Chapter Twenty-One

Twelve days after his first journey to Cloud Mountain, Jack retraced his steps.

Although the same men had been chosen as his escort, he only rode with Quentin. Garlon’s spies had informed him that the guards now knew to look out for four men travelling together in the direction of the mountain or Aiqos. So, he’d ordered them to ride in pairs and make their way to the beanstalk separately. The other two men also had an extra pack horse, which had a large cage secured to its back.

In those twelve days, Jack had stayed clear of Garlon, only approaching him when summoned. He hadn’t seen any sign of the pale stranger and had no way of knowing if the man had left. Jack no longer had his room in the house, for he’d been relegated to an even smaller room above the stables. To his annoyance, the butler made it very obvious he was keeping a close eye on Jack.

“What’s this all about, stealing from a tall-folk?” said Quentin quietly. They’d only just left the busy Mariosha Road, and still a sizeable number of riders and carriages travelled back and forth despite the heat. “The first time we went to Cloud Mountain, I thought your task involved nothing more than scouting out the place.”

Having assumed these men, especially Quentin, were some of Garlon’s most trusted, Quentin’s ignorance surprised Jack. Although he liked Quentin, he didn’t know if he should tell him. If Garlon found out, how severely would he beat Jack? In the end, he said, “You’ll have to ask Garlon. It’s not my place to say.”

“Threatened you with a beating?”

Jack started, glanced at Quentin then looked away.

The older man sighed. “At some point or another, we’ve all been threatened with a beating. Or worse.”

“Why do you stay?” asked Jack, wanting to know if Quentin’s reasons mirrored his.

“Money,” said Quentin, “He pays well, especially if the job is, how shall we say, a little unsavoury. We live well, our families live well. And he looks after us. If we end up in trouble while carrying out one of his tasks, he gets us out of it.”

Nodding, Jack still needed to know one thing. “And. If you cross him?”

Quentin fixed him with an unreadable look. “We’ve never crossed him. When you see him in a rage, you’ll know it’s not worth it.”

Jack averted his gaze, his gloved hand touching the side of his mouth where Garlon’s backhanded slap had landed.

“Watch yourself,” said Quentin softly.

They rode in silence, Jack’s thoughts in turmoil, wanting revenge yet fearful of Garlon’s anger.

Jack stiffened and quickly lowered his head. He’d caught sight of at least three guards, easily spotted with their red coats, riding in the opposite direction, towards Mariosha. They were clearly observing all the travellers on the road. Glancing at Quentin from under the brim of his tricorn, he wondered at the man’s nonchalant manner.

“Ride easy,” said Quentin. “I wager they’re looking for four men travelling together.”

Struggling to ignore his pounding heartbeat, Jack forced himself to raise his head, visibly relaxing once they passed the guards. They then made their way off the road, heading towards a dense grove of small trees. Hidden, they waited until Quentin was sure they weren’t being followed.

On the other side of the grove, they proceeded in the direction of another small forest. Jack wondered if, in the distant past, a mighty forest had covered the whole area. “I wonder where the other two are,” said Jack, looking around.

“We won’t see them until we’re at the beanstalk. Didn’t Garlon tell you? Our instructions were to travel separately the entire way.”

“He simply told me to make sure I get the cat.” Jack didn’t even glance at Quentin in case his animosity of their master showed. The hope that the giant would retaliate when his cat was taken, most times, threatened to overwhelm Jack for he’d already decided, once he got his payment, his measure of gold, he’d leave.

They walked their horses into the forest, passing trees both short and tall, some with thick trunks and crooked branches. Coming across a big trunk lying on the ground, the horses stopped, and Quentin led the way around.

Streaks of sunlight found their way through the trees, lighting up leaves, causing shadows to flicker around them. Scrabbling claws against a tree betrayed an unseen animal; Jack’s horse tossed its head but kept a steady pace behind Quentin’s.

Jack, increasingly annoyed at the unrelenting buzzing of a fly, swatted at the air by his ear. He wrinkled his nose at the earthy smells, mixed with that of rotting vegetation. Yet again, he wished the journey to Cloud Mountain was shorter than five days. Not for him, travelling on horseback for days at a time, and sleeping and eating out in the open. He much preferred an easier life where one travelled in a coach, and slept in a comfortable bed, with hot food served on clean plates preferably accompanied by good wine. At least Quentin didn’t expect him to prepare their basic but filling meals when they made camp each evening.

When Jack spied the beanstalk, its mighty leaves shifting languidly in the warm, intermittent breeze, he grudgingly acknowledged that Quentin had been right to set a fast pace each time they were out in the open, but he didn’t say so out loud.

