Free The Luck Uglies by Paul Durham Page B

over her eyes, everything went dark again.
    Â 
    When Rye next woke, it was to a great commotion.
    â€œMine, mine,” Lottie was yelling.
    â€œLottie,” Abby said, “put that sword down this instant.”
    â€œNo!”
    A door slammed.
    â€œYou’ll lose a foot playing with that thing,” Abby called. Then, more quietly, “Riley, you’re awake?”
    Abby came and sat on the side of the bed. She placed a cool hand on Rye’s forehead.
    â€œHow are you feeling, my darling?” she said.
    Rye tried to talk but she couldn’t summon a voice. She just touched her throat.
    â€œYes, your voice,” Abby said. “Don’t worry, it will return soon enough.”
    There was a loud crash in the other room, followed by Lottie’s cackle. It sounded like a small army was going to battle with the cook pots.
    â€œIn the meantime, we could use some quiet around here,” Abby said. She got up and fetched a cup of steaming liquid from a kettle boiling over the fire. “Here. Peat tea. It will help.”
    Rye sat up in her bed and took a sip. The tea was bitter, and a little too hot going down, but it seemed to help her catch her breath.
    â€œA man,” Rye said, in the loudest voice she could muster. It was little more than a whisper. “He had a scar on his face and . . .”
    Rye ran her fingers up her forearms. It was easier than trying to say “tattoos” with no voice.
    Her mother seemed to think for a moment before answering. She gave her a tight smile.
    â€œHe’s a friend, Riley,” she said finally. “He comes by from time to time. Don’t worry. He’s harmless.”
    â€œMama . . . ,” Rye whispered, but couldn’t force any more words. She took another sip of tea. “Mama . . . there was . . . a Bog Noblin. I saw it.”
    Her mother put her hand on Rye’s cheek and shook her head.
    â€œI did,” she whispered, “in the bogs.”
    â€œI believe you,” Abby said. “We found you collapsed and feverish on Troller’s Hill. It’s a good thing Quinn was able to tell us where you’d run off to or you might have been out there all night.”
    Rye thought she saw a tremble in her mother’s reassuring smile.
    â€œIt breaks my heart that you had to experience something like that,” Abby said. “But you’re safe now, as safe as you could ever possibly be.”
    â€œMama,” Rye said, pushing her mother’s hand away from her face. “We need to tell the soldiers. Before it, it . . .” Rye shuddered. “Comes back.”
    â€œDarling, quiet now.” Abby eased her back down. “Your close call is something best kept to ourselves. Bog Noblin attacks attract attention. The Constable—and the Earl—would be eager to speak with you. That’s not the type of attention we want.”
    Rye didn’t understand.
    â€œBut what about the rest of the village?” she said, with the last of her voice.
    â€œRiley,” her mother said. “Listen to me carefully. I’ll make sure the right people know what happened. But at the moment, you need to rest. Your encounter in the bog was not the only trouble that befell you on the Black Moon. You were poisoned.”
    Rye stopped. Her eyes grew wide.
    â€œThat’s right, my love.” Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You must watch what you eat at places like the Dead Fish Inn.”
    Rye swallowed hard, for a variety of reasons.
    â€œThat sea lion cake you ate was laced with Asp’s Tongue. It’s a deadly poison—intended for someone other than you, of course. You just happened to pick the wrong plate to sample. More than one or two bites would have been fatal. As it is, it caused your fever and turned your stomach inside out. That, plus what must have been quite a thump on your head, put you in bed for days.”
    Rye was stunned.