The Crumbling Kingdom Read online

  The footpath led them to the wall, where they slipped through a rent in the grey stone as if it were a main gateway into the city. No guards stopped them. No one questioned them. Barely any people lurked on the other side. Those who did saw them and immediately stepped back or separated from whatever gossiping group they were apart of. Wish braced himself as their whispersand stares washed over the two. He knew what they said. He knew what they thought, but that still didn’t make it any easier to take.

  Jungle-divers. Outcasts. Savages. Look at their scars. Look at their clothes. They are beasts from the jungle, why are they here?

  Thoughts and words were weak compared to the bite of a trogi or the claw of a jagrall, but enough of them over time could do more damage to a man’s spirit than any wound to the flesh. Moso said the best way to defend against it was always just to laugh, but Wish never found that easy to do. Lifting a smile from his face was difficult when the ones looking back at him were tossing him the burden of their angst and anger. A thing they cast upon anything they could blame for the circumstances of their lives.

  Fine day, signed Moso as he walked through the crowd, waving, smiling, pointing at people who dared to stare too long, eventually cutting a path through the inquisitive and accusing groups. Wish was thankful when the others were at their backs, and even more thankful for his partner’s brashness.Yet just as soon as they had navigated the watchful eyes of that small band of city folk did they pass by something that even Moso’s bravado could not stop from infiltrating Wish’s heart.

  The Trough.

  Rows of slums were built against the wall that surrounded Fangmora.The collection of dilapidated shanty huts had become a second bulwark against the jungle that surrounded the city.A refuge of the poor and the outcasts used as fodder to feed the many creatures that entered the city’s crumbling walls.

  Wish’s muscles tensed at the sight of it, like they always did, not because of the evils that invaded it, but rather because of what awaited him there.

  Do you want to stop by? said Moso.

  Wish shook his head. “Later.”

  The Chassa didn’t sign anything else.

  Ahead of them they saw a trio of men leaning against one of the Trough’s crumbling buildings. They each had a bright green fang leaf tucked behind their right ear, a sigil to identify them as members of the group they belonged to.

  The Green Men.

  The self-made protectors of the Trough. Those sworn to defend the helpless against the invasion of the jungle and the incursions of the king where the Fangmoran soldiers could not. A noble effort if not for their insistence on charging the Trough’s citizens a tax double that of the king’s, and acting more violent towards those who didn’t pay it than any jungle creature could. Though the king showed little interest in protecting the Trough, he did show interest in stopping the Green Men from taking taxes that were rightfully his. The two factions had been in a silent war for years.Rumors floated along the streets that the king had been trying to sniff them out for a long time, but the faceless leader of the Green Men had yet to show himself, and it was hard to kill a snake without knowing where to find its head.

  “I wonder if we should be worried about the ragged beasts that have just crawled out of the jungle?” said the Pangolian member of the group, tapping his axe against the large plates that coated his body.

  Wish ignored him and the implied threat.

  Moso did not. Funny, I don’t see their mothers anywhere?

  “If only we could hear the words your tail says, Chassa. I am sure it would make for an interesting story,” said the Pangolian.

  Moso turned to say something else, but Wish pushed him forward. “Ignore them.”

  “Perhaps we’ll hear it another time,” said the Pangolian, and he and the others laughed.

  What’s worse? said Moso, glancing at the group over his shoulder. A guard or a Green Man?

  “Neither,” said Wish.“They both belong in the dirt. Come on, let’s escape this place.”

  They found little reprieve when they turned onto the Gold Row, a main street way whose stone had been painted yellow as a way to detract the rogue birds who would often swoop down from the Knotted to steal goods, and sometimes people, if they were hungry enough. Thousands of Fangmora’s citizens gathered upon that street, some sharing the day’s news, others offering tales from the jungle, a few stumbling drunkenly from one tavern to the next. The added commotion took away some of the attention the others gave Wish and Moso, but not all. Both were still given plenty of space and were the target of many sideway glances as they walked down the street.

