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The village of Craggybog wasn’t so much a village as it was a small cluster of homes in the middle of nowhere. The downtown was comprised of a single crossroad, twelve ramshackle shops, and twelve streetlamps—one for each storefront. These had been tended to and lit by the lamplighter for the night and were flickering in the gentle breeze as people moved about beneath their eerie, pale glow. Henry continued to hide in the shadows, his ears twitching back and forth as he kept a sharp eye, waiting for the town to settle.
Although Craggybog’s population was small, it was a popular stopover for travelers on their way to better places, not to mention a notorious haunt for some unsavory types, and it was usually humming with activity. No matter their reasons for being in town, all visitors made sure to visit Craggybog’s biggest draw—Grotelby’s Inn and Tavern. Famous for its gruff owners and an abundance of gourmet food, drink, and gambling, the tavern’s adjoining inn served as the only place in town for guests to lay their weary heads at night’s end.
At last, only a handful of people lingered on the streets, the rest now tucked away in their homes or crammed inside Grotelby’s. Once an upscale establishment, the inn had deteriorated over time, though it still retained a certain quaintness. A weathered wooden sign hung out front of the four-story building, and each of its rooms had its own balcony overlooking the dirt road.
Henry was so hungry it was becoming unbearable, and despite the warning from the wolves, the smell of food at once lured him from his hiding spot. He stood up and sniffed the air, hoping to find scraps while avoiding Garibaldi’s traps as he desperately needed to eat.
He slipped out of the woods and trotted quietly along the edge of the little alley that stretched beside the inn, following his nose to the tavern kitchen at the back of the building. A thin rope had been strung lengthwise down the lane, and animal skins of all sorts had been draped over it. Some looked fresh; many of them were wolf hides. Nightfall was the only thing holding back the buzzing flies. Henry’s stomach pitched.
He advanced cautiously, hunkering down when he heard the back door creak open, then slam shut. A young man stepped outside with a barrel of trash in his arms. Henry could see him better when he passed under the light of an alley lantern—he was just a bit older than Graham and Elinora, and he had wavy, dark brown hair and warm brown skin. He was not very tall, but he was excessively strong and agile, carrying the heavy barrel with ease.
The young man started down the alley toward the nearby trash heap, but froze when he noticed Henry’s looming silhouette ahead.
Henry instinctively sensed the boy was inquisitive and friendly. He stood back up and approached slowly with his head down, then sat so he would not appear to be a threat. For a good long moment, they eyed each other. Henry finally wagged his tail. He looked deep into the young man’s eyes, dark brown and soft, though they had a certain confident steadiness to them. Henry locked into his mind to calm him.
In a flash he knew Henry’s past. He stumbled back.
“Uhm, what was that?” he asked, setting the barrel down and glancing around. He dusted off his trousers and fixed his dark blue button-down shirt.
Henry continued to convey his story.
“Ehalēa Henry...that’s “hello” in Cortinian.” He furrowed his brow, confused by everything. He looked around to see who might have been talking, but there was no one nearby. “How do I know your name? And why do I feel like I know everything about you?”
Henry explained how he could communicate as he did.
He looked intently at Henry. “Well, that certainly doesn’t happen every day. I can speak three languages—Cortinian, Morlish, and Gai....and now “Canine,” it seems,” he grinned. “All right, then.”
Henry liked him very much already. He came closer.
“I’m sorry to hear you had a rough beginning, but I’m glad you’re here, Henry. You’re safe with me. I’m Alister. It’s nice to meet someone friendly for a change.”
Just then they were interrupted by a large, unkempt man who barged outside through the kitchen door. “Alister Grotelby!” he boomed, his already pink cheeks flushing red. His mangy, greying beard was peppered with bits of food. A sharp stench drifted from his pores, and his clothes were spattered with food from cooking.
“Quick, don’t let him see you,” Alister warned, and Henry shrank back into the alley.
“Alister!” he shouted again.
