The Giant-Slayer (16 page)

“Oh, yeah,” said Dickie. “Boy, that was a big old tree.”

Chip frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“’Cause we never heard of it,” said Carolyn. “It was never in the story, you stupe.”

“I know that,” said Dickie. “I remember from my dream.”

The tunnel tree was a landmark on the Great North Road. The hole through its trunk was wide enough to fit a double team of oxen, high enough that a knight could ride through it on horseback. The sides had been smoothed by adzes, then covered with strange symbols and messages in many languages. Some were painted with charcoal, others with vermilion, but many had been carved into the wood with knives.

“Don’t forget the coins,” said Dickie.

“What coins?” said Laurie.

“All over the tunnel,” he said. “Travelers nailed coins to the wood on their way north. They used those silver ones, those Aggies, they called them.”

“Why was that?” asked Laurie, prodding him on. She always liked it when Dickie added to her stories. Just like old times. “What was special about Aggies?”

“They had holes in the middle,” said Dickie. “Aggies were easy to nail to the wood.”

“But why would they nail them there?” said Chip.

“In case they came back poor. At least they’d have something,” said Dickie. He was smiling, as though at an old memory. “But boy, most of ’em never came back.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” said Laurie. She said now that there were so many coins in that hollowed tree that they covered the wood like stucco.

As though he’d been given the eyes of an eagle, Jimmy could look down on the whole world and see exactly where he was. The tales of the travelers had put a map in his mind, a picture of the land. He could see how far he had come from the inn, and how very much farther he had to go.

He passed through the tunnel and went on to the north. On either side of the road were trees as big as the one that had fallen, with buttressed roots that made them look like churches. He tried to see their tops, but it only made him dizzy.

Toward evening, as the shadows deepened, Jimmy began to worry about the night. Long before darkness fell, he was scouting for a place to sleep. He saw comfortable hollows and little round wallows but passed them by, remembering the advice of travelers: “Never sleep where something’s slept before; you never know what creature made the bed.” “You want to be safe, get off the ground.”

But the trees were too big for Jimmy to climb. So he kept walking, and his worry mounted. The wolves began to howl and sing, and a manticore roared in the distance. The shadows deepened around him as the night settled over the forest. When Jimmy saw a light ahead, a small fire at the roadside, his heart lifted at the thought of company. He imagined that he would surely know the traveler.

Soon the fire was the only thing that Jimmy could see, and he groped his way toward it. Then a figure appeared in the light of the flames. It looked like a bear at first, and it
gave Jimmy a terrible fright until he realized it was only a man wrapped in a bearskin. He thought what a laugh the fellow would have when he told him that.

Jimmy was at the very edge of the firelight before he remembered the words of a minstrel:
The woods is full of murderers
. What if he had stumbled on a cutthroat? A garrotter? A butcher or strangler?

Across the fire, the man turned toward him. He stared through the flames, then shifted his head from side to side. Blinded by his own fire, he called out, “Who’s there?”

Jimmy didn’t answer right away. The man bent down and snatched a burning stick from the fire. He held it up like a torch and advanced toward Jimmy.

Too frightened to move, Jimmy just stood there. The man came out of the flames, still in his bearskin, holding the stick as far out as he could reach. It made a red glow along the road and in the bushes at its sides. The light swept over ruts, over branches, and fell onto Jimmy the giant-slayer.

The man screamed. He dropped his stick and shrieked the old expression that Jimmy had learned as a child. “Gnome, gnome, leave me alone!”

Jimmy looked back, amazed. The man, all a-tremble, made a sign with his fingers, a shaky little diamond. “Gnome, gnome, leave me alone,” he cried again.

“I’m not a gnome,” said Jimmy.

The man pulled his bearskin tighter. He took a step backward. “You have the look of one.”

“But I’m not. Cross my heart,” said Jimmy.

“Stand in the light,” said the man. “Let me see your face.”

On the road lay the smoldering branch, invisible in the
darkness except for the glow at its tip. Jimmy picked it up and swished it round to bring the embers into flames. He held it so the light flickered on his skin.

