By the time Wirt and Stephen reached the old inn, twilight had already bloomed over the Unknown. "The Pilgrim's Rest" stood at the side of the wide forest path they had been following for a while. The warm light in its windows and a steady column of smoke rising from its chimney was a welcome sight in the rapidly thickening darkness engulfing the woods.
Wirt recalled the last time he'd been here. It was pouring cats and dogs, they unwillingly stole Fred the talking horse, mistook the Woodsman for the Beast and, worst of all, he had to sing in public, goaded by the patrons obsessed with narrative archetypes. Still, he would gladly perform the cheesiest love songs known to humanity if only that made Greg appear by his side.
"Well, I guess that's it," Wirt turned to Stephen, slowing his pace to a halt.
"Are you sure?" The younger boy looked disappointed. "You still need to find a guide there and someone has to show you around the place and…"
"I'm sure I can manage," Wirt tried to smile kindly. He had a lot of experience ordering his own younger brother around, but somehow found himself lacking confidence when it came to dealing with another kid.
"But I thought maybe I could follow you for a bit and…"
"Stephen. Please go home. Your mother is worrying sick because of Beatrice, and I'm already drowning in guilt as it is, there's no need to push my head further under the water."
"Oh well."
The red-headed boy shrugged and shook Wirt's hand solemnly. Before disappearing around the bend in the forest path, he turned and exclaimed, "But someday we have to go on an adventure together!"
"Sure," Wirt agreed loudly and then, turning towards the inn's door, muttered under his breath, "if I survive this one, that is."
It was a quiet evening in "The Pilgrim's Rest". The atmosphere was somewhat subdued, the musicians were absent, and the patrons eyed him in silent suspicion before returning to their meals or mugs. Even the huge lazy dog dozing by the fire took time out of its busy schedule to show Wirt its teeth. Perhaps "the creeps stalking the land" which Mrs. Porter had mentioned were the reason the inn wasn't quite as jovial as Wirt remembered.
"Welcome, young man," greeted him the plump innkeeper, a broom in her hand. "How may I help you? A hot meal or a room for the night?"
"Neither, actually." Wirt glanced around the common room, trying to decide which of the patrons resembled a guide or anything like that. He didn't quite have a stereotypical guide image in his mind, that was the problem. It could be anyone on the spectrum between Indiana Jones and a tramp. "I was hoping to find someone who could lead me to, er, Riddler's Vein or whatever, without attracting… you know," Wirt lowered his voice, not sure if mentioning him was just as unwelcome as referring to the Beast in polite society, "the Hunter."
"Ah, feeling out of place, then? Not sure if you belong?"
The tone of the innkeeper's voice was supposed to be sympathetic but, frankly, hearing the words themselves didn't help. Wirt nodded with what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug.
"Well, may I rot in seven hells if the verdammt fiend gets another poor soul."
Wirt jumped at the unexpected voice right behind his back. Regaining whatever remained of his composure, he turned around and saw a gentleman in a dark blue coat towering above him. A rather garish yellow scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and chin in multiple coils. There was something vaguely off-putting about the gentleman, and not just the fact he had crept up on Wirt and startled him.
"Er, good evening."
"Couldn't help but overhear your words, my junger Herr."
"You really could," blurted Wirt, noticing that it was at least twenty paces to the nearest table from where they stood. "Uh, sorry."
"Ah, but my ears are very keen. They have to be, to avoid the Hunter's verdammt Hunds so often."
"Oh, okay."
The intense stare of the tall gentleman was quite unnerving. With his peripheral vision Wirt noticed that the innkeeper had left him to fend for himself and was sweeping the floor around the bar.
"So… are you a guide?"
"I've been known to be one, ja," the gentleman said cryptically and flashed a wide smile. A corner of Wirt's lips moved upwards neurotically at the sight of it. He still couldn't quite put a finger on what seemed so weird about the man.
"Well, that's a helpful coincidence."
"Which is why I took the liberty to introduce myself," the gentleman nodded. "Although, of course, I hadn't really. Please do forgive my manners. Herr Reineke, at your service."
He bowed almost as low as the floor. It was impressive and Wirt felt strangely compelled to perform a curtsy-like movement in return, which he thought fell quite short of the mark.
"Er, name's Wirt," he said.
