Gregor the Overlander (Underland Chronicles #1)

Gregor the Overlander (Underland Chronicles #1) Page 9

Chapter 9

Gregor watched the water flash under his eyes as he clung to the bat. For a moment, he felt relieved to have escaped the rats. But the fear of hurtling through the air on a wounded bat quickly overcame him.

Boots had her arms clasped so tightly around his neck that he could barely breathe, let alone speak. And what would he say to Mareth, anyway? "Wow, I'm really sorry about that whole thing back on the beach?"

He'd had no idea, of course, about the rats. But hadn't the Underlanders tried to warn him? No, they had spoken of danger, but no one had specifically mentioned rats except the cockroaches. "Rat bad," one had said. And later they had talked about how much the rats would pay to bargain with Luxa. He and Boots could have been sold to the rats, and then what?

He felt nauseous and shut his eyes to block out the churning water. The image of the carnage on the beach filled his head, and he decided the view of the water was better. It turned to blackness as the light from the fire diminished. When light flickered off the waves again he knew they were nearing Regalia.

A group of Underlanders waited on the dock. They whisked the unconscious Perdita and her bleeding bat away. They tried to take Mareth on a stretcher, but he brushed them off and insisted on helping to carry his bat inside.

Gregor sat on the dock, where Mareth had shoved him as they'd landed, wishing he could disappear. Boots was quiet now, but he could feel her little muscles were rigid with fear. Fifteen, twenty minutes passed, maybe. He couldn't tell.

"Up!" someone snarled at him, and he saw Mareth glaring down at him. The gash on his forehead was bandaged, the right side of his face bruised and swollen. "Find your feet, Overlander!" Mareth barked. Had he actually thought this guy was shy a few hours ago?

Gregor slowly straightened his stiff legs and stood. Mareth tightly tied his hands behind his back. No question about it this time: He was definitely a prisoner. Another guard joined Mareth, and they marched Gregor ahead of them. His legs moved numbly. What would they do to him now?

He paid no attention to where they were going. He just walked whatever way he was pushed. He had a vague sense of climbing a lot of stairs before he entered a large diamond-shaped room. There was a table in the middle of it. Mareth pushed him down on a stool by a roaring fireplace. The two guards stepped back a couple of paces, watching him like hawks.

"I'm that dangerous," he thought foggily.

Boots began to stir on his back. She tugged on one of his ears. "Home?" she pleaded. "Go home, Ge-go?" Gregor had no answer for her.

People were hurrying past the door, talking in excited voices. Some peered in at him, but no one came in.

In the warmth of the fire, he realized he was frozen. He was soaked in river water up to his waist and shivering from the wind and the horror of what he'd witnessed. Of what he'd taken part in.

Boots was in better condition. Her backpack seemed to be waterproof, and she was pressed up against him. Still, her toes felt like ice when they brushed his arm.

Fatigue washed over Gregor, and he wished he could lie down, just lie down and fall asleep and wake up in his bed where he could see the car lights flashing across the walls. But he had given up thinking this was a dream.

What had happened to the Underlanders? Perdita? Her wounded bat? And Mareth's? If they died, it would be his fault. He wouldn't even try to argue that.

Just then Luxa appeared. Burning white with fury, she crossed the room and struck him on the face. His head snapped to the side and Boots let out a cry.

"No hitting!" she squeaked. "No, no, no hitting!" She shook her tiny index finger at Luxa. Hitting was absolutely forbidden in Gregor's house, and it had only taken Boots a few time-outs to realize it.

Apparently it wasn't acceptable among the Underlanders, either, because Gregor heard Vikus's voice ring out sharply from the doorway. "Luxa!"

Looking like she'd love to slap him again, Luxa stalked to the mantel and glared into the fire.

"For shame, Luxa," Vikus said, crossing to her.

She turned on him, spitting venom. "Two fliers are down, and we cannot awaken Perdita because the Overlander must escape! Strike him? I say we throw him into the Dead Land and let him take his chances!" shouted Luxa.

"Be that as it may, Luxa, this is not seemly," said Vikus, but Gregor could see the news had upset him. "Both rats are dead?" he asked.

"Dead and in the river," said Luxa. "We scorched the land."

"This matter of 'we' you and I shall take up later," said Vikus severely. "The council is not pleased."

"I care not what pleases the council," muttered Luxa, but she avoided Vikus's gaze.

"So she wasn't supposed to be there," thought Gregor. "She's in trouble, too." He wished he could enjoy the moment, but he was too wracked with worry, guilt, and exhaustion to care. Besides, Luxa had saved his life taking out Shed. He owed her one, he guessed, but he was still stinging from the slap, so he didn't bring it up.

"No hitting," said Boots again, and Vikus turned to them.

Like Luxa, Gregor was unable to meet his eyes.

"What did the Overlander, Luxa? Fight or flee?" asked Vikus.

"Henry says he fought," Luxa admitted grudgingly. "But without skill or knowledge of weapons."

Gregor felt like saying, "Hey, all I had was a stupid torch!" But why bother?

"Then he has much courage," said Vikus.

"Courage without caution makes for early death, or so you tell me daily," said Luxa.

"So I tell you and do you hear?" said Vikus, raising his eyebrows. "You hear not as he hears not. You are both very young for deafness. Unleash his hands and leave us," he said to the guards.

Gregor felt a blade cut through the ropes on his wrists. He rubbed the marks trying to restore circulation to his hands. His cheek throbbed, but he wouldn't give Luxa the satisfaction of seeing him touch it.

Boots reached over his shoulder and touched the creases on his wrists. "Ow," she whimpered. "Ow."

"I'm okay, Boots," he said, but she just shook her head.

"Gather us here," said Vikus, sitting at the table. Neither Gregor nor Luxa moved. "Gather us here, for we must discuss!" said Vikus, slapping his hand on the stone surface. This time, they both took seats as far from each other as possible.

Gregor pulled Boots up over his head and out of the backpack. She settled on his lap, wrapping Gregor's arms tightly around her and looking at Vikus and Luxa with large, solemn eyes.

"I guess after tonight Boots won't think the whole world is her friend," thought Gregor. She had to find out sometime, but it still made him sad.

Vikus began, "Gregor the Overlander, there is much you do not understand. You do not speak, but your face speaks for you. You are worried. You are angered. You believe you were right to flee those who kept you against your will, but feel sorely that we have suffered in your saving. We told you not of the rats, yet Luxa blames you for our losses. We seem to be your enemy, and yet we gave you time."

Gregor didn't answer. He thought that pretty much summed things up except for the fact that Luxa had hit him.

Vikus read his mind. "Luxa should not have struck you, but your fight invited horrible death to those she loved. This is greatly felt by her, as both her parents were killed by rats."

Luxa gasped. "That is not his affair!"

She looked so distressed that Gregor almost objected as well. Whatever she'd done to him, this wasn't his business.

"But I make it so, Luxa, as I have cause to believe that Gregor may himself lack a father," continued Vikus.

Now it was Gregor's turn to look shocked. "How do you know that?"

"I do not know for sure, I only guess. Tell me, Gregor the Overlander, recognize you this?" Vikus reached in his cloak and pulled something out.

It was a metal ring. Several keys dangled from it. But it was the roughly braided loop of red, black, and blue leather that made Gregor's heart stop. He had woven it himself during crafts class at the very same summer camp that Lizzie was at now. You could make three things: a bracelet, a bookmark, or a key chain. Gregor had picked the key chain.

His father never went anywhere without it.