Chapter 6, Part i

Chapter the Sixth

“And, hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

“Excuse me,” hissed a woman's voice with a heavy Humish accent. Lilly jumped in alarm.

(Graphic 6.1: Lilly, hiding behind a large root, looks over her shoulder in shock. Trisha and Tom are hiding around the curve of the trunk of the Tumtum tree. Trisha is clutching a rectangular object with one hand and putting a hushing finger to her lips.)

Lilly hunched down by the root and clutched at her convulsing heart. “What! Who are you?” she gasped. “I-- I'll – wait, you aren't Mome Raths, are you? You don't look like them.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” said the yellow-haired woman flatly, and easily hopped over the root between them, crouching in the darkness right beside Lilly. Her curly-haired companion with the wide eyes followed. The woman looked Lilly straight in the eye with an intense fierceness. She seemed to be a person that was used to solving problems; for some reason, this immensely calmed Lilly. The woman spoke quickly and quietly. “Look, Tove, I have no idea who you are, but you don't look like a Mome Rath and we don't have time to go window-shopping for allies. Have you seen a blond, blue-eyed guy wearing a button-up shirt and who can't stop talking about books?”

“You must mean Hector,” Lilly said with a measure of confusion. “He was just taken captive by the Mome Raths, and is sitting over there--” she pointed, “with another human and a Tove. However there are many guards around them, and I dare not go to free them.”

“I see,” said the human woman, with little concern. “That situation can be remedied. I'm Trisha, by the way,” she said, and extended a hand just as Hector had done when Lilly had first met him. Unsure how to respond, Lilly extended her hand as well; Trisha gripped it firmly and shook it.

“I'm Tom,” said the young man with Trisha, and they repeated the gesture. “We're friends, I guess. At any rate, we're here to rescue Hector and Aric... I don't know if you know who Aric is. But if he's here I guess we'll rescue him too.” He trailed off, withering under Trisha's flat stare. “Heh...” He gawked at Lilly, as if he had never seen a Tove in person before.

Lilly felt like laughing with relief. “Oh, that is good! Aric is here, and he has been captured along with Hector and Burr. I am so glad that you are here to help us. But I am afraid that you have come during a very sad time. The Mome Raths have followed us to the Tumtum tree, and they plan on seizing control of the Jabberwock once it awakes. They have the vorpal sword. And... sadly... River has become one of them. I saw him use multiple Gyres, which is as unnatural as water flowing up a waterfall... My heart is broken. He defeated Burr and Aric and... What? What is wrong?”

Trisha and Tom were looking at her with obvious confusion. “Um. Yes, I see,” said Trisha dismissively. “Right. River. Who's River?”

Lilly gestured surreptitiously over the top of the root in River's direction. He was standing some distance away from the main body of human Mome Raths, arms folded, with a strange, prideful face. He occasionally glanced in the direction of her captured friends, to make sure they were still there. “That is him,” Lilly whispered. “The Tove with the tan fur. He is a togomila from Noosta, as am I... Sorry,” she added, as Trisha's face again reflected her bafflement. “It is enough to say that he is very dangerous and... cannot be trusted anymore.”

“Right,” Trisha said decisively. She shifted in her sitting position and looked at Tom. “Well, Tommy, what do you think? Let's go free Hector and Aric. And that other guy.”

“Burr,” Lilly supplied. “His name is Burr.”

“Right.” Trisha moved to stand, but Lilly reached out and grabbed her sleeve.

“Wait! How are you going to free them? Those de-slithed Toves will tear you apart!”

Trisha actually laughed. “Lilly, you're talking to Trisha Amsterhurst Blithe. I haven't yet met the troublemaker I can't put in his place. Right, Tom?”

“She's right,” Tom said earnestly, with a bit of dread in his voice.

Slowly, disbelievingly, but with hope blooming in her heart, Lilly released the stranger's arm. Trisha beckoned for her to follow, and together the three of them started off into the green shadows.

*

Hector had been trying to catch some sleep, but the log was horribly uncomfortable, and besides, it was much more interesting to watch the Mome Raths at a distance. They stopped arguing – for the most part – and had gathered in a circle, and they were placing objects in the center with some sort of purpose. A broad, dusty leaf fell out of the air and landed on Hector's head. He shook it off, but it strangely crumbled into dust, making him sneeze.

If the de-slithed Toves standing guard had heard him, they didn't show it. They stood in a circle around them, facing inward. He began to wonder where Lilly was.

He suddenly blinked in surprise.

(Graphic 6.2: The Jubjub bird looms behind one of the Tove guards. With a great sweeping movement, it knocks three of them over and makes short work of the rest. Trisha, Tom and Lilly appear and drag away the unconscious bodies.)

Hector was about to shout in amazement, but Trisha clamped her hand over his mouth. “Shut up, don't say a word,” she hissed, and motioned with her head toward the group of Mome Raths by the tree. Fortunately, not one of them had noticed the scuffle; even River was distracted, trying to get a good look at something in the center of the group.

As soon as Trisha lifted her hand from his mouth, Hector asked, “What are they doing over there?”

“They are opening the Tumtum tree,” Lilly said. She had squatted by Burr and was gently untying him. His breathing was belabored, but he gazed at her gratefully. Hector watched intently as she softly said something to him in Tovish, and he responded with a nod.

Trisha appeared in his vision and yanked Hector to his feet. “You can write the soap opera about them later,” she chided as she cut his bonds. Silently she pointed to the other side of the log, and together they all scrambled over it. Hector saw Tom with one of Aric's arms over his shoulders, dragging the unresponsive man up and over the rotting wood. The Jubjub bird had vanished.

Trisha didn't have them stop until they were well away from the chanting Mome Raths.

(Graphic 6.3: Trisha, Hector, Lilly, Burr, Tom and Aric stop behind a large, mossy boulder; the drooping vines and dead trees around them provide a good hiding spot.)

As he found a comfortable spot to sit, Hector shivered and pulled his jacket tighter; in the recent rush of things, he had forgotten that it was almost December. Trisha offered him her thick coat but he shook his head. Nobody spoke for a moment as they all caught their breath. Lilly fussed over Burr's wounds, checking his slit wrist and feeling his ribs to see if any had been broken. Tom and Trisha were sitting beside Aric cross-legged. Aric's head still hung low.

“...what's wrong? Are you okay?” Tom was saying. He gingerly poked Aric's knee, but there was no response. With eyes filled with unusual concern, Tom looked to Hector. “What's wrong with him? Why won't he talk? Aric, it's you, I know it's you, I'd recognize you better than my own mama! Don't you remember me? C'mon, don't you remember Tommy?”