  Wish clenched the box in one hand, the handle of his machete in the other, as if both could somehow protect him from the constant barrage of onlookers stealing looks at him and making new stories to add to the rumor mill constantly churning up over the city.

  Yet Moso still did not seemaffected as he blew a kiss to a young human woman standing beside her father beneath the blue canopy of a market stall. The woman looked away. The father frowned and pointed at Moso, vowing some vengeance in his whispers that the Chassa did not seem concerned about.

  “Can’t you hold off flashing your doka about for one moment?” said Wish, annoyed by the unwanted attention.

  Why? We’re conquering heroes. Everyone should know.

  “Heroes? We just stole a handful of eggs from a nesting lizard in order to get paid.”

  They don’t need to know that. As far as they are concerned we’ve just slain a jagrall. What’s more appealing to the lasses than jagrall blood on your hands?

  “A man not trying to show them his member.”

  Moso laughed, a barely audible noise that sounded like a wheezing cough. Perhaps you should take out yours every once in a while, maybe you wouldn’t be so worried about coming in here all the time. Or are you still saving it for the Great Bird?

  Moso pointed to a nearby building on the other side of the street, just adjacent to where the Trough ended. It leaned against one of the main entrances to the city like a swindler waiting to pounce on unsuspecting travelers and offer its fake wares.It was unlike any of the structures that surroundedit in that it was made from fragments of stone, misshapen slices gleaned from the mountains, polished and painted white to make it look as if they were the pieces of an eggshell hastily reconstructed.Furry moss grew between where the stones met, stuff that crept out from the jungle and over the side of the wall, making the structure look sick, as if a poison were running through its veins threatening to kill it for good. The only part of it that was untouched by the moss’s reach was the roof and the symbol carved atop of it, the three moons sitting in a nest made of clouds.

  A pair of dark figures stared out from a broken panel of the lowest window. Wish saw an eye as yellow as the great fire peer through it and turned away before he let it burn his resolve to ashes and send him back the way he had come.

  Moso saw his reaction and laughed. You were less scared when we entered the Tresses. She must have really bitten you hard to leave such a scar. I bet—

  Wish grabbed the Chassa’s tale, stopping it before it could twitch any more words. He was tempted to throw him into a nearby barrel of waterworms being peddled by a bug-monger, but Moso grabbed his hand and mouthed an apology.

  Wish let go, but kept his fist clenched. Moso always had commentary for him, but sometimes it went too far.

  Fuck, you’re prickly about her, he said after checking his tail.

  “Sometimes I wish Lavender would take your tail too,” said Wish.

  But then you wouldn’t have a reason to look at my teeka as much.

  Wish cracked a smile and unclenched his fist. Moso’s humor often irritated him, but it often disarmed him too.

  Be careful when you use that word.

  “What word?”

  Wish. You have a tendency of making those come true.

  They arrived at Boz’s shop soon after. The small store lay wedged between two greater buildings whose eroded stone ha
d fallen onto the hut’s roof, making it look as though abstract statues had been erected to indicate to customers the odd experiments that occurred behind the doors adorned in striped furs.A swarm of Eclectuns fussed far off overhead, fluttering between the buildings that Boz’s shop was wedged between, most likely trying to shoo away the shrieking monkeys that were invading their nests somewhere above. Below, three shed serpent skins hung out the only non-boarded window of the structure, three silvery drips of drool coming from the shadowy mouth of the store’s innards. It was a strange welcome, one they were used to anytime they came to that part of the city.

  They entered the shop without knocking, and the family of hammerwings trapped in a jar that hung from the interior doorknob knocked loudly against the glass. A Kodo sat hunched over a table, and a lone, purple candle flickered in the corner, filling the place with a strong smell of the jungle just before it rained. Vines were threaded through the two raftersand wound across the walls, providing a place to hang the various assortment of goods and experiments for sale. Pelts of monkeys, ropes of dried stalks of fire spices, sacks filled with eggs, bones, and stones, they all swayed slightly like living stalactites in a strange cave.