"I can take you to Riddler's Vein, Herr Wirt, and the old fool and his rabid pack won't catch a single sniff of you. Know that everything I've told you so far is absolute truth, and I am known to be wary of that substance."
So, basically, Herr Reineke had just admitted he was a blatant liar. That shouldn't have inspired any confidence in Wirt, and yet he felt more and more confused rather that repelled. Who would admit to being a liar after proclaiming he'd only spoken truth? Or was the admittance that he was a liar itself a lie, for it came after Herr Reineke swore everything he had said was true? Wouldn't that make him…? Wirt's head was spinning a bit as he was losing himself in this maze of unwanted paradoxes. He didn't want any of that. He only wanted to find his brother again.
He looked once more at the strange gentleman, who didn't seem to mind waiting for his belated reply.
"You're a crook, aren't you?" he asked bluntly.
"In fact I am, ja! Mein Gott, this honesty thing is so… liberating," mused Herr Reineke, thoughtfully rubbing his chin through the scarf.
"Well, if you're planning to rob me, I can save us both a lot of time. As you can see, I am broke," said Wirt and turned his pockets inside out. He was surprised to hear something falling out of them on the floor and rolling away from him. Herr Reineke deftly stomped it with the sole of his boot and picked it up. Soon Wirt saw that he was examining the silver penny Charlie Acorn had given him.
"Oh, apart from that. You can keep it, actually. As a payment for future service."
"You are too kind," with a shrug Herr Reineke dropped the coin into a side pocket of his coat. "I was not going to rob you, however."
"Well, better safe than sorry."
"Tricking the Hunter is of a sporting interest to me, you see," said Herr Reineke. "And I was heading towards the Vein anyway, so taking you along won't be an inconvenience to me, not in the slightest. What is it that beckons you to the other side of the hill, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Family matters," Wirt replied. "And you?"
"Business," grinned Herr Reineke. "Alas, always business. So, if you aren't planning to stay for a hot meal or some other refreshment, perhaps we should go, ja?"
Wirt gave it all one more thought. Sure, the man didn't seem to be an example of outstanding moral behaviour, but at least he was honest enough to admit it, right? The Unknown was full of these lovable cranks, after all – Auntie Whispers hadn't seemed so bad at the end of the day, and even Adelaide, truth be told, had been a relatively harmless old lady who needed someone to take care of her, even though it wouldn't have hurt her to take a look at international labour laws. Or take the Woodsman, whom they had mistaken for a bad guy near this very inn. Surely Wirt wasn't going to step on the same rake twice, especially since Gregory needed to be found as soon as possible?
Can't remember ever being so fond of inner conversations, Wirt mused. It really feels like there's another voice talking to me in my head. Must be all this stress.
"Sure, lead the way," he finally said.
As they were leaving the inn through the front door, they bumped into the familiar masked figure dressed like a fat red gnome.
"I'm the Highwa… Oh, sweet mother of all that is holy!" he gasped after just one glance at Herr Reineke, shouldered past them into the inn, slammed the door and, judging by the noise, barred it with the dog.
"What was that all about?" Wirt frowned.
"It takes a crook to know a crook," smiled his companion and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't you worry, junger Herr."
To his utmost surprise, Wirt found that he didn't.
The darkness embraced them as they walked away from "The Pilgrim's Rest" and its single lantern restlessly swaying in the wind. Herr Reineke took Wirt down the forest paths which didn't seem to exist at first: just a slightly wider space between two tall trees leading to another opening and then to yet another one, until at last it was obvious they were on some hidden trail. The man hummed a catchy ditty, his hands deep inside his coat's pockets. He seemed to be enjoying the night.
Wirt, on the other hand, felt groggy and unsure as he followed his guide, as if he had had a few mugs of ale back in the inn without remembering it. The wind was much colder at this late hour, and the snow under his feet seemed a lot more reluctant to give way. Every step, however, was taking him closer to Greg, which was enough to keep him vaguely optimistic.
Time wrapped itself around the dark woods, stretching and shrinking, evading any possible calculation. It might have been ten minutes or two hours into their journey when Herr Reineke motioned for Wirt to stop by raising his hand up.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" said Wirt and then added, "No," as if his question wasn't already the answer.
