Story's End Read Free Page A

apologies, lovely ladies. I am at your service.”
    Snow didn’t buy it. She scooped up the dipper and gripped it tightly. It was the closest thing they had to a weapon, and she knew she could definitely hold her own if it came to a fight. The man looked like he hadn’t eaten well in a long time. Snow couldn’t tell if the stomach-turning smell came entirely from the privy contents that now lay pooled next to the wall, or if he was giving off that sour odor.
    “Who are you?” her mother asked.
    “Who am I?” the man repeated, gathering his tattered cloak around him as though it were a robe. “What an interesting question. Who are any of us?” He eyed the plate of untouched food and began to tap his fingers together.
    “How did you get here?” Snow’s mother moved between the man and Snow.
    The man pointed to the hole behind him. “In all work there is profit. The tunnels are vast and far-reaching.”
    “ Where are we?”
    “We are in a cell.” The man’s tongue darted out and licked his cracked lips. Dirt had gathered in the folds of his skin, and his eyes were lined with shadows.
    Snow sighed. Every minute spent volleying questions with this idiot meant the guards might come back. “Will this tunnel get us out?” she asked him.
    “Of course,” the man said. “But why would you leave such a place? It is better to stay, my fair ladies.”
    Snow stooped down and peered into the dark tunnel. “Here? I don’t think so.” She couldn’t see more than a few feet in the darkness, but anywhere had to be better than rotting in prison. She turned back around. “Where does this tunnel go?”
    The stranger picked at a grubby fingernail. “Somewhere else.”
    “What do you mean?” her mother asked. “If there’s a way out, we need to find it. When the guards return, we must be far from here.” Her tone made the man look up, but his gaze was cold.
    “Far, far away from here won’t get you anywhere.” He stared at Snow’s mother with a calculating look, and it seemed to Snow that he had come to a decision. He sighed. “If you must go”—he attempted a smile after he said this, but it didn’t reach his eyes, so for a moment he looked like a cunning old fox—“I will take you through the tunnel.”

Chapter 3
    P eter Merriweather’s parents had hosted a lot of guests over the years at Bramble Cottage, but never so many at once. After Wilfred had announced the arrival of survivors from Heart’s Place, things had gotten really busy. The children were sent from the barn with a long list of household chores. Peter had known the grown-ups would take over now that the Resistance was gathering, but he had at least expected to be part of the planning. Instead, he and Una were cleaning the attic.
    Peter hid a groan as he lifted a large crate and carried it to an empty corner. He dropped it with a thump that made his forearms ache. Along with just about every other part of his body. The places where the beast’s claws had dug into his back had scabbed over and were starting to itch. Heroes who fought wild beasts shouldn’t be mucking about in dusty attics.
    Una helped him move a huge oval mirror in its stand, three more heavy cartons, and a wardrobe full of old clothes. Once they had cleared enough space, Una began smoothing blankets into four neat pallets. Peter wasn’t sure what was worse: having to sleep next to Rufus and Bastian, or hearing more of Indy blathering about what it meant to be a Servant of the King.
    “My family’s been protecting important secrets for ages,” Indy had said, much to Rufus and Bastian’s admiration. Una, too, had been keenly interested as Indy prattled on about his year with a caravan learning the oral histories of the Muses. Then there was the bit about meeting with the Sacred Order members scattered throughout Story. Indy had stayed at the Ranch and spent a week in Sleuth Alley, districts Peter never even got to visit. Once Indy had started telling about all the places