Quincy's Curse

By Keith Robinson

Stolen treasure. A grumpy wizard and a magic door. Dragons, witches, knights, monsters . . . oh, and a ghastly villain returned from the dead.

 

It's going to be a horrible week. Quincy Flack is cursed with terrible luck. After losing first his parents then his uncle and aunt in a series of freak accidents, it's no wonder he's reluctant to make friends. For that reason, Megan Mugwood is a little wary of him when he moves into the village of Ramshackle Bottom.

 

But word has it that incredibly good fortune shines on him sometimes too. Indeed, it turns out that he recently found a bag of treasure in the woods. How lucky is that?

 

Unfortunately, Megan has chosen the very worst possible time to be around him . . .

 

From the author of the popular Island of Fog series, QUINCY'S CURSE is a dark yet fun fantasy that weaves a complex tale from multiple points of view.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unearthly Tales
• Release date: May 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215120095

Keith Robinson

Keith Robinson is a writer of fantasy fiction for middle-grade readers and young adults. His ISLAND OF FOG series has received extremely positive feedback from readers of all ages including Piers Anthony (best-selling author of the Magic of Xanth series) and Writer's Digest. Visit UnearthlyTales.com for more.

Book preview

Chapter 1

New Boy in the Village

Megan spotted the new boy in the village as she trudged up the hill hefting a basket of groceries. It had been three months since he and his unsociable guardians had moved into Ramshackle Bottom, but the boy was shy and kept his head low, never speaking to anyone if he could help it. This was the first time Megan had seen him out and about.

He was coming the other way, walking quickly down the dusty path toward the market square, staring at his feet and avoiding eye contact with everyone he passed. Stepping to one side, Megan placed the basket at her feet and flexed her aching fingers. She waited there in the afternoon sun, grateful for the brief rest and a chance to study the boy as he approached.

When he avoided her gaze, she stepped into his path. He stopped abruptly, mumbled something like an apology as he stared at the ground, and tried to sidle around her. But Megan wasn’t used to being ignored and again stepped into his path.

Hey, she said. You’re the new boy.

The boy nodded and sidestepped, but Megan playfully sidestepped with him. The boy finally lifted his face and frowned at her, his cheeks flushed.

Excuse me, he grumbled.

Not until you tell me your name, Megan said firmly. She planted her hands on her hips.

The boy stared at her, still frowning. His dark brown eyes were almost hidden behind shaggy fair hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in a week. His face was long and thin, his ears jutting, and he had fuzz on his chin and around the corners of his mouth. His clothes were plain and ordinary, a baggy gray shirt that was a size or three too large, and brown trousers that were so long they dragged in the dirt.

Finally he sighed and shrugged. Quincy Flack.

Megan broke into a grin. Quincy! That’s my very favorite boy’s name!

Yeah, Quincy said, rolling his eyes. Of course it is. I should have known.

"But it is, Megan protested. It really is. Why would I lie about something like that?"

No, I believe you, Quincy said. It’s just that . . . well . . . never mind.

Standing straight and politely holding out her hand, Megan put on her best formal voice that her father had taught her from his days working at the castle. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Megan Mugwood.

And I’ve got to go, Quincy mumbled. He nipped past before Megan could react.

She called out, Well, nice to meet you, Quincy, but I can’t stand here chatting all day. See you around.

Quincy completely ignored her and hurried on down the hill to the market.

Megan huffed with indignation, picked up her basket, and continued on home. How dare he ignore her like that! Well, if he was hoping to make friends here in Ramshackle Bottom, he was going the wrong way about it. She vowed not to bother speaking to him again, even if he came right up to her and started a conversation.

It was a shame, though. Megan had a couple of friends in the village, but they were three years younger than herself. This new boy looked about fourteen. Megan was twelve, but it was well known that girls matured earlier than boys, so a boy of fourteen would have been about right for her to make friends with. Except that he’d turned out to be rude and unsociable.

She arrived home and picked her way along the winding garden path. The lawn was overgrown and the dry, knee-high grass almost buried the oval stone slabs that formed the pathway to the front door. Weeds stuck up between the slabs and Megan stamped on them as she always did.

She pushed open the stout oak door and found her mother sitting in the dingy living room, sewing a patch on one of her skirts. She smiled as Megan entered, and looked at the basket expectantly. Did you get everything?

Megan nodded and heaved the basket onto the dining table. Yes, and I have a few spare pennies because Mr. Frobisher had some bread left over from yesterday, which was cheaper.

Good girl, Megan’s mother said, nodding. Put the pennies away safely, then.

While Megan levered up the loose floorboard in the corner of the room and dropped the coins into a pouch, she told her mother about her brief meeting with the new boy.

Oh, you met him, did you? her mother said. Word is spreading about that boy. Apparently he’s trouble to be around.

Why? Megan asked, puzzled.

Her mother shrugged. Misfortune follows him wherever he goes, so I hear. But someone else told me good fortune follows him, too. I suppose it’s all nonsense, really. The poor boy’s parents are dead, and he lives with his Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Victor, who don’t like him very much.

