Hercufleas by Sam Gayton Page B

there was another way. We are at the end of our hope here in Tumber. It all comes down to you. I have never begged for anything before, but I am begging you now.’ She clasped her mottled blue hands together. ‘Please, Hercufleas. Please. Save us.’

21
    T here was no time to lose. Somewhere to the north was a fortress, and inside that fortress was the only weapon that could stop Yuk, a weapon only Hercufleas could carry.
    â€˜Every hero must go on a quest to find their weapon,’ Miss Witz said as she carried him out of the school. ‘Roland of Breton received his sword, Durendal, from an angel. Albion’s Arthur pulled Excalibur from a stone. The vorpal sword that killed the Jabberwock was—’
    â€˜But how do I get
my
weapon?’ said Hercufleas.
    â€˜You must go far to the north. Beyond the great lakes we call the Sorrows, somewhere in the endless tundra of the Waste. Find the fortress. Travel to its heart. Bring the Black Death back to Tumber.’
    Hercufleas tried not to tremble. This was what he’d wanted ever since he’d hatched – a real adventure, with real danger. But now it was happening, he wasn’t excited. He just felt sick and scared.

    â€˜You will need help,’ said Miss Witz, taking the green scarf she’d knitted and draping it around Greta’s neck. ‘Go with him, Greta.’
    â€˜
Me?
’ Greta gawped.
    So did Hercufleas. ‘
Her?
’
    Miss Witz cut them off. ‘I know what you will say! He was a coward in the woodn’t. He betrayed you. I know. Hercufleas is weak. Which is why he will need your strength, child.’ Miss Witz leaned forward and kissed her, leaving a red lipstick mouth on Greta’s cheek. ‘Make him brave. Keep him on the quest. And no matter what, return to Tumber by the next new moon. Take Artifax. Speed is everything.’
    Greta scowled at Hercufleas, then stormed off to pack.
    â€˜Isn’t there someone else I could go with?’ he asked hopefully. ‘What about you, Miss Witz?’
    She cackled, thumping her walking stick on the path. ‘I am too old, dear little flea.’ She watched Greta leave, adding quietly, ‘And do not think it is just
her
who will be helping
you.
For Greta is also on a quest – yes, she is. To find a way to heal her heart, which was broken by Yuk many guzzlings ago.’ The old babushka sighed. ‘She did not used to scowl so much, you know. When she was a child, she did nothing but smile.’
    â€˜She’s still a child,’ said Hercufleas.
    Miss Witz smiled sadly, because her copper bell was ringing. ‘Maybe.’ She left him there and started off down the road. ‘Now I will go tell our plan to the survivors.’
    Two hours later, Greta and Hercufleas rode Artifax out of Tumber. It was sunset and the blue stars winked on, one after the other, across the violet sky.
    In the town the warm orange street lamps formed constellations of their own. The ruined church of Saint Katerina was silent on the hill. Artifax trotted past house after empty house. Hercufleas read their names: Old Barrow, Stove Cottage, the Saltpots. Each one beaten up, like boxers gone ten rounds too many. Doorways gaping, windows knocked out. Nobody home.
    â€˜Where is everyone?’ Hercufleas asked.
    â€˜Guzzled,’ said Greta. ‘These are the dead streets. There aren’t many of us left.’
    They stopped by the houses of the cinderwikk men, with their singed fingers and tinted goggles, who bred tinderflies to fill Tumber’s street lamps. Greta refilled her silver tinderbox, taking a stack of sugarsticks too. She broke off a nub from one and popped it in Artifax’s beak.
    At last they reached the bridge called Two Tears, where the river separated the town from the woodn’t beyond. Miss Witz had spread word of the new hero, and a small crowd gathered behind her to see him off. Most of the surviving Tumberfolk were