Aric shifted slightly, but didn't say a thing. Tom lost his temper and grabbed Aric by the shoulders, shaking him with every word.

“Aric! Boss! You have to snap out of it! Curse you, you lazy, stupid--”

“Stop it,” Trisha commanded, and ripped Tom's arms away from him. Tom pushed Trisha over and again seized Aric. “Tom!” Trisha hissed. “Can't you tell he doesn't want to talk? He'll talk when he's ready! You can't just--”

Tom shook his head violently. There were tears in his eyes. “You don't understand! Aric is like a father to me! He must've saved my life fifty times in the streets! Not to mention he pulled me out of the gutter when I was a kid! If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead right now! So why don't you wake up?” This was directed at Aric. Tom desperately shook him one last time with quivering hands. “What is wrong with you?”

“Tell him, Hector,” Aric suddenly said, to the surprise of everyone. Even Burr turned to look.

“Wh-what?” Hector stammered.

Aric's voice was strangely sharp and angry, though he still refused to look up. “I said, tell him what Professor Trellis told you!”

“You mean about--”

“Yes, about that! Tell them all!”

Hector was afraid to meet Tom's eye. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Aric... he was a Mome Rath.”

“Still am,” Aric added bitterly.

A dreadful silence gripped the six of them. Trisha was the first to speak.

“You mean... you're one of them?”

“That's not true,” Tom insisted. “No! Professor Trellis was lying!”

“He cannot be trusted,” Lilly added. “He must have been saying that to make us lose heart--”

“Did none of you hear me?” Aric exploded. He glared at Lilly, then at Tom and Trisha with blazing eyes and a fierce grimace. “I am a Mome Rath! Get it into your thick skulls! Yes, I'm one of them! I did everything he said I did! I've killed people! I've done horrible things! I've tortured Toves and robbed them of their Gyres! Yes, Lilly, I did!” Even through her tan fur, Lilly seemed pale.

Tom's face was blank. “So... is that where you went when you vanished from New Poliston?”

Aric sighed and his rage deflated. “Yes,” he croaked. “Yes... though I never physically left the city. You remember that when I vanished we were just about to start up that orphanage that we had been working on for two and a half years. But we had a lot of financial and political problems. I feared that it would never be completed. I guess word got around that I was uneasy about it, because I was quickly contacted by a certain man by the name of Furster. Mr. Furster said that he represented a guild of benefactors that were sympathetic to my cause. He invited me to one of their meetings. At first I didn't want to go, but I was so eager to get that orphanage finally up and running, I didn't care who I met with or where the money came from.

“I went to their meeting, and it was there I met Professor Trellis. Trellis said that they would be more than willing to help out, but they just needed a couple errands run. They were so eloquent and kind – so they seemed, anyway – that I accepted the job. Well, that job was to acquire some papers from a neighboring city. As it turns out, when I got to that city their informant there said that those papers were birth certificates – to this day I don't know why they needed them, for something nasty and illegal to be sure – and, as an extra detail that they hadn't told me, I needed to assassinate someone to get them. I knew it wouldn't rest well with my conscience, but we needed that money so badly, and I had no other option... I don't know exactly what made me do it. Maybe all those years keeping the peace in such a rough place as New Poliston had hardened me. I don't know.

“I did the job. I brought the papers back. 'Just one more job,' they said, 'and the money's all yours.' So I reluctantly accepted. This second job was to kidnap a Tove, and nobody likes Toves, at least not most folks, and hardly anyone in New Poliston can even stomach the thought of them. So that wasn't so bad, I suppose; I'll spare you the details. But I did the job and got the Tove in question. I handed him over to Trellis and never saw the poor soul again.

“As you can imagine, the Mome Raths kept leading me on, from one job to the next, without actually ever fulfilling any of their promises. They introduced me to the ancient magics, which is a topic for another day, it really is. Sorry, Hector. Nasty stuff. But it is deeply tied to slithia, the life energy of the world and its inhabitants, and manxoma, the act of transferring that energy. These ancient practices let you steal the strength from living things, like Toves and people and... I'd best not go on. But, to my eternal shame, I got sucked in. I became addicted. I lost track of time as weeks and months passed by; I had even forgotten the orphanage and the New Poliston Alliance For The Betterment Of Urban Fellows. I started going by Gerard instead of Aric, so I wouldn't be tracked down. I had fame, in my sphere; I had fortune; I had access to all the worldly pleasures a man could hope to have.

“Then, one day, three years after Furster had contacted me, I overheard a conversation among certain fellows of mine. They were talking about something called the Jabberwock. It was an ancient beast of untold power and might, whose power could be harnessed to our own ends. Over the next few weeks I heard more and more of the Jabberwock until it became common knowledge among all Mome Raths. It was going to awaken soon, I heard them say, and we could take control of it. Use it for our own dark purposes. Command all of New Hume, then cross the sea and conquer the Old Kingdom. It sounded too big a project, too glorious – to use the vernacular – to be true.

“But then I learned that many people would have to die in order to get enough slithia to take over the Jabberwock. Since the average Tove has more slithia available than the average human, we would capture as many as we could and sacrifice them; hundreds, thousands of souls would be lost just so we could threaten and kill even more people with the Jabberwock.

“Well... something clicked inside me that day. Something that had laid buried in the back of my memory for years and years, which I thought I had forgotten. It's something I've never told anyone before; not even you, Tom.

“When I was a kid, I lived in an orphanage. I actually went by Gerard then, which is actually my real name. I had never known my parents. Nobody knew who they were or where they had gone. But I lived there until I was about five or six.

“One day the orphanage where I lived was attacked by Toves. I was too young to understand why; they were probably just retaliating, because we humans would always attack their nearby settlements out of spite and prejudice. Anyway, I remember that a hole was blown in the wall. There was complete chaos, and I ran outside to get away. Unfortunately, I ran straight into the thick of battle. I remember seeing fire shoot through the sky and land on the wreckage. There was screaming and shouting and anger and death everywhere. I tripped in the middle of the battlefield, and I was sure that I was about to die...

“But suddenly somebody scooped me up in their arms. Everything was too hectic for me to see who it was, but they were carrying me somewhere. This person then left me in another building, under the care of the few orphanage workers left alive. He left and I never saw him again, except for one moment when I looked back and got one good look at him.

“It was a Tove.”

Aric choked for a second, then continued.

