The Unready Queen, стр. 12
“Dad! What happened?” said Evie.
Her father’s eyes widened. “Evie! Why aren’t you in school right now?”
Hill glanced up. “Oh, I don’t expect anybody is too worried about truancy right now,” he wheezed. “Hi, kid. Come to see your dad be a hero?”
Evie looked skeptical. “My dad?”
“I didn’t do anything special,” Oliver said.
Hill nodded. “Pulled me out of the burning wreckage himself.”
“Are you okay?” said Cole.
“I’ll be fine.” Hill looked for a moment like he was considering standing up, but then seemed to think better of it and remained on solid ground. “They’ll have to try harder than that to see the last of Jacob Hill.”
“You think someone did this on purpose?” said Tinn.
“It wouldn’t be the first time somebody tried to sabotage me,” Hill said. “It’s okay. Really, it’s good. Surest sign you’re on your way to something great is somebody trying to get in your way.” He chuckled weakly and set himself to coughing again.
“It’s true,” Mr. Warner said. “Tools have gone missing during the night and equipment has gotten moved around. Can’t imagine why someone would want to mess with the operation, but there it is. A couple of days ago Lambert and Stokes said they were dead sure somebody was watching them from the forest, too. Gave Lambert the willies.”
Hill nodded. “Spies.”
“Hold on,” Annie said. “You’re surveying in the Wild Wood?”
Fable’s eyes narrowed a fraction. She might not know what surveying meant, but she didn’t like the idea of anybody doing it to her forest.
“No, no, of course not. I haven’t got the permits to drill on government land,” Hill said. “I bought seven acres of overgrown farmland right along the northwest edge of the forest, though.”
“The old Roberson place,” said Oliver.
“That’s right,” said Hill. “I hired a geologist who likes the odds that there could be a big oil reservoir hiding right under the Roberson Hills. We’ve been clearing land all week for a halfway decent drill site. It’s been slow going even without saboteurs. Who knows what criminal element is lurking beyond the tree line, hiding in the forest like some rotten Robin Hood.”
“You do know Robin Hood is the good guy in that story, right?” said Cole.
Fable scowled. “Nobody is supposed to be in the forest. Outsiders aren’t allowed.”
Hill shrugged. “Nobody is supposed to set off dynamite in an occupied building, either. Those scofflaws don’t seem to care what they’re allowed.”
Tinn took a few tentative steps closer to the ruined building, stepping over bits of plaster and brick. The wood was splintered outward as if a freight train had erupted directly from room nine. He squinted up at the wreckage. “Huh,” he said. “Are you sure there was an explosion here?”
“Of course there was an explosion,” Mr. Warner said. “You’re standing in the aftermath, kid.”
Tinn scrunched up his face, unsatisfied. “It doesn’t look like an explosion.”
“Don’t get so close,” his mother chided him.
“What exactly happened in there?” Cole asked.
Hill shook his head. “I don’t really know. Last thing I remember I was sorting through some soil samples we took yesterday, and then—it’s all sort of a blur. Everything was loud and I was dizzy and . . . and then Oliver here was pulling a table off of me.
“What makes you think it wasn’t an explosion, young man?” asked Hill.
Tinn pointed to the gaping hole in the wall. “It’s just that the wood and bricks are all smashed outward, but there’s no blast marks on the walls. I’ve seen the rocks after the miners do a big blast, and it always leaves a lot of marks, plus a certain smell. This just smells like a fireplace.”
“Young man.” Hill sat up, peering back into the wreckage. “If not an explosion, what do you think is capable of causing destruction like this?”
Tinn shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“I can think of a few things,” said a gruff voice from the crowd. Old Jim Warner stumped forward. “Kid’s right. I’ve lived beside the Wild Wood long enough to recognize when something ain’t normal. An’ this?” He gestured to what was left of the inn. “This ain’t normal.”
“Oh, I wasn’t saying anything about the Wild Wood,” Tinn said.
“You should be,” Old Jim grunted. “There’s something goin’ on here. Something . . . magic.”
Hill laughed. When nobody else joined him, he stopped. “Wait. Really?” He looked around the faces of the assembly. “Magic? Is he serious right now?”
There were murmurs of anxious agreement from the crowd. Old Jim just let his dark gaze drift to the forest.
Fable did not like the glint in the old man’s eyes.
SEVEN
Deep inside the Wild Wood sat a quiet, moss-covered cabin. The forest had all but claimed the little house. Sweet grasses grew from its rooftop and a fourth generation of swifts was chirruping in its chimney. Lichen grew on its ledges and ivy in its eaves. A goblin stood on its front step.
Chief Nudd took a deep breath.
Nudd was many things. He was a goblin, of course, and High Chief of the Hollowcliff Horde. He was Ambassador to the Elflands, Enforcer of the Goblish-Spriggan Alliance, Tiddlywinks Champion, and even an honorary deputy in New Fiddleham’s human police department—or, at least, Commissioner Marlowe had not yet tracked him down to take the badge back, and Nudd was not going out of his way to surrender it. What Nudd was not was satisfied.
The cabin brought back memories. Even though it was covered in vines and thick moss, Nudd could still recognize his own handiwork. The roof had held up well against the years, he noted with some pride. Nudd ran a hand along the weathered wood of the front step. The last time he had been to this place, his father—the old chief—had still been alive. And so had the woman.
She had been their fault, that woman