“Ah, yes, it’s your same-smelling self,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” the man roared, his body shaking violently as he spoke, but he ignored the comment. “What’s keeping you? Hurry up with the trash, customers need to be waited on.” Then he noticed Henry backing away in the shadows. “Yeow! Get inside before that beast tears us apart, lad! Rodene! Get my gun, woman!” he yelled to someone inside.
An arm, ensnared in a mangled shawl, reached out from the other side of the door. Henry couldn’t see a face, but whoever the arm belonged to, it was holding a rifle.
The man grabbed it and swiftly took aim.
Alister jumped between them and lunged after the gun, pulling the barrel downward just before it fired. There was a loud blast and a large clump of mud thudded up into the sky before raining back down on them. They both wiped dirt off their faces.
Henry disappeared back into the forest before the man could reload.
“What’d you do that for! That beast could have taken our heads off in one bite!”
“He won’t hurt us,” Alister spit back.
“What? You must have a thick skull, kid—that was a vicious beast if I ever saw one. Well, he’s gone in any event. You’re lucky I saved your hide! Boy would I sure like to have his hide, though. Maybe I’ll find him in one of my traps later.” He scratched the grey scruff on his chin, looking around for Henry.
“Garibaldi Grotelby! Get that boy back in here. The customers are getting antsy,” Rodene yelled. She opened the door again and stepped out with a smelly mop in her pale, almost grey, withered hand. She came after Alister, swatting the air. Her rat’s nest of a hairdo, yellow-grey and piled high, somehow remained sturdy even as she moved about violently. “Get in there! Your father needs your help! It’s a wild lot this evening!”
“He’s not my father,” Alister reminded her coolly, brushing away her attack.
“What did you just say?” Rodene pounded on his back with the mop, bits of fiber and debris scattering in the air. “Ungrateful boy! Garibaldi, shut him up!”
Alister glared at her.
“Don’t you look at your mother like that, you’re making her angry. Rodene, mop him up again!” Garibaldi yelled.
Henry’s fur bristled when he saw what was happening. He also heard the name and knew for better or for worse that this was the place he needed to be. He hovered behind the bushes until the Grotelbys disappeared back inside.
“I’m sorry you had to listen to that. You’re really a nice fellow, Henry,” Alister said patting him when he came out of hiding. He picked up the barrel again and dumped its contents onto the trash pile, then set it down and returned to Henry.
Again, they communicated silently with one another, and Henry shared more about his mission to find his family.
“I’m going with you,” Alister replied firmly. “I will help you find and rescue them, and I’ll figure out where to go after that. All I know is I need to get out of here. I’m dying living here.” He nodded towards the inn. “They pretend they’re my parents, but they’re really not. They think they did me a big favor, bringing me here to live with them when I was very young, but I would have been better off if they had just left me alone after my parents disappeared. I wish they would have. I’m sure I would have been just fine.”
Henry’s ears drooped.
Alister sighed. “It’s all right...no one ever told me what happened to my parents, and I’ve accepted the fact I probably won’t ever see them again. As for Rodene and Garibaldi—I can handle them. For now, I have to get back inside—that way they won’t suspect anything. We can leave in the middle of the night when they’re sleeping.”
Henry wagged his tail, grateful for a new friend.
“Say, there’s a depot not far from here. We can hop a train and figure out the rest along the way. I’ve been itching for a reason to leave, but I needed somewhere to go first; now I’ve found it. We can look out for each other.”
Henry understood this. He wagged his tail, then shared more about his journey from Kellandale and asked if Alister had come across a bird.
“I’ve heard all about Kellandale Wood. Lots of stories about it float around the tavern. And to answer your question, yes, in fact, there’s a very unusual bird here, it sort of makes sense now.” He told Henry about three men, regulars at the inn who worked for a circus. “They’re still here. Rodene is nosy and asked about it. She wants the bird for herself—to entertain the patrons—but they refused. Garibaldi wasn’t happy about that.” He looked at Henry. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but I’ll bet my life on it that your family is at the circus those men are from. It’s a big operation and known for its animals...”