“It was a Tove. A Tove had rescued me, a human child, from certain death. He was probably killed soon after. I don't know. But that very moment returned to my mind when I heard about the Jabberwock in New Poliston, and I knew deep down in my bones that I had to stop the Mome Raths from doing this terrible thing and killing so many innocent people of both races. After some investigation I learned that the ritual needed to sap the life energy from enough Toves and humans was only found in a lost manuscript called the Manxor Slithe. Its last recorded location had been in Dunberg to the south. It was only a rumor, so I knew I had to go there first. I also was familiar with the legend of the vorpal sword and the defeat of the Jabberwock a thousand years ago, and I thought to myself: if I could preemptively kill the Jabberwock so that nobody could use its power for evil, perhaps I could atone for my many black deeds. So I stole the vorpal sword which was held in the Special Collections of the New Poliston Museum of Ancient Cultures – sorry again, Hector, how it got there is a history lesson for another day – and I headed south. And from there, you already know the rest of the story.”

Everybody sat still, digesting what they had heard. Trisha inhaled to speak, but then huffed indignantly. “Hector, are you seriously writing all that down? Don't you have an ounce of respect?”

“Hold on, I'll forget it if I stop,” Hector said, and scribbled even faster in his journal. Aric chuckled mirthlessly.

Tom let out the breath he had been holding. “Well, Aric... you may have done a lot of things wrong. But I know that you also did a lot of things right. I know that you're a good man at heart.”

Aric laughed again. “You've been spending too much time around Hector, Tomas. You're starting to sound like him.”

“No, I mean it,” Tom insisted. “I honestly don't care that you're a Mome Rath. Not if you're willing to stop them now. I'll do whatever you ask me to, just like the old days.”

Aric looked seriously at Tom and unconsciously rubbed his knuckles. “You... you really mean it? You mean you're not...”

“Angry? Hurt? Disgusted?” Hector said without looking up from his journal.

“I'm not afraid,” Tom finished. “I still trust you. A plan to slay a legendary creature with a legendary sword, stopping evil magicians in the process? Sounds like the old Aric to me.”

“I'm with you as well,” said Hector, and slammed his journal closed.

“Count me in,” said Trisha.

Lilly nodded. “We must do this together.”

“Time to eat Jabberwock,” said Burr, and licked his chops hungrily.

Aric seemed unable to decide whether he was going to laugh or cry. Tears welled up in his reddened eyes, and he wrapped one arm around Tom's neck and the other around Hector's. He squeezed them close to himself. “Thank you,” he sobbed. “Thank you for believing in me when I don't even believe in myself.”

“Everybody deserved a good friend,” Hector said into Aric's cheek.

“You're choking me,” Tom gasped.

Trisha actually smiled. “Okay, once you're done hugging each other, we can get started. We need to act fast. The first item of business would probably be this...” She reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out a familiar hardbound book and handed it to Hector. “This is for you, Hec.”

Hector gasped with delight. “The Adventures of Sir Jimbo! I can't believe it! You brought this all the way from Dunberg?”

“And this is for you,” Trisha said, and produced another book. This one was thick and old, its worn leather cover illegible, its pages yellowed and frayed. She handed it reverently to Aric, whose eyes opened wide.

“I can't believe it,” he murmured, and ran a hand over the binding. “It's the Manxor Slithe! Where did you find it? It wasn't in Dunberg, was it?”

“Wait, wait, hold on a second,” Hector said, and gently stole the thick volume. He expertly flipped through the pages and drank in its musty odor. “This is the Manxor Slithe? Really? You mean it's been this book the entire time?”

“Do you know that book?” Lilly asked hopefully. “See, I knew that it had been in your library!”

“I'm super confused,” Tom announced.

Hector shook his head in disbelief. “Ah, I remember now! Look, this old thing has always been sitting in the History Section of the library. I used to read this thing for hours at a time, or at least try to read it. Once I finally realized that it was written in Q'imuh, I taught myself the language from a dictionary we had--”

“Wait, a Q'imuh dictionary?” Aric gaped, but Hector waved the comment away.

“Story for another day. I read this thing from cover to cover, then upside-down and backwards! Of course, then they made me Head Librarian, and I no longer had time to read it as thoroughly. Just a couple days ago I received a request from the Central Library in New Poliston for a couple books, including this one, so I sent it off with Trisha the day before I met you, Lilly.”

Aric nodded slowly, as the pieces of the puzzle visibly came together in his head. “It must have been the Magnanimous Society of the Fist of Wisdom. They man the Special Collections of the Central Library.” Hector moved to hand the book back to Aric, but he pushed it back into Hector's arms. “No, Hec, you hang onto it. You can definitely read it better than I can.”

“But...” Hector hefted the book in his hand. It smelled strongly of dust and mold, an odor that Hector usually treasured among the venerated books of the library, but something still itched at the back of his mind about this particular book. It made its rich smell turn sour and choking. “What is this book, anyway? What do I do with it?”

Aric licked his lips in stunned thought. “Um. Well. I'm not entirely sure. I know that the Mome Raths want to use it to take control of the Jabberwock once it wakes up, but I don't know what we could do with it.”

Hector started flipping through the pages, trying his best to remember the old days when he used to peruse them. “I remember,” he said hesitantly, “I remember that there is a lot in this book about anatomy. Like on this page, for example.” He flattened the book and held it up so everyone could see. Covering both pages was an anatomical sketch of a Tove, with descriptions and annotations written in Q'imuh. There were handwritten notes in the margins, also in the strange language. “However, I never could figure out why there were things like this in here. From the little I could read, it certainly didn't seem like a book on biology, or about Tovish culture.”

Aric sighed. “Yeah, about that... The Manxor Slithe is a book about the flow of life energy and how that flow can be manipulated. That drawing right there just talks about the ritual practice of sucking Gyres from Toves, and where the ceremonial trinkets and paint and gunk has to go. Pretty nasty stuff.”

Lilly spoke up in a quavering voice. “So, how is it done? The taking away of a Gyre? And where does the Gyre go?”

“Well, you see, the ritual of Gyre-stealing is a pretty systematic operation,” Aric spoke in a strangely conversational tone, as though he were describing how to knit a sweater or cook a roast. “You have to prepare a space where it can be done – sometimes called a witch-circle, by the type of folks who don't like to talk about this stuff – by placing certain objects and paints in that circle. You know, objects like owl feathers, toad legs, little blue rocks from the bottom of the ocean, that kind of stuff. And paint made from ground-up ferret skulls and other things. Anyway, you get the witch-circle ready, you paint the Tove here and here and here --” He shifted his position and poked gently at Burr on the temples, on his neck and over his heart, “ – then you've got to burn this certain kind of incense made from powdered fossils and tears shed on a summer midnight – kind of romantic, I guess, if you like that kind of thing – and recite a certain set of phrases, and boom. Gyre is removed. As for where the Gyre goes, it usually just flies away and we don't really know what happens to it. However, in River's case, it looks like they've figured out how to capture those Gyres and give them to another Tove.”

