Helga: Out of Hedgelands by Rick Johnson (historical books to read TXT) 📕

jump for the door. Even before the visitor knocked, she had already flung the door open.

Pulling her friend inside, Helga hurriedly shut the door and turned the lock. “Bad Bone! What are you doing here?” she asked urgently. Her troubled face showed additional signs of worry. “Are you insane? If his High Fropperdaftness knew you were here, your life wouldn’t be worth a grain of sand! We are officially declared enemies of the king—anyone who comes near us is in great peril. You shouldn’t have come!”

Bad Bone put a finger to his lips, urging quieter voices. “But you’re still glad I came, aren’t you?” he whispered.

The smiling, hopeful face of her friend had its affect. “O.K., so I’m glad to see you,” she admitted. “But you’re still insane to be here. You might’ve been seen.”

“No one saw me,” Bad Bone replied in a low voice. “It’s dark as pitch, and I kept to the back ways.” He paused and put his arm around her shoulders. “I saw you leaving the High Seat after the decree was read. I called after you, but you didn’t hear me. I’ve been wanting to come...” his voice trailed off. He looked down at the floor for some seconds, saying nothing more.

“I had to come,” he continued. “I couldn’t let you leave without telling you how sorry I am about what has happened. I had to be with you and Breister on your last night in the Hedgelands. It’s taken me a long time to get up my courage to come, but I had to see you before you left.”

“We leave at dawn,” Helga replied. “Papa’s in the workshop, packing our tools.” She motioned at the jumble of chests, barrels, and satchels scattered around the room. “You can see we’re mostly ready to leave. We’ve been preparing for departure almost non-stop for weeks. There’s been so much to do.”

“It’s been so many weeks; you didn’t expect to see me, did you?” Bad Bond asked.

“I can’t believe anyone would come,” Helga replied. “Especially the High One’s celebrated courier. Your mission to the Jays, and the rescue of those poor beasts, is the talk of the market and taprooms.” Helga gave her friend a kind look full of understanding. “You did as you were asked, not knowing what you were doing,” she said simply.

Bad Bone could scarcely believe how good those words sounded. “I’m not”—the uncertainty lingered in his voice—“an outcast here? I’m still welcome at your hearth?”

“We’re all outcasts here,” Helga said grimly. “If you’re here, you’re marked as an outcast by the High One. Even if you’re never officially expelled, in coming here you’ve chosen to join us in our fate. Because of this, you’re forever our friend.” She gave Bad Bone a friendly smile.

“I brought you some information that may help you,” the Lynx offered.

“What is it?” Helga asked.

“I know some of the High One’s officers,” Bad Bone began. “One of them has got a loose lip—talks more than he should. I learn a few things that most beasts will never know...I’ve heard about safe routes beyond the Hedge.”

“Come, sit down,” Helga invited warmly. “I’ll bring you a drink and we can talk a while.”

Bad Bone sat down on a box, with his back towards a window that opened onto the road in front of the house. The window was slightly ajar to let in the refreshing evening air.

He had not sat more than a few moments, and his host had barely filled the teakettle with water, when he was startled by the mention of his name. “That traitorous fleabag, Bad Bone...” His skilled sense of his surroundings, long cultivated on dangerous missions, alerted him to the faint comment that disturbed his calm. He lifted his head carefully to peer out of the window. A troop of Skull Buzzards was standing in the road just outside the house.

The soldiers spoke in low voices, but now and then burst into a muffled laugh. Bad Bone could catch no repetition of his name, nor anything sounding like the words which had attracted his attention.

He wondered if he had imagined the words altogether, or misheard what had been said. The words, “traitorous fleabag,” however rang in his mind as clearly as if they had been shouted in his ear. Perhaps he had been wrong in thinking his own name was connected with that phrase, but he was confident that he had heard that specific phrase.

He was just turning away from the window, when he heard more: “We’ll hang up Bad Bone for the flies to eat when we find him.”

“I was right,” Bad Bone muttered. “It is as I feared.” He realized that the voices were becoming more distinct. The Royal Patrol troop was moving toward Helga’s front door.

“The High One was right to suspect that the highly-esteemed Bad Bone might be a traitor,” one of the Skull Buzzards snarled in a sarcastic tone. “He’s been asking more questions than is normal for him. He knows all he needs to know to serve within the High One’s wishes. Why does he need to know more about routes beyond the Hedge? And now we track him straight to the Wood Cow settlement—that traitorous fleabag will no longer be the great hero some make him out to be.”

“He’ll soon be fly bait!” cried another Buzzard, and the entire troop erupted in harsh guffaws.

At that moment, Helga came back into the room carrying a pitcher and cups. “Let me call Papa,” she said. “He’ll want to see you also and hear what you have to say.”

“There’s no time,” Bad Bone replied. Keenly aware of his own danger, and the danger he had brought to Helga and her father, he continued quickly: “The Hedge will be opened at Bazoot’s Store—there’s a Skull Buzzard barracks near there.” This was news to Helga. The High One didn’t want anyone crossing through the Hedge except the exiles, so the site of the Hedge opening had been kept secret. At dawn, the Wood Cows were to gather in the square by the High Seat. From there, a Royal Patrol escort would conduct them to the place where they were to cross through the Hedge.