Henry listened intently.
“The animals are transported by train. Once a week, after they bring in the big animals by ship from overseas, they load them onto a train, which passes through the Craggybog depot. A train will come early tomorrow morning, in fact, which is why those men are here tonight; they’re scouts looking for animals in our neck of the woods. They stop here overnight while they wait to catch a ride back to the circus. I’ll bet that train will take us right to the place you’re looking for.”
“Alister!” Rodene shrieked from inside the kitchen.
He cringed. “All right, wait here and hide. I’ll come get you as soon as I can. When I get a second, I’ll bring you some food—you look really hungry. There’s some water over there for now,” he whispered, then disappeared through the door.
Henry crept under a patch of scraggly shrubs and found the little water bowl Alister left out for stray animals. He lapped up the water thirstily.
Alister entered the kitchen, tiptoeing so the slanted wooden floorboards wouldn’t creak. He stirred the soup simmering in the iron kettle, then peered into the tavern through the swinging doors. Rodene and Garibaldi were busily socializing with the patrons, so he grabbed a fresh loaf of bread, dunked it into the soup, then placed it in a bowl. He ran back outside to Henry. “Here’s something to hold you over for now,” he told him. “I promise I won’t leave you out here all night.”
He dashed back through the kitchen and into the tavern. It was bustling at both the bar and the dining tables, with fifty hungry and thirsty customers waiting to be served. As usual, not a seat was empty. Card players, business folk—respectable and not so respectable alike—shysters, locals, and wealthy travelers all sat elbow to elbow. A saloon pianist had come to stay at the inn and was plunking away on the upright piano. His tip jar held a few meager coins, and those were the ones he had placed in it himself. The conflicting aromas of fine cooking and the stench of the musty, smoke-filled saloon combined and filled the air.
Alister dutifully choked back his disgust. Another night of insults from the ungrateful customers, another day being worked to the bone. But he served everyone efficiently, filling their mugs and tankards, trying his hardest to block them from his thoughts. He had plans now and it wouldn’t be much longer until he was free; he set his sights on that.
And yet, he couldn’t resist taking an interest in a peculiar gentleman at the back-corner table—at least he appeared to be a gentleman at first glance. He stood out from the rest in part due to his unusual attire. It wasn’t a modern military uniform, but more antiquated and of some foreign origin, which gave him an air of sophistication. But his primitive, almost ape-like body movements and ragged clothing quickly dispelled that illusion.
Upon closer look, Alister noticed his arms were exceptionally long and hairy, and that he moved about in an awkward manner. He smoked a cigar and with difficulty lifted his tankard, which was overflowing with frothy humberth, a special, tart, and potent drink that Grotelby had invented himself, the ingredients secret, and changing slightly every day with whatever was on hand. Today’s version involved lyleberry, sour currant, beet, and lemon juices, and honey mead. The gentleman was completely silent, merely nodding or tipping his hat if someone happened to look his way. A very small monkey was clinging to his back, looking around intently, which drew even more attention.
Alister watched amusedly trying to figure them out, but his attention was diverted when two men barged into the tavern, loudly arguing.
“Aww, it’ll be too much trouble to catch ‘em, he looks pretty wily! And, his fur is scruffy and dirty. It’s not worth the time, Mudd,” argued the first man, who was shorter and more petite of the two, with short, dark hair, and olive skin. He smiled a wide, bright smile, hoping to appeal to Mudd’s sensible side.
They sat down at a nearby table. “Not worth the time? What are you talking about, Oliver?” Mudd finally replied loudly. He aggressively fiddled with his oddly coiffed red-brown hair which was parted on the side, brushed sideways and stopped just short of becoming a pompadour.
Oliver shrank back in his seat.
“He’ll clean up and we both know the Boss would certainly be interested in a dog of that stature. You saw him, he’s enormous.” He rubbed his ruddy hands together in delight.