“Why, you’re merely a boy,” said the man. “Diminutive, but human.”

“I live at the end of the road. At the Dragon’s Tooth,” said Jimmy. He lowered the branch, because the light was stinging his eyes. “Yesterday I ran away. I’m trying to reach the swamp.”

“But it’s bottomless.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to find the witch,” said Jimmy. “She lives in the mud, with the lizards and alligators. She’s old and she’s ugly, and she smells like cabbage weed. She’s half woman, half frog, and—”

“Yes, I have heard of the witch. I believe her name is Jessamine.”

James Miner laughed on his treatment board. Then Chip laughed too, though not as brightly.

“Very funny,” said Carolyn. Her voice sounded cold as ice. “You think you’re so clever.”

“What’s bugging you now?” asked Laurie.

“Like you don’t know,” said Carolyn.

“I
don’t
know.” Laurie was getting angry, annoyed by the girl in the iron lung. “I thought you didn’t care about the story. You said—”

James interrupted. “That’s her middle name.”

“Jessamine?”

“Yes.” He nodded on his treatment board. “Carolyn Jessamine Jewels.”

The girl lay perfectly still. Her long hair was unbraided, and it spread across the pillow like a halo round her face. She looked up at her mirror, out through the window.

Laurie asked, “How would I know your middle name?”

“Gee, I wonder,” said Carolyn. “It’s only right in front of you.” She gestured with her chin toward the medical records held in the frame of the mirror. “You probably heard about frog-breathing. So you made me half frog. You made me ugly and mean.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of you. It’s a flower,” said Laurie. “That’s where I got it. Jessamine grows in swamps.”

“Wow. News flash,” said Carolyn. “I know that, four-eyes.”

Laurie squeezed her fingers into fists. She felt like screaming, but kept her voice quiet. “I thought it was a pretty name, that’s all.”

In his iron lung, Dickie was watching. “An ugly witch with a pretty name?”

“Why not?” said Laurie. “She’s old and ugly and mean, but once she was a girl with a mom who loved her, who gave her a pretty name.”

“Boy, that’s kinda neat,” said Dickie.

“It wasn’t even my mom who named me,” said Carolyn. “It was my dad.”

“Who cares?” said Chip. “Let’s just hear the story.”

T
he traveler roasted a rabbit and shared it with Jimmy. Then he held a hand in front of his mouth and, behind it, picked his teeth.

“You sure you don’t have any gnome in you, boy?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said Jimmy. “I told you, I just never grew big.”

“Huh.” The man spat a scrap of meat into the flames, then went back to his picking. “It’s a striking resemblance. You could pass for a gnome anywhere.”

Jimmy shrugged.

The man picked and chewed and spat.

Somewhere in the woods, an animal shrieked. Branches rustled nearby.

“You say you grew up in the Dragon’s Tooth, boy?” asked the man.

“Yes, sir,” said Jimmy.

“Been past it a hundred times. Never been inside. Don’t believe in paying for a bed.” He hooked his finger round to the back of his mouth. “Most Tellsmen feel the same. Not that we’re poor; we’re just frugal.”

“What are Tellsmen?” asked Jimmy.

“Put simply, we make tells. We’re charmers, boy.”

An owl hooted among the trees. A wolf howled, and another answered.

“What’s a tell?” asked Jimmy. He would rather talk than listen to the sounds of the forest.

“Anything with magic in it, boy. We manufacture charms, is what we do.”

“What kind of charms?” asked Jimmy.

“Any kind at all. Charms for good luck, charms for bad. Charms that would make you as noble as a king, or as a happy as a jester. That’s what I like the most about the profession, boy. It’s always different. Can never tell from day to day what sort of charm you’ll be crafting next.”

“Could you craft me one that would make me bigger?” asked Jimmy.

“Sorry, boy, there’s not a chance.”

“Why not?” asked Jimmy.

“A Tellsman’s charms work within the mind. Only Wishmen deal with tangibles.”

Disappointed, Jimmy sat back in silence. But the darkness and the sounds of the night pressed around him. He put his hand to his neck, feeling the string. “If I
showed you a charm, could you tell me what it does?” he asked.