Chapter 1
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As usual, Scamp was hiding.
This was often the case. Whether he was ducking chores or avoiding Madam Billings after sampling her fresh baked goods, a large part of his thirteen years had been spent tucked away in some nook or cranny, trying to avoid something. Normally, this didn’t bother him. Being alone a lot seemed a fair trade for missing chores or snatching an odd marmalade crisp off the baker’s window.
Today, however, was an exception. Today, there wasn’t one thing he liked about hiding. First, he was in the loft of Trigneth Duncan’s barn.
Duncan couldn’t cobble together two twigs to make a stick, and his barn roof leaked buckets, so the hay Scamp huddled in was sopping wet from the morning’s rain. The second reason was that once again, Jaiben was after him.
This was a good hiding spot, though. Good enough to lay low and let Jaiben and his pack--
“Hey! There he is!” The cry came from below. The voice was loud and mad and somehow sounded fat. Jaiben.
Scamp heard the creak of Duncan’s rickety ladder. Someone was climbing. Without looking to spot his pursuer, Scamp leaped up. He plowed through hay stacked up to his waist.
“It’s him! Jaiben, he’s up there,” another voice called. The other boys were all over the barn floor.
Jaiben’s face, round and freckled and pink cheeked from climbing and fury, peeked over the ladder into the loft. Scamp glanced at the other boy’s green-stained hair and grinned. Jaiben’s scowl deepened.
“Found you, Scamp. I’m going to mash your nose so flat . . . hey!”
Scamp changed direction and sprinted to the loft door, then leaped out. After a moment in the air, almost flying, he reached the rope Duncan used to lift hay into the loft. Scamp swung in a great circle and landed against the wall with his feet. Scurrying down the rope like a squirrel, he was on the ground in no time. He could still hear voices inside the barn yelling, wondering what had happened to him.
“Mash my nose.” Scamp laughed. “Not this time, green bean.”
He turned and nearly bumped noses with Jaiben’s friend Chester. For a moment Scamp stared at the bully’s tiny, close-set eyes, too surprised to run. He never got a second chance to flee. Chester clenched his fist and punched Scamp hard in the belly. Scamp doubled over and fell into the mud, all breath driven from his lungs. It felt like he’d swallowed a nail.
“Jaiben,” Chester called, “I got him! He’s over here, I got him!”
In moments Scamp was surrounded by all four boys, each bigger than he was and scowling promises. They pounded their fists together, eager to retaliate for Jaiben’s dyed-green hair.
Jaiben towered over Scamp, who was still trying to breathe on the ground. The bully’s head looked like a raggedy fern. “You ruined my hat,” he growled.
No, my hat, Scamp thought. A few days ago he’d dropped it while running from the bullies, and Jaiben had claimed it as a trophy. Anger bubbled in Scamp’s gut. But he tried to look innocent.
“Sorry, Jaiben,” he said. “Your hat looked a little dull. I thought it could use a bit of sprucing up—you know, a touch of paint.”
Jaiben’s scowl deepened. “You put the paint inside the hat.”
Scamp furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you put it on right? Up, down, we’ve gone over this so many times already—”
Before he’d finished speaking he rolled to his feet and began to run. It was a quick motion, but not quick enough. Jaiben’s hand caught his shirt and tugged him off his feet. The bully’s fat fist wrenched the shirt tight around Scamp’s neck like a noose. He was forced to stand on tiptoe to keep from choking, and even then his eyes watered from the pressure on his throat.
“What do you think, fellas?” Jaiben asked his gang. “Do we let him off with a beating, or do we shave him?”
“Shave him!” the others cried eagerly.
“Then beat him,” Chester added.
Jaiben grinned. “Right.” He shook Scamp. “Someone get me a knife.”
Scamp started to struggle. It hurt his neck and pulled his shirt tighter, but he didn’t care. He didn’t trust Jaiben with a knife. He didn’t trust that the bully would cut only hair. Once, Scamp had told his mother he thought Jaiben was half ogre. That explained why he was so mean, not to mention so ugly. She’d sent him to his room with a heel of bread for supper and a warning never to say such things again.
“Let me go!” He started beating at Jaiben’s arm, trying to break free. Jaiben just watched, grinning. The others laughed. Scamp looked at the bully’s yellow teeth and thought, Tusks. I knew it. Ogre. “Let go!”
“What is this?” The voice came from somewhere to Scamp’s left. It was a voice Scamp knew well—Mather’s.
For anyone but Scamp, an older brother showing up at a time like this would have been a good thing. A great thing. Mather was, well, mostly what Scamp wasn’t. At sixteen, he was as big as most men in the village, tall with broad shoulders and thick arms. He was the only boy in Tarban whose muscles you could see, and point to them and pick out the different parts. People said he and Scamp looked alike, but Scamp didn’t agree. They both had brown hair. But where Scamp’s eyes were the same dull brown as his hair, Mather’s were biting green. Mather had eyes that made you know when he was looking at you.