The smell of cooking meat wafted towards Jack making his mouth water and his belly grumble; Quentin chuckled. By the base of the beanstalk, the other two men had already made camp.

It didn’t take long for the four of them to settle around the fire to eat.

“My whole time working for Garlon,” said one of the men, “he’s never acted this blatantly before. Stealing from a tall-folk.” He shook his head.

“It’s to do with the faction, I’m sure of it,” said Quentin. “You know how interested Garlon is in their work, if you can call it that.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” asked the other man, pointing his fork at Jack. “Stealing?”

Jack shrugged. “You’ve all done similar things.”

The three men shook their heads as the one who’d asked the question replied, “Not stealing.”

“We deliver and collect papers, money,” said Quentin.

“The odd threat,” said the second man, “if any of Garlon’s, how shall I say, associates think of backing out of a deal.”

Jack frowned; he’d mistakenly believed that Garlon had them carry out tasks that were outside the law. 

“After the first time,” said Quentin, “you said you barely escaped from the tall-male. Yet you’re going to steal from him again.”

Jack’s only reply was a shrug as he tried to think of something else to talk about. When it had only been the two of them, Quentin hadn’t asked him any questions; in fact, the man had barely spoken.

The second man, staring at the ground, said softly, “Sometimes, I know we come very close to crossing the line but stealing. I’ve never agreed with that, no matter the reason. It’s not right to take what belongs to another, whether they worked hard for it or, especially, if it has value that cannot be measured like a family heirloom. Stealing from tall-folk, that doesn’t sit right either.”

Jack frowned. “Why? They don’t deserve special treatment; they’re nothing but trouble. They brought the war on us.”

The man fixed him with an incredulous stare. “You can’t be referring to the Gallanan War, that was over forty years ago. You weren’t even born then.”

The third man spoke, his gaze on the fire. “The tall-folk never asked us to fight. Our men chose to fight alongside them.” Looking at Jack, he continued. “My father fought, lost two brothers. He never speaks of it except to say he’s never regretted it.”

Jack refused to relent. “The enemy was theirs, yet our people paid the price, Mariosha was damaged. They should all simply leave, go back over the mountains. Our lives would be so much better.”

“You hate tall-folk that much?” said Quentin, tilting his head to the side, seemingly perplexed.

Instead of replying at once, Jack stared at him. “It’s because of them, my father lost his business, we had everything taken from us.”

“They took your father’s business?” said the third man, his tone one of confusion.

“My father and his partner, they tried to find ways to compete. Too much money was lost.”

“You can’t blame others for bad business decisions,” said the man.

His nostrils flaring, Jack threw his plate down and got to his feet. “You don’t know anything.”

“Enough,” said Quentin. “It doesn’t matter how we feel about this, we have a job to do. That’s where our attention should be, not engaging in squabbles like children.”

Jack walked away from them, breathing hard, and went to his horse, fighting to calm his anger. For something to do other than sit with them and it still being light enough, he pulled out the sack Garlon had given him. Tougher and thicker than any sack he’d ever handled, Jack frowned at the harness attached to it. He laid it flat on the ground to get a better idea of how it should be fastened.

“So, you’ve somehow got to get this cat into the sack, fix the sack to your back and climb back down.” Quentin moved the piece of meat around his plate, his gaze fixed on the sack.

“Why steal a cat?” said the second man. “Anything else would be easier to carry down.”

“How do you plan on catching it?” said the other.

Jack leaned over, grabbed a bag lying beside his bedroll, and pulled out a smaller sack. When he held it up, the lumps at the bottom of the sack moved. “Mice. And.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and took out a slim, dark amber bottle. “Sleeping draught. I put it on the mice, hopefully the cat eats the mice, and it should fall asleep.”

The three men exchanged sceptical looks.

“Hopefully, should,” said Quentin. “Too much uncertainty for me.” And his companions voiced agreement.

“Prefer a life without excitement?” said Jack with a playful grin. Despite his confident tone, he couldn’t ignore the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach and turned his attention back to the harness and sack to hide the apprehension he felt.

This time, Jack managed to finish his breakfast. Securing the bottle in his waistcoat pocket, he plopped the sack with the mice into the thicker sack along with pieces of twine and a pack of food and attached the sack to his back. Having practiced a few times the previous night, he barely fumbled as he did up the harness.

“Good luck,” said Quentin. “Hopefully, we’ll see you later today and not tomorrow like the previous time,” he finished with a wink.

Now that he knew what to expect, Jack tackled climbing the beanstalk without any hesitation, determined to be done with this task before the day was out.

Although he stopped to rest, he didn’t take the time to eat, having decided he’d do that once he got to the path. To his surprise, it seemed as if he reached the path quicker this time.