  The Kodo didn’t even look over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind them.

  “What are you looking for?” His voice sounded gruff, annoyed.

  Some courtesy, signed Moso, uncaring if the Kodo could see him or not.

  Wish shook his head and answered. “It’s us, Boz.”

  The Kodo’s tail swished beneath his robe, a black garment embroidered with pink flowers.He lifted his head and put down a thin knife. The candlelight glimmered in the dark stain on the blade’s tip. When he rose from his seat, Wish saw the body of a mirror frog, opened, its guts strung out over the table like worms trying to escape the rain.

  Boz faced them, and his one eye, the one that hadn’t been lost to the quill of a jackal boar, widened at the sight of them. A smile followed, showcasing the rows of stained teeth that hid behind his scaly lips.

  “My two favorite creatures,” he said, his black tongue flicking out of his mouth as he spoke as if his words were venom that had to be spat. “The odd-sized pairing of human and Chassa make it work and return from the jungle yet again. Successful, I hope?”

  You say that every time. By now I thought we’ve earned a little more of your confidence. Moso batted aside the pelt of a jungle cat.

  “What did he say? Something about being on time?” Boz looked to Wish.

  “He said you shouldn’t be surprised that we return from the jungle anymore,” said Wish. Even after all their time taking jobs for the lizard, Boz still hadn’t picked up on the intricacies of Moso’s improvised language. Wish couldn’t blame him. It was something that had taken him a year of constant interaction with the monkey to understand.

  “I will never have confidence in the survival of anything in the jungle. No matter how strong or resourceful the creature is. I have seen enough of it to know better. I meant no offense.” Wish knew he didn’t. Boz only spoke the truth. Though Wish often spent more time in the jungle than behind the walls of Fangmora, he knew it was a dangerous place, and no matter how safe he felt there, no matter how comfortable he felt in its presence, he had learned to treat it with respect. Any fool who didn’t would wind up at the bottom of its stomach, chewed up and shat out as just another piece of clutter to add to the piles of debris that littered the forest floor.

  But even respect didn’t keep a person alive there. Sometimes it was only luck, and luck couldn’t be counted on.

  Boz knew this from his many years of being a jungle-diver himself. He knew it was a miracle anytime anyone returned from the place.

  If only Moso thought the same. The Chassa flickered a rude gesture with his tail.

  Boz lifted both of his hands up, a sign of asking forgiveness, perhaps for insulting Moso, perhaps because he couldn’t understand his language. Wish shook his head, dismissing the interaction entirely.

  “We have them,” he said, untying the pouch from his hip.

  “How many?” Boz stepped forward and pushed past the rows of fury root that dangled in front of him.

  “Three, as asked.”

  Could have been dozens, said Moso.

  Wish ignored him and handed over the pouch.The Kodo emptied its contents into his hand. Three eggs glowed in his palm like oddly shaped candles.He brought them up to his face, where the faint orange light made his scales look like those of trogi for a brief moment. Boz’s smile faded.

  “One of them is cracked.”

  Wish and Moso exchanged glances. “We ran into complications.”

  “Complications? The jungle is full of complications. I pay you to deal with them and find what I ask. I asked for three whole trogi eggs.”

  Moso climbed up one of the hanging vines to have a better look at the eggs in the man’s hand. It’s barely cracked.

  That Boz understood. “Doesn’t matter. The shell has been broken. The air has been let in. The fluid inside has lost all of its important properties.”

  What about the shell? There’s still a baby trogi in there you can pick apart, said Moso, but it was no use.Wish had foraged enough trogi eggs and dealt with enough people who sought them to know that the fiery substance that surrounded the embryo only sustained its power when untouched by the outside air. It was only good for the few minutes after it had been cracked before being treated. Not the hours it had taken them to return to Fangmora.

  Wish chewed his lip in frustration. It must have been damaged during their fight with the great lizard.

  “How much will you give for the two?”

  Two? Those are three whole eggs. Moso glared at him. Wish shook his head.

