odessa as he climbed. He bent down low, and Balmoral helped Warvold set Odessa inside the cloth container. She howled and fidgeted, then lay still on one side of Armon’s enormous back. I crawled in on the other side and sat down, my legs hanging free in the air. Murphy had it the easiest — he simply jumped onto my lap and scampered along until he sat on Armon’s shoulder and dug his claws in for the journey.
“This isn’t as exciting as it was the first time,” said Murphy. “Without the storm and the uncertainty of Armon’s skill, it’s almost boring.”
Armon smiled and stood up, lifting us high in the air. Then he started over the edge of the boat once more and slipped into the water up to his waist.
“Hang on, everybody,” he said. “Off we go.”
He began swimming. Odessa whimpered and thrashed as the water came up to our necks.
“Alexa!” cried Warvold. “There’s one thing more I need to tell you. It’s very important. I’ll tell you as soon as we all reach land.”
“All right!” I yelled back. It seemed I would never exhaust all the secrets Warvold held.
Before long we were at the cliffs. Armon wrapped the rope around his waist and pulled on it three times. The rope tightened but Armon didn’t move. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Whoever’s up there is probably wondering whether or not they’ve caught a whale,” he said, putting one massive hand around the rope. “If I give it a good pull, do you think they’ll come tumbling over the edge?”
We all begged him not to do it, though we knew he was only playing and would never do such a thing.
As he began to climb I had a whirlwind of thoughts running through my head. Could we save Yipes? Who was holding the rope above the mist? When would Elyon speak to me again?
I rolled these thoughts over in my head until we were only a few feet from the mist, and everything started feeling cool and moist. Armon seemed to have mastered climbing the cliffs, moving with great speed and efficiency. The ride was almost serene.
Then something frightening happened. The wind began to blow from the side. At first it was just a steady breeze, but only a few seconds more and it was gusting. Armon held tightly to the wall. The gusts blew harder and harder.
I yelled at Armon, “Why are you waiting? The wind will die off in the mist if you go only a few more steps.”
There was a brief silence, followed by a question I hadn’t thought of.
“Where’s the Warwick Beacon, Alexa? I can’t turn around to see it.”
I swung my head out of the pouch and looked down, hoping to see the boat close by. To my horror it had already moved an alarming distance down the side of the cliff, and it was being pushed farther away with every second. I could barely see Roland and Balmoral fighting with the wheel, trying to right the sails. The wind was ferocious on the water. Warvold stood at the edge of the boat and looked in my direction, hopelessly being carried away on the wind.
“We have to go back, Armon!” I yelled. “They’re being blown away!”
Murphy had scampered down my back and lay in my lap out of the wind. Odessa howled as I held Murphy’s shivering little body and watched as the Warwick Beacon drifted quickly out of sight.
“I can’t get down in this driving wind, Alexa.” It was Armon, his voice full of distress. “It’s getting worse. We’ll have to get into the mist if we’re going to survive.”
Let them go.
It was the voice on the wind saying words I couldn’t imagine following. I needed Warvold. Without him I was lost.
Armon began climbing cautiously again, taking each footing and handhold with great care. As his first hand disappeared into the mist, a monstrous gust blew in and knocked his feet clear of the cliff.
He lost his grip with one hand, and suddenly we were dangling over the rocks below.
CHAPTER 7
WHAT HAPPENED
WHILE WE
WERE AWAY
As we swung back and forth in the wind, I looked out into the open water below and found that the Warwick Beacon had drifted so far away it was only a speck in the distance. At least Warvold and the rest were spared from having to see us in such peril.
Murphy jumped out of my lap and ran up to Armon’s shoulder, digging in deeply with his claws as he went. When he reached his favorite spot he leaned over and, to my astonishment, bit Armon right on the ear.
Armon thrashed his head and screamed, pulling Murphy into the air. But the little squirrel wouldn’t let go of Armon’s ear. He looked like a large furry earring dangling in the wind.
Armon seemed to come alive though, the pain bringing forth some new rush of energy. He righted his feet under himself, grabbed hold of the cliff with his dangling hand, and quick like a lizard crawled up the rock face. The winds were calm the moment we entered the mist, and things felt under control again.
“Sorry about that,” said Murphy. I could see well enough in the mist to find that Armon had taken Murphy by the middle and was holding him out in the air, staring at him. Blood was dripping off the giant’s ear, but not as much as I would have thought. Armon’s skin was leather thick, and Murphy had only barely broken the surface with his sharp teeth.
“You can set me down now, if you would,” said Murphy, his squeaky voice cracking and scared. Armon held him there a little longer.
“That hurt,” the giant said. “But it probably saved us.”
Armon set Murphy down on his shoulder and turned back to his work at the cliffs.