Lilly swallowed and shrunk away. “C-can --” she cleared her throat, “Can Gyres be replaced?”

Aric only shrugged. “Don't know. I've never tried. Maybe, maybe not. I doubt it, though.”

“Can't he just use the Gyre and escape?” Burr asked. Aric shook his head.

“Nope. One of the properties of the circle. Gyre's can't be used inside it.”

“And a Tove turns into a zombie when they suck out the Gyre?” Tom wondered. Aric nodded.

Hector was quickly scanning several pages while the others talked. “And this book will help the Mome Raths control the Jabberwock?” Trisha asked.

“Yes, by releasing life energy from other beings and using them as a sort of leash,” Aric explained.

“What will they use as fuel? Us?” said Tom.

“Probably. But only if they catch us.”

Suddenly, as if they had been waiting for Aric to say that very thing, there burst through the heavy foliage surrounding them several Tovish thralls. With unnatural speed and strength they wrestled Trisha and Tom to the ground before they could even cry out. Hector leaped behind a nearby log and lay flat against the ground with the Manxor Slithe open in front of him. He turned pages frantically.

There were the sounds of a scuffle, but they were brief and the struggle soon ended.

“Demons!” Hector heard Burr yell hoarsely, but there was the sound of an impact, and a yelp from Burr.

“Ah, the prisoners,” said a haughty human voice that Hector didn't recognize. He silently spat a rotting leaf from his mouth. “Here you are. That was very clever of you to escape using the Jubjub bird. It's too bad we've captured him, and we're going to put his life force to better use. The same with all of you. It's a shame, really, Gerard, that you'll have to go as well, but the good Professor has decided that you would be more useful to us if you were dead. I'm afraid you know too much.”

Hector found the page he had been looking for; he closed the book with his finger marking his place. To his surprise he found a hole in the log, where he could stick his head inside and spy on the others through a tiny crack in the wood. He squinted, and saw a Mome Rath standing over Aric and the others. Six de-slithed Toves stood guard around them.

“The Jabberwock is awake and you'll never leash him in time,” Aric said.

“That may be true,” said the cultist, and the ground shuddered in response. A deep, groaning growl echoed through the forest and made Hector's skin crawl. There was the distant but sharp sound of wood cracking. “But that doesn't mean we can't guide the beastie's power in other ways. But wait, I sense that there is one of you missing. Where is the librarian?”

“He's not here,” said Lilly with contempt.

The Mome Rath laughed. “Oh, yes he is, don't lie to me, miss. You, go find him,” he said, and pointed to a black-robed Tove. It immediately moved to obey and started sniffing at the air. It took a few steps toward the log, then another, then another...

With the book as his guide, Hector quickly drew a large circle in the dirt with his finger.

Chapter 5, Part vi

“I can't believe it, I just can't,” Hector said. “There must be some mistake, gentlemen! The Professor Trellis I know is a librarian, and a true librarian would never turn evil! Never!”

“Do shut him up, please,” the Professor lazily said, and River stepped closer to Hector. He made a movement with his arms, and more vines shot out from the foliage and wrapped themselves tightly around Hector's middle, pinning his arms in place.

“If you say anything more, you'll get much worse than that,” River warned, pressing gently on Hector's nose with a clawed finger. Hector nodded carefully.

“And my, my, my, what do we have here?” the Professor continued. He strode casually over to Aric, looked down with something approaching fatherly concern and shook his head pityingly. “Oh, my dear Aric, how far you have come, and how little you had left to go to finish your quest. It's too bad you ran into a little trouble on the way, hmm? I'm afraid your little adventure has been in vain. But thank you for bringing us the vorpal sword: you've saved us a lot of trouble.”

Aric didn't say anything. For some reason, he seemed pallid and deathly as he looked up at Professor Trellis. The latter began to chuckle, and it soon turned to a full-throated, thundering, legitimately villainous laugh. Hector was impressed: Trellis had obviously practiced this laugh for a long time, and had gotten it down just right.

“Laugh with me! Ha ha ha haaa!”

The surrounding Mome Raths joined in his malicious mirth with varying degrees of skill and intensity. Gribley sheepishly opened his mouth, though the laughter that came out was limp and hollow.

Letting his laughter linger in his voice, Professor Trellis motioned lazily to River. “Pick him up, will you? Feel free to do it rudely.” With a cruel grin, River gripped Aric's frozen shoulders and jerked him violently to his feet. A brief shower of ice crystals drifted to the ground. “On second thought,” the Professor added, “Make him kneel. Yes, I want him to kneel. That would be nice.” River gladly obliged: he swiftly kicked the back of Aric's knee, dropping him to the ground with a pained cry. As the surrounding Mome Raths cheered with derision, River summoned some more vines and used them to tie Aric's wrists together behind his back.

“Aric!” Hector blurted. Burr struggled on the ground and tried to speak, but he started coughing painfully instead.

Professor Trellis swung his head to look at Hector with an expression of mock confusion. “Aric? Aric? Really?” He shook his head chidingly at the kneeling man and clicked his tongue. “Is that what you're having them call you? I expected more of you... Gerard.”

“Gerard?” Hector asked. “Why did you call him Gerard, if his name is Ar--”

“His name is most definitely not Aric!” scoffed the Professor. He motioned with his head at River, who delivered another nasty kick, and the man called Aric fell flat on his face. He made no move to rise. Trellis's face contorted into a sneer of contempt, and he nudged at Aric with his boot as he drew circles in the dirt with the golden sword. “This is not the man you think he is. You probably think he's some sort of selfless hero, eh? Go on, tell us the truth; if we're coming out into the open with everything, we might as well not hold anything back. So tell me: what do you think of 'Aric', Mr. Blithe?”

“He is indeed a selfless hero!” Hector pronounced boldly. “He saved my life! He's going to slay the Jabberwock with the vorpal sword, just you wait and see?”

“Is that what he's been telling you,” Trellis said quietly. It was a statement, not a question. He licked his lips as he thought of how to form his next words. “How can I put this so that your naïve, tender mind can comprehend? You have been traveling with this man for some days now. You've obviously brought up each others' pasts at least once in your journeyings. Am I not correct? And has Gerard even once told you the truth about who he really is? What he has really done?”

Hector opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. No, he hasn't, he thought, but he dared not say it aloud. Aric still didn't move, but he was still breathing and very likely still conscious. Why isn't he defending himself? What has he got to hide?

