Archibald Finch and the Lost Witches by Michel Guyon

Author:Michel Guyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrews McMeel Publishing
Published: 2021-10-13T23:02:31+00:00

In the end, Wymer’s tank is back on the march, but only after making a U-turn some hours back. Archibald is not at the turret anymore. He is sitting in the cockpit alongside Rhiannon and Maven, with Faerydae still at the command post.

“Why do we have to go back to Gristlemoth?” he complains.

“I told you already,” says Faerydae. “Since that magic weapon of yours happens to not be so magic after all, we have to put you in a safe place. We’re going back to Gristlemoth, then we’ll go fight that Marodor without you.”

“That’s just whimsifulous,” Archibald says grumpily.

“Look, you have to face reality,” says Maven. “You don’t know anything about golems. In the middle of a fight you’d be a total nuisance for us. Not only would you be of no help whatsoever but you could get hurt.”

“You should consider yourself lucky,” says Rhiannon. “Back in Gristlemoth, you can have fun with the girls.”

“And do what? Laundry?” he jokes.

“What’s wrong with doing laundry?” she snaps.

“Look, no offense. I’m not sure if you guys are trying to make me feel better, but, just so you know, it’s not working.”

“We’re just telling you the truth,” says Maven bluntly.

“I think I’ve had enough truth for today, thanks. Enough to last my whole life, actually, and now it might last a thousand years—who knows?”

“Maybe not,” comments Faerydae, back to grave and serious.

“What’s happening?” asks Rhiannon, getting up right away.

“Marodor, right ahead,” shouts Faerydae. “It’s the Kraka­torum!”

“It’s attacking Gristlemoth!” yells Rhiannon.

This is the worst-case scenario Faerydae warned about. In a wheeling movement worthy of Napoleon’s most brilliant tactic—or just because it likes to venture off the beaten trail—the Krakatorum Gargantus must have crawled in a semicircle through the woods from the Neander Pass. That’s how the beast avoided their tank.

Peering through the slits in the planks, Maven and Archibald discover the extraordinary creature.

“Blimkey!” she blurts out.

“Holy. Giant. Bejabbles,” echoes Archibald.

Tall as a palm tree, the Krakatorum is as scary as the drawing could suggest—and then some. The monster is pushing against the wall of golems using its spider legs, some with sharp pikes and some with human hands. Sticking out from that dark mound of fur and leaves are not three but four wormlike necks, confirming Naida’s description. Lined with a mohawk of branches, each of the necks ends with a most ghoulish face lost in patches of swampy hair, each human(ish), with eyes glinting like hot coals.

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