I was overcome with fear as we went through the mist and into the light of a bright blue day. We were separated from Warvold again, and I felt we’d lost our guide. Then, about twenty feet from the top, I heard a familiar voice that made me feel quite a lot better.
“What in the world is that thing?” the voice asked. I looked up and saw Nicolas, Warvold’s son, peeking his head over the edge of the cliff. Then another head popped out — to stare down in astonishment. Pervis Kotcher’s.
“It’s a giant,” Pervis said.
“No wonder the rope was so heavy!” said Nicolas. “Is it friendly?”
“Ask him yourself,” Pervis offered. I could see from where we hung below that he was fooling with Nicolas. Pervis knew something about giants.
Nicolas leaned out over the cliff and watched as we came closer still, only ten feet from the edge.
“Friend or foe?” asked Nicolas. He was trying to sound brave, but it wasn’t working.
“That depends on whether or not you’ve got any food up there,” said Armon, breathing heavy as we neared the end of our climb.
Nicolas smiled down at us, and I began to explain why I was lumbering up the side of a cliff on a giant’s back with a wolf and a squirrel as my companions. When we reached the top, Armon stood upright and looked down at Nicolas and Pervis. They both looked up, stunned at the size of this creature. Armon sat down, and I broke free of the pouch and ran to embrace Pervis and Nicolas. It became clear right away that Nicolas was only joking about his concern over Armon;
“This is a development we hadn’t expected,” said Nicolas, staring in awe at Armon towering over him. “But it’s one we’re mighty glad for.”
“We’ll have to be careful about who sees him in these parts,” said Pervis. “He’ll have to go the long way ’round.”
While they spoke I looked at the place where we stood. It was somewhere on the outskirts of Ainsworth, where large boulders sat scattered all along the cliff’s edge. We were hidden for the moment.
“Let’s drop the rope and get Warvold up here,” said Pervis. “There’s no time to lose, and he will have thought of our best course of action to handle a giant in our midst.”
“What?” I said, surprised. I had been wondering how to tell Pervis and Nicolas that Warvold was alive. Now it seemed that I didn’t need to. “How did you know Warvold was still alive?”
Pervis looked back and forth across the faces before him, and then he pointed at Nicolas.
“He told me.”
I looked over at Nicolas. He was fidgeting with his hands, a sheepish look on his face. Since Warvold’s “death,” I’d felt a special closeness to Nicolas. We’d shared letters, and he’d even visited me twice in the past year.
“You knew all along and you didn’t tell me?” I said now. It came out more accusingly than I’d wanted it to, but it was hard to hide that my feelings had been hurt.
“I couldn’t tell you, Alexa. It would have been too risky with everything at stake.” Nicolas walked over to me and knelt down before continuing. The pleading in his eyes made my heart understand, and immediately I was halfway to forgiving him for keeping his secrets.
“I’ve known all along about both my mother and my father,” he explained. “Many times I battled my father to allow me to rescue Mother. And then, after he told me of his plans to go after her, I begged to go along, or at least to go after him, should he fail. But he is a stubborn man, and he has his own ways. My part in this adventure has been to stay home and keep the kingdom safe, to keep things secret. And it was a good thing, too, or many would have perished in Bridewell these past days.”
“He’s gone,” I said, my voice not much more than a whisper.
A shadow passed over Nicolas’s features. “What do you mean?”
“Warvold. He’s gone. The boat was blown away as we climbed the cliffs. He’s not coming back, at least not for a while.”
Nicolas looked at the pouch that hid the last Jocasta hanging around my neck. “That’s a bit of bad news I hadn’t planned for,” he mumbled. “Are you certain he hasn’t turned back?”
I rolled the pouch over in my hand and recalled the words I’d heard as we hung from the cliff.
Let them go.
“I’m certain.”
Nicolas regained his composure and sat on a large stone before recounting all the events that had occurred while I was away. He had told Pervis to be watchful of me, to tell him the moment I vanished from Bridewell. Having heard this news from my father, Pervis raced to Lunenburg, where Nicolas told him everything he knew (which was a lot more than I’d imagined).
“It was important that we kept things contained to Bridewell to avoid hysteria throughout the kingdom,” said Pervis. “I informed my most trusted guards of the danger we might face and sent them far into the Dark Hills to keep watch for anything moving in our direction.”
“It’s a very good thing we’re such a timid people in times such as these,” said Nicolas. “The legend of the giants has always been something of a mystery to the people of Bridewell Common. It’s talked about more in Ainsworth, where people like such stories. Still, there is a healthy fear of all things outside our kingdom, and a deep longing for the past when my father was still here.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “When we received word from the guards that Grindall and his giants were sleeping in the hills only a day’s journey away, I called a meeting in the town square of all the people who remained in Bridewell. Many were already gone. As you know, summer is the time when most are out gathering books for repair. But there were still at least five hundred who remained. We simply had to get them out without alarming the other towns of the approaching danger.”