“You're probably wondering why he isn't defending himself; you might even be asking yourself: What has Aric got to hide that's so important that he'll never talk about it?” Trellis continued sadly. “You see, boy, Gerard didn't tell you the truth about his past because you never would have trusted him had he done so. You would never have played along in his little scheme.”

“What do you mean?” Hector asked; his frozen legs were cold, but the chill in his heart was colder still.

Trellis pondered, fondling the hilt of the vorpal sword as though it were a walking cane, then spoke. “What I mean is... Aric – or Gerard – is not the hero you think he is. He is a traitor, a liar and a thief. Yes, a thief: he didn't earn this golden sword, he stole it. He abandoned those that he once called his friends, stole a priceless artifact from the New Poliston Museum of Ancient History, and made off to slay a mythical monster in hopes that somehow he could make a name for himself. Hah. As if this could erase all of his past crimes.

“Oh, and there's one last thing I forgot to mention, and which surely he has never brought up in your presence... Aric is a Mome Rath.”

“What!” Hector shouted in disbelief. Even Burr sat up in shock, making himself cough again. One of the human cultists approached him from behind and pulled him down again, stepping on his chest with a heavy black boot to keep him down. “What!” Hector cried again, unable to process what he had heard. Aric, a Mome Rath? Impossible... wasn't it?

Trellis placed a hand on his chest in a parody of innocence and indignation. “You mean you don't believe me? I'm hurt! Very well, then. Go ahead and ask Gerard, he'll tell you if I'm lying. Right, Gerry? Move your head, make a sound, so something, if what I've said is not true. Are you a Mome Rath, or aren't you? Go on.”

But Aric – or Gerard – didn't move at all. River chuckled softly and shook his head.

“Aric, is that true?” Hector asked. Still no movement. “Aric, can't you hear me? Are you really one of them?”

Aric remained completely still, but his breathing was the heavy and belabored gasps of someone who had just gotten in a fight, not the rhythmic breathing of the unconscious. Hector felt like his heart, lungs and gut all shrunk together to the size of a raisin. He sagged in despair. “No...”

“Oh, yes, I'm afraid, he's quite the Mome Rath. After three years of dedicated service to the cause, Gerard was even advanced to Fourth Prefect of the Advancement of Aboriginal Orientation, which is no small feat, mind you. If I remember correctly, our little Gerry translated the Manxor Fenkhe; obliterated the Wall of Trosser at Verpoor City; killed and impersonated the personal chef of Duke Rilchiam, and subsequently poisoned said Duke – feel free to stop me at any time, Gerry – assassinated the Prillian Ambassador from Old Hume, slayed an Extra-Dimensional Face-Shredder all by himself, and was instrumental in the bringing down of Borogrove Hexteo, which is basically the center of Tovish history and knowledge, apart from the Tulgey Wood, of course. Like a library. I thought you'd appreciate that, Hector. Don't worry, all of the records there were removed to... safer venues, might we say. And last but not least, and for which we are eternally indebted to him, coined the Slith-Chora ritual; you know, the one that lets us steal the Gyres from Toves.”

“No!” shouted Burr, and thrashed around with renewed vigor in his vine-shackles. “Don't take Gyres, that is the most evil--”

“Shut up, you,” said the Mome Rath lackey, and pressed down on Burr's chest with his boot. The Tove convulsed in an uncontrollable coughing fit.

“And,” Professor Trellis laughed, holding up a finger with obvious enjoyment, “And! Even though we can't credit this entirely to Gerard, we can most certainly thank him for giving us the idea so take Gyres from innocent Toves and combine them all into the perfect super-warrior.” He gestured theatrically toward River, who swelled with pride.

“Are those de-slithed Toves all the zombie slaves you use?” Hector asked, gesturing with his head at the hooded creatures standing among the trees.

“Very astute, Mr. Blithe,” Trellis said with a gracious nod. “You're catching on very quickly. Yes, these are indeed the very same Toves. Here, let me show you the final results...” Trellis beckoned to one of the shrouded Toves, who obediently approached and stood by his side.

(Graphic 5.10: Professor Trellis reaches toward the creature's head, then quickly pulls back its hood. We see the face of a female Tove, with coloring similar to that of Lilly and River; her eyes are wide, blank and colorless, with a lifeless expression.)

The sight of the Tovish girl, aside from inspiring a sort of sickened horror in him, strangely made Hector's mind race. Had he seen her somewhere before?

The Professor replaced the hood with a slight look of disgust, covering the girl's face once more. “But, of course, we keep them hooded because it's rather unnerving to have them staring at you like that all the time. Oh! I almost forgot,” he added, and eagerly approached Hector. With one meaty hand using the vorpal sword like a walking-stick, he placed his other heavily on Hector's languid shoulder and squeezed. “Where is the Manxor Slithe, pray? We have need of it.”

Hector couldn't bring himself to look Professor Trellis in the eye. “I don't have it, sir.”

He harrumphed. “Hmph. Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Well, Manxor Slithe or no, we have work to do; it would certainly be handy to have that book right about now, but we are a resourceful group, and we can definitely make do with the materials at hand.”

He took a step back and surveyed the situation once more; a brief gloating smile crossed his face when his eyes landed on the inert form of Aric. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we must move on, toward our primary objective, and leave aside for now our trophies of war. What do you think?”

This raised an eager uproar from the Mome Raths. Trellis basked in the adulation for a moment, then signaled lazily toward Aric, Hector and Burr. “My thoughts exactly. Then somebody please take these loiterers, who have so rudely intruded upon the sacred Tulgey Wood without permission, and tie them up someplace where we can see them. We have some work to do with the Tumtum tree.” Everyone burst into motion; some procured strange, arcane objects from their pockets and robes, while others carried stacks of old books for yet other, superior Mome Raths. A few of them moved to act on the Professor's orders, but mostly let the enslaved Toves do all the work. One of them quickly cracked the thick ice holding Hector in place and tied his feet, then slung him roughly onto its shoulder. His head bobbed uncomfortably as his captor walked along, and Hector's view was full of the Tove's black-tipped tail. It hung limply as its owner walked. For the first time, he realized just how expressive these tails were on normal, slithy Toves.

Burr was similarly flung across a thrall's back and was toted away coughing and clenching his teeth. But Hector only had eyes for Aric: he was hauled to his feet by a Tove on either side and half-escorted, half-dragged in the same direction. His head hung low and his shaggy hair obscured his face.

“Psst! Aric! Hey, Aric, look up!” Hector hissed, but a nearby human slapped Hector across the cheek with a black silk glove.

“Silence! We'll have not a peep outta you.”