Alister listened intently. He knew who the two men were. But a third man that he didn’t recognize, with sharp features, an antagonistic gate, and much more solidly built than the other two, came in and joined them.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Mudd snorted as Ghant sat down with them.
“Evening, Ghant,” Oliver said with a nod.
Mudd turned back to Oliver. “Look, who’s the scout here? Whose job is it to recognize the exceptional? Mine. That’s what I’m here for. You’re here to do what I tell you. And why are you even here?” he asked, directing the last question at Ghant.
Ghant curled his lips and stared at Mudd with piercing eyes so blue Alister could see the color and rage in them from far away.
“Théodore would be thrilled if we brought in a dog like that,” Mudd continued. “He looks like Azalea and her lot, except he’s much, much bigger.”
“But we already got a bird, a pretty neat looking bird at that,” Oliver moaned. “Isn’t that good enough for now?” He raised his thick, dark eyebrows. “All I want to do is eat, drink, then go to sleep. I don’t want to spend any more time working for the boss than I have to.”
Alister saw the man in the military uniform had taken an interest in their discussion.
“You don’t want to end up like Bernard, now, do you, Oliver,” Ghant said in a way that was more like a threat than a question.
Mudd clucked. “No one wants to end up like Bernard.”
“The boss is a beast, a flippin’ horrible man. What am I doing working for him anyway? This is no life,” Oliver whined into his drink.
“Where do you think you’re gonna go? There’s nowhere else. You don’t know a thing about living life outside the circus. I’m sure the Boss would be pleased to let you go if he thought you were that unhappy,” Mudd replied with sarcasm.
Oliver cringed.
“He’d off you in a heartbeat if he thought your loyalty was wavering,” Ghant said with a gleeful laugh. Mudd laughed with him, which made Ghant angry. “What’s so funny, eh? You got nothing to worry about, you smug boss’s-right-hand man.”
“Pfft,” Mudd said, brushing off the hostility, which only further inflamed Ghant. “It’s settled then. We’re gonna get that hound and take him with us tomorrow. Train comes by at six o’clock in the morning sharp, so you’d both better be in tip top shape by then and be ready with the bird and the dog.” Mudd picked up his tankard and took a drink, not taking his eyes off Ghant.
Ghant narrowed his eyes and turned away. That’s when the silent man caught his attention, and he realized he had been watching them and listening.
Alister had heard every word, too. He was certain they were discussing the circus Henry was looking for, and now he knew they needed to get to the station for the six o’clock train...without them capturing Henry first.
Garibaldi returned to the tavern from the kitchen wearing his signature red apron as he made the rounds, greeting customers as they entered.
“Hey, Garibaldi, how much for your mutt?” Mudd yelled over the din of the crowd.
“Eh? My dog?” He walked over to the table.
“The beast. The mangy wolfhound out front.” Mudd paused. “I see. So, he’s not yours then, eh? That makes things easy.” He looked over at Oliver and Ghant.
“Ah, my dog,” Garibaldi said, remembering the animal in the alley. He wrinkled his nose. “Settle yourself down, Mudd. He’s my prize, and he will cost a pretty penny if you want him. Ninety smacks.”
Rodene was nearby, listening in, and scurried over. “One hundred...and the bird, too,” she demanded.
Mudd laughed. “I already told you, we’re not letting that bird go for any price, sweetums, so you can just forget it.”
“Don’t you talk to Rodene like that,” Garibaldi said, getting in his face. “I know that bird’s in your room and it would be easy as pie for us to just take ‘em if we wanted.”
“No deal. I’m not even going to bother paying for the dog, now. If you don’t hand them both over, I’ll make sure that Théodore sees to it this place gets shut down.”
Garibaldi laughed. “Théodore, eh. Well, if I tell him you’re coming here and causing trouble, you’ll be the one getting shut down!”
Oliver was happy that something more exciting than catching a dog was happening, so he joined in. “Back off, Mister Sweetums!” he shouted at Garibaldi.
“What are you staring at, you big buffoon?” Ghant shouted at the silent man before Garibaldi could respond to Oliver. He got out of his seat and walked over, pulling his shoulders back, ready to fight.
