Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(31)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Stand back, you,” Herring ordered Apollo. “Let the ones with some wits attach the ropes or we’ll have it all down around our ears and I don’t know what we’d do then.”

Apollo feigned patience, standing by as the other men tied the ropes. He winced as one of the Irish brothers drew a rope over-tight about the oak’s trunk and hoped the man hadn’t damaged the bark.

He took one of the ropes as one of the Irishmen and the small Londoner took the other.

“All together now,” Herring called. “And don’t be hasty. Slow and steady’ll get us there faster.”

At Herring’s signal, Apollo and the other two men pulled on their ropes, hand over hand, hauling the tree upright. The tongue and the bed of the cart pivoted as one on the two big wheels as the smaller wheel left the ground. Two ropes were needed for stability and to keep the tree from falling to one side or the other. Now that Apollo was actually pulling the oak tree upright he was beginning to think that three or even four ropes might have been better. Well, he’d experiment with the next tree they transplanted into the garden.

Sweat stung as it dripped into his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Daffodil was back, peering interestedly into the hole, but he couldn’t move to shoo her away. His muscles strained and he could hear the loud grunts of the other men. Slowly the tree rose, majestic and tall. It would be lovely at the side of the pond and in a hundred years, when it had spread its branches over the water, it would be magnificent.

He felt the sudden, sickening slackening of the rope first, followed closely by a hoarse shout from one of the gardeners on the other rope. That rope was whipping through the air, free of the men’s hands. Apollo looked up and saw the great oak shudder and then begin falling toward him.

At the same time, Indio darted between him and the cart as Daffodil slipped and slid helplessly into the tree hole.

The sound ripped from him, like a thing outside himself, a beast that’d been bound inside his gut and would no longer stand to be caged.

The shout burned as it roared through his throat.

“INDIO!”

Chapter Eight

Now it fell one year that the maiden chosen as sacrifice was named Ariadne. She was the only child of a poor wise woman, and her mother wept bitter tears at the news. Then the wise woman dried her cheeks and said to her daughter, “Remember this: when you are presented to the court, curtsy not only to the king, but to the mad queen as well, and ask her if there is anything you may take to her son.”…

—From The Minotaur

Lily heard Indio’s name shouted and then all was drowned in the roar of the oak crashing down.

Down where Caliban had stood.

Down where Indio had darted.

The men were yelling. The horses bolted, dragging their harness behind, and where Apollo’s planting hole had been was only wreckage and a cloud of sooty dust.

She ran forward, pushing against smashed tree branches, fighting the man who tried to restrain her. He had to be in there somewhere, perhaps with only a broken limb or a bloodied back. Her lips were moving, muttering, as she bargained with whatever deity would listen. The tree was big, the branches lying shattered and sticking up everywhere and in her way.

“Let me go!” she screamed at the arms holding her.

She couldn’t see them. Even in the mess of demolished branches, there should be some sign—Indio’s red coat or Caliban’s white shirt.

Then in the shouting she heard it: a yip.

“Quiet!” she called, and wonder of wonders, the men actually listened.

In the sudden silence Daffodil’s high, hysterical barking was quite clear—and coming from inside the hole.

“I’ll be,” Mr. Herring said, amazement in his voice.

She turned and looked. At first she saw only the mess of roots. There wasn’t space in there, surely, for a small dog, let alone a man and boy. But as she watched, a huge hand slapped down on the edge. She started for the hole even as Caliban emerged, head and broad shoulders blackened, clutching Indio to his chest like Hephaestus rising from his underworld forge.

She’d never seen such a wonderful sight.

He tossed a very dirty Daffodil over the edge of the hole. The little dog tumbled, righted herself, and shook vigorously, and then she ran to Lily, tail wagging as if nothing especially remarkable had happened.

Lily ignored the greyhound in favor of her son. Caliban had set him on the edge of the hole before heaving himself over.

“Mama,” Indio said, and then burst into tears.

She knelt in front of him, feeling his body with trembling hands. He had a bloody nose and a scrape on his chin. His hair was quite filthy with dirt, but otherwise he was sound.

She clutched him to her chest and looked over his little shoulder at Caliban. “Thank you. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for saving my son.”

That seemed to bring Indio out of his shocked tears. “He caught me, Mama!” he said, looking at her with his mud-and-salt-streaked face. “Caliban caught me and pushed me an’ him in the hole and the oak tree comed down on us, but it didn’t really because the machine was on the outside, see?” And he pointed to where the tree had landed on top of the hole instead of in it.

Lily shuddered at the sight, for if one of the wheels of the machine had slid, the entire root ball would’ve fallen on them instead of merely tilting half in the hole. But she smiled for Indio.

“Yes, I see, but there mustn’t have been very much room down there.”

“No, there wasn’t,” Indio assured her earnestly. “And Caliban lay on top of me an’ Daff.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “He’s very heavy. Daff squeaked. I think she was nearly squashed.”

Lily laughed through her tears at this bit of information, for she understood as her son seemed not to that Caliban had covered Indio to protect him from the tree roots.

She glanced again at Caliban as she said, “You and Daffodil were very brave.”

“And the best part, Mama,” Indio said, tugging her hand to get her attention, “the best part is Caliban spoke. Did you hear him? He shouted my name!”

“What?” Lily stared at Indio’s filthy little face and then back up at Caliban. She absently noted that he had a bleeding scratch on his cheek. That shout right before the accident—had that been him?

Caliban looked away from her, his face pale, and she immediately wanted to get him alone so that she might find out if he could truly speak.

“I’m glad your boy’s safe, ma’am.” Mr. Herring’s words were kind but he was looking worriedly at the wreckage of the tree and machine.