“But I wasn't peeping, I was trying to get Aric to look up,” Hector said innocently, which earned him another slap.

“I said silence, or I'll have this Tove here do somethin' worse than slap you, eh? See if I don't.”

“Sorry.” They traveled only a short distance before the green, glowing trees ended and the forest opened into a wide, mossy clearing. He couldn't get a decent view – he could only see backwards – but he sensed that this was a very important place. Even the Mome Raths had stopped chattering and were speaking in awed whispers. Hector tried to twist around to get a look from beneath the Tove's arm, but the man in charge gave him another stinging slap and threatened him again.

Suddenly he was brusquely deposited onto the mossy dirt, next to a huge, rotting log. Burr was dropped with a thump some feet away to Hector's left, as was Aric on his other side; he still hung his head and refused to look at anyone or anything. Hector couldn't see his eyes. Somewhere along the way they had bound his hands and feet as well.

The chubby man who had slapped Hector stood over the three of them with what he probably supposed was a menacing face. “I'm here to make sure you don't do anything shifty,” he declared, but suddenly a call rang out from one of his fellows, and he nervously looked over his shoulder. “Em,” he said, glancing hesitantly at Hector, “Sorry. Got to go. Behave yourselves, or else! I mean it!” He dashed off into the semi-darkness, leaving them in the charge of several statuesque Tove-thralls and one human.

“Mr. Gribley,” Hector hissed, for it was Eugene Gribley, standing nearby in his typical apologetic, stoop-shouldered stance. The skinny clerk risked a glance in Hector's direction, but quickly pushed his glasses farther up his nose and looked away in shame. “Hey! Mr. Gribley! Can I talk to you for a second? Just for a moment?”

Second-guessing his post, Mr. Gribley shuffled closer to Hector. “H-Hello, Mr. Blithe. I'm sorry we h-had to do this to you, it wasn't my choice, you see, I wouldn't like to see you in a bind like this, but orders and all, I can't disobey orders.”

“That's okay, you've always been good at obeying orders,” Hector said truthfully. “But I didn't know you were a Mome Rath! How long have you been part of them?”

It was impossible for Gribley's face to be any more panicked and regretful. “I – I've been with them for about five years now, but I never took part in the full-time stuff, mostly j-just the, you know, annual and quarterly reunions, it was like a book club, more'n anything else, excepting of course they were ancient books on arcane life-sucking rituals, not like my wife's novellas. I did it 'cos I needed a place to feel important, to feel needed, you understand. Yes? Yes.” He pushed his glasses up his generous nose again.
Hector nodded amiably. “Yes, I understand, a place where you could contribute meaningfully. I know exactly what you mean. But you had your job! You're the town clerk! You had tons of connections and friends, and you have a very important career.”

“It's not what you'd think,” Gribley meekly pointed out. “I needed a brotherhood of sorts. Anyway, it's complicated, I... I can't explain it all right now, they might see me. You've got to understand, Mr. Blithe.” He adjusted his glasses for the ninth time.

“Have you ever thought of leaving the Mome Raths? Perhaps you could join our book club at the library. Right now we're reading Grilbag Stevens' The Pirate Who Turned Lawyer. It's a fascinating story, and it's quickly becoming one of my favorites. I really think you'd enjoy it. What do you think?"

Gribley hungrily took in every word with eager eyes and ears, and for a moment Hector was almost sure that he would renounce the Mome Raths then and there; but the clerk blinked and his face returned to its terrified, lamenting expression. “It's very tempting, Mr. Blithe. Very tempting indeed. But... it's complicated, like I said, I can't just leave. You don't just quit the Honorable Guild of the Mome Raths. I can't. I...” He peeked toward the rest of the cultists, who were gathered in a large circle, and adjusted his glasses for the sixteenth time.

Finally he met Hector's eyes. “I'm sorry, Hector. I'm sorry,” he whispered sincerely. “I'm sorry...”

The skinny man in black turned and shied away as fast as he could, loping back toward the main group of Mome Raths. Hector was about to cry out after him, but thought better of it after noticing the Toves standing guard. He sighed, and lolled his head to the left.

“What do you think, Burr? What do we do now?” he asked, but Burr gave a single painful cough and focused on the pain in his chest. Hector chanced a look to the right.

“Aric? Hey, Aric?”

(Graphic 5.11: Hector looks longingly at Aric, whose head is hung low. His face is hidden.)

“I still think you're a hero,” Hector said quietly.

Chapter 5, Part v

A thousand tiny barbs bit into Aric's legs and waist as he crouched in the darkness, but he dared not move, lest he betray his location.He had heard voices behind him on the path, and promptly hid himself in the shrubbery; it wasn't as impenetrable as it looked, but it was certainly uncomfortable in the extreme. He didn't have the time or leisure to hide himself further away than a couple of feet from the main path, but he was sure that nobody would be looking his way when they passed by.

Who could have followed us here? He thought to himself as the voices approached. Or perhaps they have been lost, just like me and the others. Maybe they're ghosts of travelers past, or something even worse. Guess I'll just have to wait and find out...

He didn't have to wait long. Soon a dozen or so people in familiar black robes appeared, arguing as they walked along, and just so happened to stop right in front of Aric to continue their heated discussion.

“I told you we shouldn't have taken that left turn back there,” said the first Mome Rath. “Now we're never going to find the Tumtum tree; we'll starve first.”

“Maybe if you hadn't suggested that we tag along with the Professor,” countered the second cult member, “we wouldn't be in this mess right now. And besides, maybe you'll starve, but that's because you're used to five-course meals every day in your posh penthouse, Inspector Bulno! When was the last time you went inspecting anything, other than the kitchen?”

“Why you--”

They continued squabbling. Aric carefully observed the other members of the group: there were about five humans, three men and two women, all of them dressed in very fancy silk vests, ties, trousers, petticoats and business suits – all completely black, of course – and the others were a contingent of de-slithed Toves in their traditional formless black overcoats. They stood a short distance away from their human masters, completely unmoving and silent.

The arguing Mome Raths finally came to some sort of truce, and one of them produced a map. “Look, here is the fifth crossroads, as marked by my red pencil,” said the one called Inspector Bulno. “The Tumtum tree is only three crossroads away. We only have to take this curvy path, which will lead us to--”

A snooty-looking woman interrupted him. “We can get there even faster if we take this route here--” she butted in and drew something with a blue pencil, “--and we can get there before Trellis and his slaves. Not to mention before Doctor Virchuk and those other imbeciles.”

The second speaker voiced an opinion. “But, Chairlady, what shall we do if we do arrive first? It's not as though we have any advantage over him. He has more Toves than we do, and he is stronger besides.”