But the silent, hairy-armed man simply pulled the cigar out of his large mouth, leaned in casually toward Ghant and breathed out, belching directly into his nostrils.
“Aw, that’s awful! Sewer breath!” he shouted, waving his hands and fanning the smoke and odor away. He composed himself. “Listening in on our private conversation, eh? Do you have a problem or something, you big ugly...thing?”
Without warning, the silent man stood up abruptly. He was considerably larger than any of them expected—even Ghant backed away slightly—and he effortlessly flipped the heavy wooden table he had been sitting at, onto its side. A lantern had been on the table and it toppled off, along with three heavy brandy glasses and his tankard full of humberth. Everything crashed to the ground, smashing and splashing, and causing everyone to jump in their seats.
Ghant remained still, unsure what he’d gotten himself into. On a normal day he would have countered with a walloping punch, but his knees were quivering. He tried to hide it.
Mudd, who was tired of arguing with Garibaldi, came over to see what the commotion was. He saw the mess on the ground then attempted to swing at the silent man, not because he cared to defend Ghant, but because it seemed like something entertaining to do.
The silent man dodged the blow and swiftly grabbed Mudd by the hand. He squeezed it and bent it behind his back.
Mudd tried to retract his hand, but he was quickly flipped over, and he slammed onto the ground. He cried out in pain. “You know martial arts, eh? Looking for somewhere to perform by chance?” he wheezed as he lay there, stunned and waiting for his breath to return fully. Stillness fell over the tavern patrons as everyone gawked at the scene. Then everyone went wild.
They cheered, celebrating the brawl and joining in the skirmish, smashing their glasses against the walls, throwing wild punches, and wrestling each other to the ground. A body soared through the air after one overzealous customer grabbed the pianist and tossed him across the room. He landed hard, but he jumped up and threw his arms in the air like he was a champion. Everyone cheered louder.
But the fight escalated, and quickly turned fierce. Everyone—that is except for a few of the more respectable patrons who ran out the front door of the tavern, and also Oliver who had fled to his room to hide—began to fight ruthlessly. Bottles and fists flew. Rodene was running about swatting anything that came near with her mop. The din was so loud no one could hear Garibaldi’s angry shouts.
Meanwhile, amidst the chaos, the lantern that had fallen to the ground was still lit and had ignited the leg of a nearby chair. The flame grew, spreading along the floor. Yet for the moment it went unnoticed.
No one saw that a giant Morlish wolfhound had entered the tavern, either. Even Mudd and Ghant were so busy brawling they had forgotten completely about him.
Henry had come to help Alister, swiftly making his way over to the back of the bar where he was hiding. The unexpected chaos had created the perfect opportunity to escape and the two of them quickly communicated a plan, then headed toward the door. But just before they exited, Henry saw the silent man with the monkey on his shoulder, standing aside and observing the pandemonium they had started. He dashed over to them.
Alister could see tell Henry was communicating with them. Then, amidst the shouts, the tinkling of breaking glass, and the crashes of airborne furniture, the silent man and his monkey slipped out of the tavern and up the darkened stairs to the adjoining inn.
Henry returned to Alister’s side and Alister led the way to the door intending to make a break for the train depot.
“Hey, where’re you going!” Rodene shrieked when she saw him.
He turned back to see Garibaldi lumbering after him, his towel still draped over his shoulder. But there was a surge of screams and a stampede erupted when the tavern patrons discovered the growing fire and rushed toward the door. They quickly fled into the street as smoke billowed out of the inn and engulfed Alister and Henry in the confusion.
“Alister Grotelby, get back here!” Garibaldi shouted, but it was too late.
Once far away from the tavern, Alister turned to take one final look at the burning building in the distance. He shook his head. “Come on, Henry, let’s go,” he sighed.
They quickly turned off the road and slipped into the woods under the cover of darkness. As they ran, the Messenger trailed them to the station from the sky.