Mather was looking at the bullies then, and from their expressions Scamp knew they no longer believed they had the advantage of either size or number. Jaiben alone kept the same cocky scowl.
“I asked what’s going on,” Mather said. He walked into Scamp’s view, appraising the situation sternly.
“Look at my hair,” Jaiben demanded. He grabbed a handful of his green hair. It looked like someone trying to pull carrots out of the ground.
Mather did look. Then he looked at Scamp. The touch of that green gaze felt like the tip of an icicle. “Did you do this?” His tone made it clear he assumed the answer was yes.
“It was an accident,” Scamp managed to say despite the shirt strangling his throat.
Mather sighed and continued to look at Scamp. He looked long and hard and sternly, showing no pity, no sadness, nothing but judgment and disappointment. It was the look Scamp had been expecting. Still, it hurt to know that once again, his brother was not on his side.
“You started this, Scamp.” Mather did not walk away, but he made no move to protect Scamp.
Jaiben grinned, nodding at his companions, who laughed in return. In the distance a door slammed shut. Chester was bringing Jaiben his knife.
“They’re going to shave me, Mather,” he pleaded. “They’re going to cut me.”
“So fight back,” the older boy said.
If he hadn’t been hanging by his shirt, Scamp might have fought—not Jaiben or the bullies, but Mather. He would have lost badly, but it would have been worth it. Mather always told him to fight back. It made sense if you were big and strong and could wrestle a wolf till its fur came off. It made sense if you were Mather. Scamp, on the other hand, knew that any fight he took part in he’d probably lose. Why fight if you couldn’t win?
“So you’re just going to sit there and watch?” Scamp asked.
“I can’t always protect you,” Mather said.
“You never protect me,” Scamp retorted. Shifting his gaze to Jaiben, he said, “And I do fight back, don’t I, bean brain?”
Before Jaiben could answer, Scamp pulled in his legs, putting all his weight on the bully’s arm. Strong as he was, Jaiben dropped him. Scamp tugged off his boot as the bully tried to grab his shirt once more. Holding it in both hands as if it were a flimsy hammer, he swung it hard into the side of Jaiben’s head. The bully tottered back, windmilled his arms, and fell in a puddle.
Before Jaiben’s angry pack could retaliate, Scamp kicked off his other boot and ran.
This was often the case. Whether he was ducking chores or avoiding Madam Billings after sampling her fresh baked goods, a large part of his thirteen years had been spent tucked away in some nook or cranny, trying to avoid something. Normally, this didn’t bother him. Being alone a lot seemed a fair trade for missing chores or snatching an odd marmalade crisp off the baker’s window.
Today, however, was an exception. Today, there wasn’t one thing he liked about hiding. First, he was in the loft of Trigneth Duncan’s barn.
Duncan couldn’t cobble together two twigs to make a stick, and his barn roof leaked buckets, so the hay Scamp huddled in was sopping wet from the morning’s rain. The second reason was that once again, Jaiben was after him.
This was a good hiding spot, though. Good enough to lay low and let Jaiben and his pack--
“Hey! There he is!” The cry came from below. The voice was loud and mad and somehow sounded fat. Jaiben.
Scamp heard the creak of Duncan’s rickety ladder. Someone was climbing. Without looking to spot his pursuer, Scamp leaped up. He plowed through hay stacked up to his waist.
“It’s him! Jaiben, he’s up there,” another voice called. The other boys were all over the barn floor.
Jaiben’s face, round and freckled and pink cheeked from climbing and fury, peeked over the ladder into the loft. Scamp glanced at the other boy’s green-stained hair and grinned. Jaiben’s scowl deepened.
“Found you, Scamp. I’m going to mash your nose so flat . . . hey!”
Scamp changed direction and sprinted to the loft door, then leaped out. After a moment in the air, almost flying, he reached the rope Duncan used to lift hay into the loft. Scamp swung in a great circle and landed against the wall with his feet. Scurrying down the rope like a squirrel, he was on the ground in no time. He could still hear voices inside the barn yelling, wondering what had happened to him.
“Mash my nose.” Scamp laughed. “Not this time, green bean.”
He turned and nearly bumped noses with Jaiben’s friend Chester. For a moment Scamp stared at the bully’s tiny, close-set eyes, too surprised to run. He never got a second chance to flee. Chester clenched his fist and punched Scamp hard in the belly. Scamp doubled over and fell into the mud, all breath driven from his lungs. It felt like he’d swallowed a nail.
“Jaiben,” Chester called, “I got him! He’s over here, I got him!”
In moments Scamp was surrounded by all four boys, each bigger than he was and scowling promises. They pounded their fists together, eager to retaliate for Jaiben’s dyed-green hair.