"I might have heard the hounds of the Hunter. Can't be sure. Follow me!" he ordered in urgent whisper and, half-crouching, turned left to disappear between the pines. Wirt obliged, nervously looking around and straining his ears.
Soon they reached a hillock dominated by a humongous, sprawling ash tree, its trunk so massive the whole Porter family could gather around holding each other's hands, and they would still barely complete the circle. Something stroke Wirt as odd about the tree as he was sneaking towards it on Herr Reineke's heels. Only when he reached the trunk and rested his back against it did he realise what it was. The tree was full of strong green leaves, even if covered in snow. He was pretty sure it wasn't normal ash behaviour in wintertime.
Pondering about it at length proved impossible because his guide, who had been staring into the darkness beyond the tree for a while, turned towards him with an alarmed expression.
"Climb up, junger Herr."
"Are… are they near?" stammered Wirt, feeling his heart somewhere around his throat.
"Can't say for sure. Climb up!"
And he locked his hands to give the boy a hoist to the lowest branch. Once they were a dozen feet above the ground, Herr Reineke gestured for him to stay quiet. Wirt swallowed a lump. The silence of the woods felt even more oppressive because of the danger lurking somewhere beyond his hearing.
"It is imperative that you stay silent," Herr Reineke whispered to his ear. His breath smelled of eggs and bacon.
Wirt nodded. Then his guide procured a thick rope from inside his coat's inner pockets and motioned for the boy to tie it around his own feet. Wirt threw him a baffled glance but Herr Reineke just put a finger to his lips and pushed the coil into his trembling hands. Having completed the task, Wirt found out that next he had to tie another end around the thick branch they were sitting on. It didn't seem particularly odd to him. After all, Herr Reineke must have been familiar the most advanced tactics when it came to evading the Hunter's hounds.
"What now?" Wirt asked with his lips.
His guide crawled closer and inspected both knots with gloved hands, giving the rope a few experimental tugs. He showed Wirt two thumbs up, seemingly pleased with the effort. The boy found himself blushing a little.
Then Herr Reineke shrugged, somewhat apologetically, and pushed him off the tree.
The white ground and the black sky swapped places before Wirt's eyes. The blood surged to his head in a mad rush. He felt nauseous and didn't dare open his mouth to scream lest he puked all of his insides. Like a pendulum he was swinging back and forth some way above the ground, drowning in cold sweat and trying to rationalise his behaviour since the moment he had met Herr Reineke in "The Pilgrim's Rest". It would have been a daunting task even if he hadn't been hanging upside down. After all, it took him all this time to finally realise that Herr Reineke was an upright-walking fox.
"What is even the point of being a trickster," the Fox sighed, rather melancholically, after descending from the tree and leaning against the trunk, "what is the point of complex overwrought plans if certain people are so weak-minded you can basically tell them what to do, and they'll do it?"
Wirt had no answer to that. He was busy hating himself and trying not to puke. He did try to put up a fight when Herr Reineke approached to tie up his hands together, but it was no use against the confident strength of the scoundrel.
"Your brother proves to be a much tougher fish to catch," offered the Fox casually.
"What have you done to Greg?" croaked Wirt and, sure enough, he puked. The bilious vomit poured both out of his mouth and his nose. It was far from pleasant and didn't help his self-esteem much. It didn't even catch Herr Reineke who deftly stepped away a moment before.
"Oh, dear. Please do be careful." The Fox almost gently wiped his face with a handkerchief which he then threw away with disgust. "You're my back-up plan, after all. Can't risk smuggling you across the Vein right now, what with all the puny competitors of mine supposedly waiting to have a bite of the pie, but it wouldn't hurt to know I have you safe and secure should something terrible befall to Gregory, would it?"
"What are you even talking about? Who are you? Where's Greg?" demanded Wirt, but the Fox only pushed him away to swing on the rope with a replenished velocity.
"I've already told you my name. And everything I told you, like I said, was true. I made a little bet with myself, you see. Just to prove that this honesty thing is quite as overrated as I've always imagined. I didn't expect to lose. But then again," he shrugged and grinned maniacally, "I bet against myself, so I still won, didn't I? I kinda… tend to."
With that, Herr Reineke gave a whooping laugh which surely must have reached the furthest corners of the Unknown, and left Wirt to hang upside down on a rope tied to an immense ash tree in the middle of a cold dark forest.