Bad Bone sat down on a box, with his back towards a window that opened onto the road in front of the house. The window was slightly ajar to let in the refreshing evening air.
He had not sat more than a few moments, and his host had barely filled the teakettle with water, when he was startled by the mention of his name. “That traitorous fleabag, Bad Bone...” His skilled sense of his surroundings, long cultivated on dangerous missions, alerted him to the faint comment that disturbed his calm. He lifted his head carefully to peer out of the window. A troop of Skull Buzzards was standing in the road just outside the house.
The soldiers spoke in low voices, but now and then burst into a muffled laugh. Bad Bone could catch no repetition of his name, nor anything sounding like the words which had attracted his attention.
He wondered if he had imagined the words altogether, or misheard what had been said. The words, “traitorous fleabag,” however rang in his mind as clearly as if they had been shouted in his ear. Perhaps he had been wrong in thinking his own name was connected with that phrase, but he was confident that he had heard that specific phrase.
He was just turning away from the window, when he heard more: “We’ll hang up Bad Bone for the flies to eat when we find him.”
“I was right,” Bad Bone muttered. “It is as I feared.” He realized that the voices were becoming more distinct. The Royal Patrol troop was moving toward Helga’s front door.
“The High One was right to suspect that the highly-esteemed Bad Bone might be a traitor,” one of the Skull Buzzards snarled in a sarcastic tone. “He’s been asking more questions than is normal for him. He knows all he needs to know to serve within the High One’s wishes. Why does he need to know more about routes beyond the Hedge? And now we track him straight to the Wood Cow settlement—that traitorous fleabag will no longer be the great hero some make him out to be.”
“He’ll soon be fly bait!” cried another Buzzard, and the entire troop erupted in harsh guffaws.
At that moment, Helga came back into the room carrying a pitcher and cups. “Let me call Papa,” she said. “He’ll want to see you also and hear what you have to say.”
“There’s no time,” Bad Bone replied. Keenly aware of his own danger, and the danger he had brought to Helga and her father, he continued quickly: “The Hedge will be opened at Bazoot’s Store—there’s a Skull Buzzard barracks near there.” This was news to Helga. The High One didn’t want anyone crossing through the Hedge except the exiles, so the site of the Hedge opening had been kept secret. At dawn, the Wood Cows were to gather in the square by the High Seat. From there, a Royal Patrol escort would conduct them to the place where they were to cross through the Hedge.
“That’s not the best place for one going east,” Bad Bone continued hurriedly, “but it will do. After crossing through the Hedge, go down the mountainside straight as possible to the north. At the bottom of the mountain, you should come upon a road of broken stones, left from ancient times. Follow the road until you come to a group of stone huts, surrounded by corrals. It’s a small hamlet of farmers called Shell Kral. They grow a few potatoes and keep herds of giant tortoises. They’re simple folk—a few Hares, a few Opossums, a few Skunks. In the center of town, under a fir tree, you will find a tea vendor—Bost Ony. Ask her about routes to the east.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickling with a rising sense of danger, Bad Bone gave Helga an urgent look. She heard it, too. The sound of heavy boots on the walk outside—the Royal Patrol was at her door!
Motioning quickly, Helga pointed toward the back entry. “Go to Papa. He’ll hide you.” The Lynx nodded, gave Helga a squeeze on the shoulder, and was off.
A harsh RAP-RAP-RAP sounded at the door. A Skull Buzzard pushed into the house as soon as Helga cracked the front door. Looking coldly at her, he said, “The Lynx that came down this road, where is he?”
Helga realized that attempting to stall the Royal Patrol was fruitless. Delay would only inflame their suspicions and endanger her and her father further. Walking quickly around the room, she flung open all of the doors, including the one through which Bad Bone had so recently passed.
“You may look in all of these places, as you wish,” said Helga, in a pleasant voice. “However, you shall not find any visitors here, only outcasts.”
The Royal Patrol commander looked at her scornfully. His bitter death-white face sent a chill down Helga’s spine. The Buzzard’s horrid-smelling breath was hot in Helga’s face as he glared into her eyes and hissed: “Perhaps he is hiding among his Wood Cow friends? The High One has been watching him. The sound of his chain-mail boots was heard on this road not long ago.”
In a desperate attempt to delay the soldiers, without appearing to stall, Helga placed herself near one of the doors that Bad Bone had not used. Her movement succeeded in drawing the commander’s attention.