Jaiben towered over Scamp, who was still trying to breathe on the ground. The bully’s head looked like a raggedy fern. “You ruined my hat,” he growled.
No, my hat, Scamp thought. A few days ago he’d dropped it while running from the bullies, and Jaiben had claimed it as a trophy. Anger bubbled in Scamp’s gut. But he tried to look innocent.
“Sorry, Jaiben,” he said. “Your hat looked a little dull. I thought it could use a bit of sprucing up—you know, a touch of paint.”
Jaiben’s scowl deepened. “You put the paint inside the hat.”
Scamp furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you put it on right? Up, down, we’ve gone over this so many times already—”
Before he’d finished speaking he rolled to his feet and began to run. It was a quick motion, but not quick enough. Jaiben’s hand caught his shirt and tugged him off his feet. The bully’s fat fist wrenched the shirt tight around Scamp’s neck like a noose. He was forced to stand on tiptoe to keep from choking, and even then his eyes watered from the pressure on his throat.
“What do you think, fellas?” Jaiben asked his gang. “Do we let him off with a beating, or do we shave him?”
“Shave him!” the others cried eagerly.
“Then beat him,” Chester added.
Jaiben grinned. “Right.” He shook Scamp. “Someone get me a knife.”
Scamp started to struggle. It hurt his neck and pulled his shirt tighter, but he didn’t care. He didn’t trust Jaiben with a knife. He didn’t trust that the bully would cut only hair. Once, Scamp had told his mother he thought Jaiben was half ogre. That explained why he was so mean, not to mention so ugly. She’d sent him to his room with a heel of bread for supper and a warning never to say such things again.
“Let me go!” He started beating at Jaiben’s arm, trying to break free. Jaiben just watched, grinning. The others laughed. Scamp looked at the bully’s yellow teeth and thought, Tusks. I knew it. Ogre. “Let go!”
“What is this?” The voice came from somewhere to Scamp’s left. It was a voice Scamp knew well—Mather’s.
For anyone but Scamp, an older brother showing up at a time like this would have been a good thing. A great thing. Mather was, well, mostly what Scamp wasn’t. At sixteen, he was as big as most men in the village, tall with broad shoulders and thick arms. He was the only boy in Tarban whose muscles you could see, and point to them and pick out the different parts. People said he and Scamp looked alike, but Scamp didn’t agree. They both had brown hair. But where Scamp’s eyes were the same dull brown as his hair, Mather’s were biting green. Mather had eyes that made you know when he was looking at you.
Mather was looking at the bullies then, and from their expressions Scamp knew they no longer believed they had the advantage of either size or number. Jaiben alone kept the same cocky scowl.
“I asked what’s going on,” Mather said. He walked into Scamp’s view, appraising the situation sternly.
“Look at my hair,” Jaiben demanded. He grabbed a handful of his green hair. It looked like someone trying to pull carrots out of the ground.
Mather did look. Then he looked at Scamp. The touch of that green gaze felt like the tip of an icicle. “Did you do this?” His tone made it clear he assumed the answer was yes.
“It was an accident,” Scamp managed to say despite the shirt strangling his throat.
Mather sighed and continued to look at Scamp. He looked long and hard and sternly, showing no pity, no sadness, nothing but judgment and disappointment. It was the look Scamp had been expecting. Still, it hurt to know that once again, his brother was not on his side.
“You started this, Scamp.” Mather did not walk away, but he made no move to protect Scamp.
Jaiben grinned, nodding at his companions, who laughed in return. In the distance a door slammed shut. Chester was bringing Jaiben his knife.
“They’re going to shave me, Mather,” he pleaded. “They’re going to cut me.”
“So fight back,” the older boy said.
If he hadn’t been hanging by his shirt, Scamp might have fought—not Jaiben or the bullies, but Mather. He would have lost badly, but it would have been worth it. Mather always told him to fight back. It made sense if you were big and strong and could wrestle a wolf till its fur came off. It made sense if you were Mather. Scamp, on the other hand, knew that any fight he took part in he’d probably lose. Why fight if you couldn’t win?
“So you’re just going to sit there and watch?” Scamp asked.
“I can’t always protect you,” Mather said.
“You never protect me,” Scamp retorted. Shifting his gaze to Jaiben, he said, “And I do fight back, don’t I, bean brain?”
Before Jaiben could answer, Scamp pulled in his legs, putting all his weight on the bully’s arm. Strong as he was, Jaiben dropped him. Scamp tugged off his boot as the bully tried to grab his shirt once more. Holding it in both hands as if it were a flimsy hammer, he swung it hard into the side of Jaiben’s head. The bully tottered back, windmilled his arms, and fell in a puddle.
Before Jaiben’s angry pack could retaliate, Scamp kicked off his other boot and ran.