The Chairlady, who was wearing a smart business suit with a jacket and tie, cackled and patted one of her pockets reassuringly. “Oh, but he doesn't have this! The Knife of Chimm. We can easily overtake him with this, he won't expect it. Then we can have the Jabberwock all to ourselves...”

“But we don't have the Manxor Slithe!” wailed the Inspector. “We can't take control of the Jabberwock if we don't have that book!”

“Hush, you! There is more than one way to skin a Tove. We can still take advantage of our little Jabberwocky! Remember: we are Mome Raths! We have ancient knowledge and ancient powers! We can control the powers of life and death! We have done so for generations! Remember our threefold creed, all together now!” Raising her spidery hands as if directing a chorus, she goaded them on in a chant. The others eagerly joined in the mantra, though the Inspector sluggishly droned along with disinterest.

“Power, Wealth and Control! May our Foes tremble before our Wisdom! May our opulent Brotherhood ever Stand! May the Ancient Magicks of the Land be our Sword and Sceptre!” Everyone chanted together, and the Chairlady snatched up the map with a wicked smile. “Good, good! Let us go, then, and take what is rightfully ours from those sniveling brats.”

“You mean Aric and the librarian, right?” asked one of the lackeys as they set off further down the path. The Toves obediently followed.

The Chairlady rolled up the map and smacked him on the head with it. “No, you fool! Doctor Virchuk and Professor Trellis! You look like you haven't got an ounce of ambition in you...”

Their words eventually faded away into mere noise as they distanced themselves from Aric. Slowly, so as not to prick himself any worse than he already had, Aric extracted himself from the underbrush and stepped again onto the weakly-lit path. So, he thought to himself, checking that the vorpal sword was still belted to his hip. The Mome Raths are pitted against each other. Nothing new there. Maybe we can use this against them. And where did they get that map? I guess I'll have to follow them to get to the Tumtum tree, or I'll never get out of here. As quietly and as quickly as he could, Aric started after the Mome Raths, hugging corners and curves in the path as much as possible, keeping them in sight but not daring get any closer than that.

*

“Here we are,” said River brightly, and pushed aside the hanging vines. The dry plants snapped and fell in a cloud of greenish-gray dust around his feet. Hector and Burr shared another glance, then peered around River to get a look at the forest beyond. The Tove politely stepped out of the way and held the vines open for them. “After you,” he said with a gesture.

“Thanks,” Hector said, and gaped at the glowing trees. Their green runes seemed to pulsate ever so slightly, like a beating heart, and Hector's instincts told him that he was in an exotic library. He was about to open his mouth and ask River a thousand questions about this place, but Burr's strong hands suddenly clamped around his bicep and he bit his tongue. Burr's eyes were wider than they had ever been, but with panic, not with awe. Hector's stomach filled up with ice, and he swallowed. Ever since River had met them in the maze, Burr hadn't stopped acting so strangely, and it upset Hector. Something was not right...

“What a beautiful place,” River sighed in happiness, extending his arms as if to embrace it all. “You know, Lilly would love to spend a whole lifetime here, studying Gimble. She's a very skilled togomila.”

“What's a togomila?” Hector asked before he could stop himself. Burr released his arm just as River turned to answer.

“It's like an apprentice togom,” he said. “I, too am a togomila, but Lilly is my elder so she is next in line to be togom. Speaking of which, we haven't come this far to let our shaman down! Let's go find that Tumtum tree – and I know what you're thinking, Hector, you want to ask what the Tumtum tree is. It's the place where the Jabberwock was subdued by the Tove Mountain a thousand years ago, and where we can find it today. Let's go...”

Hector was more than willing to follow and see this mysterious tree, but he caught one last horrified glimpse from Burr and his nerves gave out. All right, Burr, I get it, something is not right, but what are we supposed to do? He thought, and tried his best to silently express this idea with his hands and face. Burr shrugged frantically, but he wouldn't calm down.

Don't follow him, Burr signed.

Then what are we supposed to do? Hector repeated.

Burr trembled with unease and glanced at River, who was advancing through the forest and singing about something or other. Suddenly he turned around, making both Hector and Burr jump, and laughed. “What are you waiting for? I don't bite.”

Seemingly unable to control himself, Burr snarled at River, baring his sharp teeth and growling ferociously. Hector, who had never seen him behave like this, backed away and looked nervously between the two Toves.

River was strangely calm. He pivoted and swaggered closer to Burr, holding his hands out wide, the doglike pads of his palms facing outward innocently. “What's wrong, Burr? Don't you trust me? Didn't I rescue you from the maze? Is this how you treat me for my kindness?”

Burr's revulsion intensified, and the fur on his shoulders and neck visibly rose. He lifted his hands and balled them into fists. He wouldn't stop growling. Hector was torn between running from his friend or standing with him, though he knew that if a fight broke out he would be powerless to defend himself. River laughed quietly. “Oh, so that's how it's going to be, eh?” He stopped, standing only a few inches from Burr, hands still held out mercifully. The tension between them felt like a thunderstorm about to break.

With blurred speed, Burr brought his fist upward and slammed it into the center of River's abdomen, just below the ribs. However, rather than the sound of flesh hitting flesh, there was an audible crack, and Burr suddenly clutched his hand in pain. Hector blinked in confusion: were his eyes deceiving him, or was River actually made of stone?

His fur, face, and clothes had all taken on a gray aspect to them, gritty and spotted like carved granite. In the blink of an eye River was suddenly back to normal, and he moved almost too quickly to see. He delivered a sudden blow to the side of Burr's head which knocked the smaller Tove off his feet. In a smooth movement, River spun and brought his leg down onto Burr's back with a terrifying impact. Burr grunted in pain, but swiftly rolled to his feet and grappled with his opponent.

To Hector's despair, River laughed, and a strange light burst from his eyes. He opened his mouth and a gout of fire spilled out, engulfing Burr.

Hector cried out and lunged toward them, but there was another flash of light and a sudden gust of freezing cold exploded out of nowhere. When Hector caught his breath and could open his eyes again, he looked down and was shocked to find that his legs were completely frozen in a mound of solid ice that reached to his thighs. “That's--- interesting,” Hector gasped, and looked to Burr.

He had put out the fire, though his fur smoldered a little and the air smelled of burnt hair. River slowly sauntered closer, and Burr backed cautiously away, fists still raised.

“You ungrateful cur,” River said sweetly. “From the looks of things, it would seem that you're angry with me for rescuing you.”

“Monster,” Burr breathed. His eyes glowed with hatred.