  Boz grunted. “Four lunars.”

  Moso hopped down from the vine. We were promised six, his tail signed furiously.

  “And we promised we would get him three whole eggs.”

  He’s robbing us. Again. Let’s take the three eggs and go someplace else. There are plenty of others who would pay full for them.

  Wish saw Boz squinting at Moso’s tail. He doubted he could read everything, but he could probably understand enough of it to know that Moso was calling him a criminal, and insults were the fastest way to a lost deal.

  “It’s a fair deal,” said Wish. “Let me just talk to my partner about the details.”

  Boz’s tail swished. His tongue slipped in and out. “Tell your partner to be careful, Wish. I may be losing my scales, but I still know how to flay a monkey.” He ran his hand through the monkey pelts as he returned to his workbench, eyeing the three trogi eggs with interest.

  Moso hissed. His hand went to his dagger, but Wish grabbed him by his tail before he could do anything. Moso spun, took out his dagger, and planted it into the small gap of ground between Wish’s fingers as he knelt to meet the Chassa’s gaze. Wish let go. Both of their points had been made.

  That is the second time in one day you’ve grabbed me like I’m a child. Just because I am smaller than you doesn’t mean I am one.Do it again and I’ll take a knuckle.

  Wish glared back into his partner’s eyes, only glancing down at the dagger wedged between his fingers. “Boz has always been fair to us. He’s as a regular an employer as we get. We upset him. We cut him loose, and there goes a basketful of lunars down the road. We fucked up. We cracked the egg.”

  You cracked the egg.

  “You started the fight with the trogi,” said Wish, fighting to keep his voice from rising. He swallowed, regaining his composure. “No one is going to buy that third egg except maybe a cook for a crescent or two. You know that.”

  I need the money.

  “So do I. But we’ll not find a better deal elsewhere, nor such a willing buyer of trogi eggs so quickly. Besides, don’t you have a pouch of scales you can offer him?”

  Moso plucked the dagger from the floor and put it back into his belt. His glare turned into a smile as he patted Wish on the chin. I suppose I can forgo
a lunar or two just to spare me from having to add a scar to such a lovely face.

  Wish slapped away his hand. “I’d tie your tail into a knot before that happened.” He rose and addressed Boz. “Four lunars will work.”

  “Excellent. I knew you were a smarter creature than your friend, Wish.” He reached into his robe, produced a bloated snakeskin, and pressed his fingers onto its end. He squeezed out four lunars before rolling the snakeskin full of coins and stuffing it away.He flipped each lunar to Wish one at a time, and Wish snatched them out of the air like bugs attempting to sting him. He handed two to Moso, who quickly shoved them into a pouch and tied the cinch as tight as he could. The other two Wish stuffed into the pocket sewn inside his jerkin.

  Boz’s eyes fell to the box Wish still held tucked underneath his arm. “What’s in the box?”

  “A note,” said Wish. “I found it in the trogi’s nest.”

  “Oh? And where did you find the nest?”

  “The Booli ruins. We tracked it to the heart of the old city.”

  “You found it in Booli territory? Many ancient things still lay there. Many new things are put there by people who want things hidden. Only the gods know what the trogi found while scouring the place to build its nest.” He nudged his head in the direction of the worktable, and the three met by the candlelight.

  I’ve got some trogi scales for— Moso attempted to speak, but Boz didn’t even notice him as he turned the box over in his hand.

  “The craftsmanship is beautiful. I’m no woodsmith, but I’d say that this was made from an aged nightwood.Not by the Booli though.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The Booli existed many Moon Sheds ago—a box like this would have shown some decay by now. There would be some moss. Some natural erosion. It’s old, but it’s not that old.”

  “There’s something inscribed on its bottom,” said Wish.

  Boz flipped the box.

  Wish leaned over his shoulder. “I can’t tell what language it is. It could be Squirm or Chatter, but I’m not—”

  “It’s Old Hiss.”

  Old Hiss?said Moso, looking on with interest. As in the language of whispers?