“That’s not the best place for one going east,” Bad Bone continued hurriedly, “but it will do. After crossing through the Hedge, go down the mountainside straight as possible to the north. At the bottom of the mountain, you should come upon a road of broken stones, left from ancient times. Follow the road until you come to a group of stone huts, surrounded by corrals. It’s a small hamlet of farmers called Shell Kral. They grow a few potatoes and keep herds of giant tortoises. They’re simple folk—a few Hares, a few Opossums, a few Skunks. In the center of town, under a fir tree, you will find a tea vendor—Bost Ony. Ask her about routes to the east.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickling with a rising sense of danger, Bad Bone gave Helga an urgent look. She heard it, too. The sound of heavy boots on the walk outside—the Royal Patrol was at her door!

Motioning quickly, Helga pointed toward the back entry. “Go to Papa. He’ll hide you.” The Lynx nodded, gave Helga a squeeze on the shoulder, and was off.

A harsh RAP-RAP-RAP sounded at the door. A Skull Buzzard pushed into the house as soon as Helga cracked the front door. Looking coldly at her, he said, “The Lynx that came down this road, where is he?”

Helga realized that attempting to stall the Royal Patrol was fruitless. Delay would only inflame their suspicions and endanger her and her father further. Walking quickly around the room, she flung open all of the doors, including the one through which Bad Bone had so recently passed.

“You may look in all of these places, as you wish,” said Helga, in a pleasant voice. “However, you shall not find any visitors here, only outcasts.”

The Royal Patrol commander looked at her scornfully. His bitter death-white face sent a chill down Helga’s spine. The Buzzard’s horrid-smelling breath was hot in Helga’s face as he glared into her eyes and hissed: “Perhaps he is hiding among his Wood Cow friends? The High One has been watching him. The sound of his chain-mail boots was heard on this road not long ago.”

In a desperate attempt to delay the soldiers, without appearing to stall, Helga placed herself near one of the doors that Bad Bone had not used. Her movement succeeded in drawing the commander’s attention.

“Yah! There! After him, troops!” the Buzzard yelled, pointing to the door Helga seemed to be favoring.

Making no attempt to block their search, Helga stood silently aside while the Patrol ransacked the room. Although only a few moments passed, the stratagem purchased precious time. Then, as their examination of the room ended, she took a great risk. Trusting in her father’s quick mind, she invited her brutal enemy to follow her out to the workshop. “If you wish, sir, you may also like to question my father. Perhaps he’s seen the Lynx you’re seeking.”

“Slug-brained idiot,” said the soldier, “I take no advice from you. What is your imbecile father’s word worth to me? I will see for myself.” Motioning for his troops to follow, the Skull Buzzard pushed Helga aside. He and his troop stormed into the workshop, clubs at the ready, apparently hoping to surprise their prey.

But as the Royal Patrol pushed into the carpentry shop, they found no one. A light shined, however, from outside the back door, which stood open.

“Yaa-Haa! The scum went this way!” the commander cried, rushing out through the open door.

Clattering outside, the troop of Skull Buzzards pulled up in surprise. Some distance across the garden behind the workshop was an outhouse. A lantern swung gently above the door, casting illumination.

The blustering commander was speechless. He had not expected this. For a moment, he did not know what to do, but recovered quickly. Signaling to his troops, they ran quickly to surround the latrine.

As the Royal Patrol took up positions around the outhouse, their cursing and tramping brought a shout from inside the small shed. “Who’s waiting for the pot?” Breister’s voice boomed out cheerfully through the closed door. “I’ll only be a minute. This is a one-holer, so you’ll just have to wait.”

Yanking the outhouse door open, and brandishing his hooked club, the commander yelled, “Freeze! Don’t move!”

Breister, apparently startled, stared at the Patrol leader. Although his carpenter’s apron gave him some privacy, he was clearly sitting on the toilet.

Looking embarrassed and a little annoyed, Breister said, “My, my, your mother needs to teach you some manners! Can’t a fellow be alone at a time like this?”

The commander’s eyes flashed dangerously, but seeing that there was no one else in the small, cramped shed, he said nothing.

“If you give me just a moment, I’ll be glad to see if I can help you fine fellows,” Breister offered. “But, I’m surprised that the High One’s troops do not have better things to do than to search outhouses...”

“Zet! Sharant!” the Royal Patrol leader shouted angrily. “The Lynx isn’t here! But he can’t have gone far. Leave the idiot Wood Cow! Spread out and check all the houses and alleys!”

The Royal Patrol dispersed to continue searching. As a parting shot, the Skull Buzzard commander spat at Breister, “I belong to the High One! Nothing has ever stopped me in his service. I will tear the Lynx to pieces, wherever he may be.” Swinging his club with ferocious rage, he shattered the lantern, spraying fragments of glass and blazing oil in all directions. “Bah! Sharant! You may tell the Lynx that is what awaits