River sighed. He took a step closer; Burr took a step back. “Look, Mr. Aztlav, don't be angry with me just because I'm skilled with Gyre and you haven't found yours yet...”

Burr snarled with rage and lunged at him, but when we struck, River had turned into stone again, and he rebounded with a yelp of pain. River's fur flickered back to its normal tan color. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he chided. “Temper, temper!”

Burr lashed out again and again, but River's form kept changing: from stone, to fire, to water. Burr paused in alarm when his fist burst through River's torso, which was as clear as a spring stream, and rippled like the same. The altered River gripped Burr by the arm and twisted himself sharply, causing Burr to cry out, and quickly flattened him to the ground. He changed again to his natural form, his snout just inches from Burr's own.

“I know all about you, prince,” he seethed, and bared his own fangs. “I know about your failure, your shame in Aztlav. I made a visit there not too long ago. Oh, how your father wept when I tortured him!” With every emphasized word, he shoved his knee into Burr's chest, making him clench his jaw in agony. “And your pitiful brother Thorn! He begged me to spare his life! You should have seen it!”

“Stop it!” Hector shouted. There was a dangerous silence. For a moment River didn't move, but then he slowly turned his head and peeked at Hector over his hunched shoulder. For some reason, the Tove's position terrified Hector more than if he had been standing in front of him, claws and teeth and all.

“What did you say, librarian?”

“I said get off him!”

River looked again into Burr's reddened eyes, gave him a final shove to the chest, then clenched his fists. As if with a will of their own, vines flowed from the treetops and slithered around Burr's body, pinning his limbs together and binding him into immobility. Burr struggled faintly, but mostly just panted and wheezed helplessly. River stood up and walked toward Hector. His clear blue eyes, just a moment ago so serene and happy, were blistering with hate and adrenaline now.

“So you think you can make me do what you want, do you? What power do you have that could possibly stop me?”

Hector's mind raced. He couldn't help comparing this situation to his first run-in with the Jubjub bird. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of movement behind River, and a gleam of gold in the dark. “Well,” Hector stalled, “For starters, I know how to read. Literacy is amazing. Knowledge is power, and all.”

“I, too, can read,” River growled impatiently. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, if you like to read as much as I do, I could probably get you hooked up with a library card. They're very handy if you need to get some research done. On possessing multiple Gyres, for instance,” he pointed out, stabilizing himself as he almost tipped over. His toes were starting to go numb in the ice. “I'm sure there's something more you can learn about that stuff in the library.”

“Why am I even talking to you?” River asked. “I should just kill you right now.”

“Oh, you don't want to do that,” Hector corrected him.

“And why not? It would be like snapping a twig.”

“Why not? Because you would make Trisha angry.”

“Who in the world is Trisha?”

“My cousin.”

River sighed with smoldering disgust. Hector saw another subtle movement in the trees, this time a lot closer. The golden blade of a sword peeked its way out from between the glowing trees.

“Actually, I had a question for you, River,” Hector asked, folding his arms ponderously. River cocked an eyebrow in apathy. “How do you feel now that you're... um... now that you're...”

“Tired of listening to you talk?” River suggested. “Angry? Or perhaps impossible to overcome?”

Hector shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. “I was going to say 'about to be pummeled,' actually.”

“What do you m--”

Aric leaped from the trees with a yell and swung the vorpal sword at River's head. The Tove was too quick, however, and with inhuman agility he ducked and swept his foot around, catching Aric by the ankles and toppling him. He brought his fist up – it burst into an intense flame that singed Hector's eyebrows – and was about to bring it down straight into Aric, but Aric rolled out of the way and scooped up the vorpal sword. He swung it deftly toward the Tove, keeping at a safe distance but flashing the blade threateningly. River lashed out with his long legs, but Aric skillfully slapped the blows away with the flat of his sword and with his own body. After a few more moments of combat, the two of them stood a few feet apart, panting with exertion.

“Have at ye,” Aric taunted, and waggled the tip of the golden sword toward River's face. The green light of the forest reflected off the blade, mixing strangely with its yellow color.

River laughed mirthlessly. “I know who you are, Aric,” he said. He popped his knuckles against each other.

“So do I,” Aric retorted with a confident swagger in his voice. “That makes us even.”

“You know what I mean,” said River in a voice so quiet and level that it made Hector's goosebumps rise even more.

Aric's expression froze. Then he sliced through the air with the sword, lopping off a Gimble-covered branch but missing River entirely as the Tove lightly hopped backward. Hector watched as the branch hit the ground and exploded faintly into a pile of rotted dust. That's strange, he thought, but returned to watching Aric and River fight.

“Enough of this,” River said, and with a twitch of his head, his eyes glowed ominously. He shouted wordlessly and a dart of water condensed out of the air, shooting straight toward Aric. He had no time to dodge, and it splattered across his chest. With a sudden crackling noise, the moisture froze solid, in such a way that Aric could no longer move his shoulders.

“That's inconvenient,” Aric noted, and River rammed his shoulder into Aric's center. The human fell sprawling to the ground, and the vorpal sword was sent spinning onto the soil. It buried itself point-first by the root of a tree and remained there, quivering slightly. River repeated the same Gyre and froze Aric's limbs stiff. When he could no longer move, River placed a padded foot on his chest and glared down at him.

Aric spat, but his spittle only arced up slightly before landing beside his own ear. “You nasty brute,” he said with a smile. “You cheated.”

River removed his foot and walked calmly over to the sword. He pulled it from the ground and examined with admiration. Hector squinted to get a better look. For the first time he noticed that the sword had an elaborate hilt, with masterfully etched images in the pommel and a golden gem the size of a bird's egg nestled where the blade met the hilt. There seemed to be swirled writing up and down the blade.

“What a beautiful weapon,” he mused. “In my opinion, all weapons should be beautiful.”

“I sure am,” Aric said with a toothy smile, but River paid him no heed. When he had finished looking over the vorpal sword, River raised his head and called out to some unseen audience:

“I have him! I have Aric, and I have the sword!”

Detaching themselves from the shadows, there appeared a host of persons wearing black. Some of them were humans, whose faces were proud and grim. Others had their faces hooded. De-slithed Toves, Hector realized. The Mome Raths...

“Mr. Gribley? Eugene Gribley?” Hector cried out in surprise upon seeing the town clerk among the cultists. The skinny, bespectacled Gribley averted his eyes. “What are you doing here? You're one of them too?”

“It seems that there is a lot you don't know,” said a familiar voice, whose owner emerged from the ranks of Mome Raths.

(Graphic 5.9: Hector, Burr and Aric, frozen and entangled, see Professor Trellis appear. River gladly hands him the vorpal sword.)