“Ogres,” I said. “You called them giants, the beasts that travel with Grindall. Armon is the only giant that remains. The rest are ogres.”
Nicolas looked at me strangely, as if I’d made mention of something of little importance. But it was important to me.
Nicolas went on to tell us that he’d revealed to the townspeople that as Warvold’s only son he’d been left with a message from his father. The people, who had once been so enamored of Warvold and who still missed him so much, were very interested in what this message might say.
Now Nicolas pulled a scrap of paper from his vest pocket and read us the note that Warvold had left, the same note he’d read to the people in Bridewell only two days before.
I have given this message to my son, Nicolas, who you can trust. If it is being read to you, then something has happened that requires your immediate action. There is a danger approaching, a danger that is hard to explain and best left unknown. It is a danger that will only last a few days. Then it will pass through and will never be seen or heard from again.
I must ask you to leave Bridewell and go to the neighboring towns in our kingdom until Nicolas summons you back again. Trust me this last time and leave until this danger passes through. Tell no one of this peril, for it will only cause panic throughout the kingdom and bring people where they should not go.
Again I say: Trust me once more and the danger will pass. It will be a fleeting shadow over Bridewell that you never need worry over … as long as you leave as I have instructed.
Warvold
“It wasn’t very hard to convince them,” Pervis interjected, his protective nature coming out in the way he spoke. “This was a message from Warvold, who’d taken care of them and envisioned everything around them. The idea of leaving to avoid whatever was coming unnerved them, but the idea of staying to fight whatever it was sounded far worse. They were quick in their packing, and they promised to keep it secret. There were a few travelers from outside the city, from Turlock and Ainsworth, and these I had to pull aside and do some extra convincing.”
Pained, Pervis reached his conclusion: “Bridewell is empty but for Grindall and his ogres.”
My cherished town of Bridewell was overrun. All my favorite places — the library, the chambers, the tunnels — they were no longer ours. I thought of Yipes trapped with those awful creatures, wondering if someone would come to save him.
“We need to go there,” I said.
Pervis and Nicolas looked as though they hoped Warvold might have left a plan in my keeping. While that wasn’t the case, I was overcome with concern for Yipes, and I knew we had to rescue him. I had been working on a plan of my own, a plan that meant we’d have to go to Bridewell.
“Warvold and I spoke on the boat, and I know what we must do,” I said. Pervis and Nicolas seemed to perk up at this remark. Armon, Murphy, and Odessa remained at my side, quietly listening as things unfolded. It was true I’d spoken to Warvold, so it was only half a lie, but I felt terrible having to tell it.
I continued, “Yipes is held captive by Grindall and the ogres. It would be a tragic mistake to leave him there. The first thing we must do is rescue him.”
There was a new look of intensity from the both of them, especially Pervis. I had a plan and our dear friend was imprisoned by our enemy. The motivation they needed had been set in place.
As morning turned to afternoon, we began talking about how we might hide a giant on the road to Bridewell.
CHAPTER 8
RETURN TO
THE TUNNELS
We decided to stay in the Dark Hills while the light of day remained. It was the only way to keep Armon at a safe distance from those who might see him
Later I talked with Pervis and Nicolas, wondering how they’d known we would arrive as we did at the cliffs. As I might have guessed, my mother had sent word when Renny arrived in Lathbury. Silas Hardy, the mail carrier and friend to my father, had been sent to Bridewell with a message that the Warwick Beacon was coming around the bend and could appear at the appointed place anytime. It was all a part of Warvold’s elaborate plan — a plan that seemed to grow more mysterious with each passing revelation. I wished then that I could have a mind like his, one that could look so far ahead and think of everything so far in advance. It was a brilliance reserved for someone much older than me.
As evening approached we found ourselves closing in on the walls of Bridewell, the aboveground tunnels of underbrush before us. They snaked all along the ground, gnarly and brown, filled with thorns and tangled branches. It was hard to imagine Armon fitting inside the narrow passageways. We walked along an edge of thick brush until we were somewhere directly between Castalia and Bridewell. If Grindall had walked a straight line from his fallen Dark Tower to Bridewell, he’d have entered here. We discovered without too much surprise that the ogres had ignored the tunnels. They’d walked right over them, cutting and slashing with their mighty swords as they went, so the path lay straight and true right up to the walls of Bridewell itself. It was a long way off, far enough that I could only make the idea of the walls in my mind, but I felt sure that somewhere off in the distance an ogre was standing at the tower looking all around for intruders.