The Luck Uglies by Paul Durham Page B

you actually saw a Bog Noblin,” the man with the monkey said, “which I highly doubt, I suspect you wet your knickers and threw your chicken leg at it. If you had tried to punch it in its snout, you wouldn’t be standing here at all.”
    The storyteller took a menacing step forward. The man with the monkey stood up. The monkey put up its fists. The men who stepped between them were soon pushing and shoving one another, and before long everyone seemed to forget who had started the trouble in the first place.
    Rye and Folly dashed away, disappearing into the forest of legs. Someone stepped on Rye’s foot. Someone else bumped an elbow and accidentally spilled wine on the girls’ heads. They shrieked, then looked at each other and laughed.
    â€œWhat do we do now?” Rye asked.
    â€œAre you hungry?” Folly asked.
    â€œI could eat.”
    They worked through the crowd and positioned themselves near the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Before long, a barmaid hurried out balancing a heavy tray of food. Folly reached up when the barmaid wasn’t looking and grabbed two gray-black lumps of meat. Folly and Rye skipped back into the crowd before the barmaid could notice the empty plate.
    â€œTry one,” Folly said. “They’re hot.”
    Rye took a tiny bite and chewed. She chewed some more. It was salty.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Folly asked.
    â€œRubbery,” Rye said, finally swallowing. “What is it?”
    â€œSea lion,” Folly said.
    They didn’t eat sea lion back on Mud Puddle Lane . . . or anywhere else Rye could think of. She examined the dark meat between her fingers. Suddenly she felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. The pain made her drop the rest to the floor.
    â€œI think I’m going to be sick.”
    â€œMore for me,” Folly said, dangling her share over her lips.
    â€œNo, really, Folly.” Rye clutched her side. “I’m going to be sick.”
    Folly tossed the sea lion aside and grabbed her hand. “Well, don’t do it here. Come on, let’s get upstairs.”
    â€œHurry, Folly,” Rye said, turning green.
    The girls ran through the crowd, Rye’s insides on fire.
    They were almost to the stairs, Folly pulling Rye, when Rye crashed into someone’s leg. She bounced off and stumbled into a barmaid who dropped an entire tray of empty mugs. There was a crash, then a roar of cheers from the crowd.
    Rye was about to stop but Folly just pulled.
    â€œKeep going,” she said.
    When Rye glanced over her shoulder, she saw that she’d run into the woman in the cranberry-colored dress. The one who was sitting at the Mermaid’s Nook. The woman was apologizing to the barmaid. She never saw who hit her.
    Rye noticed that the woman had soft features and dark black hair tied into a ponytail with a simple blue ribbon.
    She held a goblet of wine in her hand and around her neck was a black choker strung with runestones. It looked just like Rye’s.
    â€œPigshanks!” Rye said, slamming to a halt. “It’s my mother!”
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    Rye and Folly lay on their bellies in the third floor hallway, staring through the railing down into the inn below. It was the only position that made Rye’s stomach feel better. The sea lion had already come back to visit her three times, along with her supper from earlier that day. There was nothing left in her belly, but it still felt like she’d swallowed an old boot.
    â€œAre you sure she didn’t see you?” Folly asked. Her voice was sleepy, her eyes half closed.
    â€œYes,” said Rye. “Believe me, if she had, sea lion would be the least of my worries.”
    Abby O’Chanter had returned to the Mermaid’s Nook with the tattooed man. They were speaking quietly to one another across the mermaid’s body, but Rye couldn’t tell if Abby was happy or sad. One thing she did know was that she had never