Hiding in the vegetation opposite where he’d stepped off the beanstalk, he devoured the food after which he tied the cloth around a tree trunk, as he’d done before, to mark where he’d gotten off the beanstalk.

Taking off at a brisk trot along the path, Jack kept his senses alert for the sound of an approaching horse. Knowing where he was going and what to expect, it didn’t take him long to spy the house.

He quickly made his way to the trees and hunkered down. As before, clothes hung on the line and smoke rose from the chimney.

It remained quiet for long enough that he started to believe his luck was in and the giant was away. In the process of undoing the small sack that held the mice, he froze. Someone had burst into song; he recognised the giant’s resonant voice.

Clutching the sack, Jack scuttled back past the trees, fighting to stop himself whimpering. The giant’s last words thundered in his head, that he would recognise Jack’s smell. Despite alluding to the fact that he enjoyed excitement, he had no wish to be caught by a giant to suffer some unspeakable fate.

Swallowing hard, he suddenly remembered Eliot’s offer, that he would pay Jack not to steal the cat. Why not accept that offer? He’d be alive and still have a chance to rebuild his life. He’d simply tell them he couldn’t find the cat, a plausible enough excuse.

But he remained where he was, staring through the trees, which blocked his view of the house. A frown puckered his brow; he gripped the sack so tightly, his knuckles whitened. Would Garlon believe him though? Jack couldn’t decide which scared him more, being caught by the giant, or telling Garlon he’d failed.

His breathing ragged, he slowly made his way forward to the treeline in time to see the female take the last item of clothing off the line.

She lifted the basket and paused. The giant came out of the barn, a wide smile on his face. As he got close to her, he took the basket, said something that made her laugh, and they disappeared into the house.

Jack’s gaze swept the area. If the giant was here, surely the cat would be too. He gasped.

The cat sauntered out of the barn. It stopped, looked around, sniffed the air, and began to walk towards the house.

Plunging his hand into the sack, Jack grabbed a mouse and squeezed it; it squeaked, struggling to escape.

The cat stopped, its attention caught.

Jack released the mouse, and it vanished into the grass. He hoped the cat, already stalking towards him, was a good hunter. Moving quickly, he removed the bottle and undid the stopper. Taking another mouse from the sack, he anointed it with a few drops of liquid and released it, then did the same with two more.

On hearing a sharp squeal followed by silence, Jack looked up. “Yes,” he whispered, grinning.

The cat was in the process of devouring a mouse. It then dropped down and swam through the grass before arching through the air. There was another abrupt squeal.

Jack kept the last mouse tied to a string and doused it with the liquid. The mouse ran forward and jerked to a stop, unable to go further as Jack had hold of the other end of the string. He couldn’t stop chuckling at the mouse’s frantic efforts to escape. But his amusement didn’t last long. The mouse’s movements became sluggish until it lay still. Jack had overdone it with the sleeping draught. A soft curse escaped him; how was he to get the cat’s attention with an unmoving mouse?

The feline, closer now, looked around.

Jack tugged the string; the sleeping mouse jerked, catching the cat’s attention. Not daring to get his hopes up, Jack tugged again, pulling the mouse closer.

The cat pounced, trapping the mouse between its paws. Sitting over it, it teased the mouse with its paw, gently nudging it to one side before flicking it up in the air. Then it noticed the string and became even more playful.

Jack had to keep a lid on his impatience, not knowing how long the cat would play with its prey. But, having been given a worryingly good view of its sharp teeth and claws, he didn’t dare grab it.

The cat turned over from where it had been lying on its back, licked the mouse and finally ate it. Spitting out the string, it began to clean itself. This, too, seemed to go on for a long time before its movements finally began to slow. Within minutes, it lay stretched out on the grass, eyes closed, body rising and falling steadily.

“At last.” Getting to his feet, Jack readied the thicker sack with the harness. Moving stealthily past the treeline while keeping an eye on the house, he crouched by the cat. His eyes widened as he realised the cat was bigger than he’d thought, and heavier too; he grunted as he tried to lift it. Bracing himself, he gathered it in his arms and straightened up. Feeling very exposed, expecting to hear the giant’s shout at any moment, he hurried back in an ungainly fashion to the shelter of the trees.

Hoping the sack was strong enough to hold the cat, Jack quickly tied first its front legs then back legs together with twine, using a third piece around its mouth. He then fastened the front legs to the attached rope at the top of the sack, and the back legs to the rope at the bottom of the sack, so that when he fixed the harness to his torso, the cat would be lying against the length of his back, making it easier to carry. Even then, he struggled to stand up straight under the weight of the cat.

Looking to the sky, he guessed it to be around mid-afternoon. If luck was on his side, Jack hoped to be back with Quentin and the men before dark.