Megan immediately felt sympathy for the rude boy. His name’s Quincy, she said. He doesn’t talk much, though. Maybe he’s just shy.

Her mother nodded, put her dress and darning needle aside, and stood up. She took the basket into the cramped kitchen and began to unpack it, talking over her shoulder. You should try to find out whether it’s good or bad luck that follows him around, my dear. If it’s true that good things happen to him, it might pay to be in his company. She turned and winked at Megan. We could do with some good fortune.

"But what if it’s bad luck that follows him around? Megan mused. We certainly don’t need any more of that!"

Her mother paused with an onion in her hand and stared into space for a moment. No, she said finally. No, we don’t. She gave Megan a weak smile. Things will get better, my dear. Someday a good, honest, working man will come along and marry me, and we’ll be a family again. Maybe then we’ll be able to afford to buy another goat to keep the grass in check, and a cow so we can produce our own milk.

And we’ll pay someone to fix the leaking roof, and we’ll buy new clothes, Megan said dreamily. She stepped over to her mother and hugged her around the waist. It’ll be okay, Mother. Our luck will change soon.

They held each other tight for a long moment, and Megan felt warm tears dropping into her hair.

****

Megan waited behind a large white oak tree, peering around the trunk at the small, ramshackle cottage that stood in the shade beneath more white oaks. It had once belonged to a crotchety old woman, but she had passed away a while back. Now the new boy and his guardians had bought the place and moved in.

Thin wisps of smoke rose from the stone chimney, and Megan could smell beef cooking. Although she’d already eaten potatoes, eggs and green vegetables for dinner, still the smell of roasting beef made her stomach growl.

But she wasn’t there to scrounge for food. She wanted to meet the new boy, Quincy, again. This time she would make sure he stood still long enough that she could really talk to him, get to know him—perhaps even become friends with him. Still, she was nervous. Should she knock on the door, or wait where she was in the hope he might step outside? If she knocked on the door, would his uncle and aunt be pleased to see her and happily introduce her to their nephew? Or would they just tell her to go away?

On the other hand, if she just hung around outside, she could be there for hours—and Quincy might never show.

Megan decided to try something else. She crept through the trees and bushes to the side of the cottage and peered through the nearest window into a small dining room. It was empty. She moved on around the building to the next window and glanced in, keeping her head low. A large, red-faced woman stood in the kitchen, hands planted on her enormous hips. She had a terrible scowl on her face.

Quincy was there, sweeping broken glass into a neat pile in the middle of the floor. He flinched every time the woman opened her mouth and barked something at him. You missed a bit! she snapped, her voice perfectly clear to Megan even through the closed window. And there! Get that bit too!

Megan saw Quincy’s lips moving but heard nothing. His ear seemed red. Moments later, Megan saw why: the woman gave Quincy a heavy-handed clip on the side of his head, causing him to stumble sideways.

You and your bad luck, the woman said loudly, and turned away. She stopped in the doorway and pointed at him. "You’ll pay for that vase with your dinner tonight. Don’t even think about asking to be fed, young man. You can go out to the garden and scavenge for mice. That’s all you’re fit for."

Megan’s mouth dropped open. That poor boy! The fat aunt stomped away, leaving Quincy to scoop the glass carefully into a dustpan and deposit it into a trash basket by the wall.

Megan sidled away from the cottage and returned to her hiding place behind the tree. She sat on the grass and pondered. Getting to know Quincy might be a bad idea if he was cursed with rotten luck. But what if good things happened too? She needed to find out for sure. Besides, she felt sorry for him now that she’d seen with her own eyes what a nasty old witch his aunt was. It seemed he had no one—no parents or friends, just an aunt and uncle who thought him a nuisance.

She wondered where Quincy’s uncle was, and what he was like. But as soon as the thought popped into her mind, a tiny man appeared beside her, and she almost jumped out of her skin. She leapt to her feet and stifled a scream.

The man had the tiniest, nastiest eyes she had ever seen, a bald, elongated head, and a long, jutting chin. Tufts of gray hair sprouted from behind oversized ears. He was no taller than Megan herself, and very thin. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up, and veins stuck out all down the length of his bare forearms and the backs of his hands.

Who are you? he barked. His voice was high and nasally.

M-M-Megan.

The man stared at her, then shrugged. Don’t mean nothing to me. Whaddayer want? What you hiding out here for?

Just . . . just waiting to see Quincy, Megan said, her voice shaking. The man smelled of sweat.

He sneered. "So what are you, his girlfriend or somethin’? Don’t waste yer time on him, darlin’—he ain’t worth a flip."

Megan’s anger flared, along with a touch of embarrassment. I’m not his girlfriend! We’ve hardly even spoken. I just—

Oh, be quiet, girlie, the man said rudely, and stalked off. Megan stared in amazement as he disappeared into the cottage. The door slammed behind him and, just like that, he was gone.

"So rude," Megan muttered. Flustered, she came out from behind the tree and stepped back onto the path. Casting one final look at the cottage, she sighed and ambled away.

Well, perhaps she’d watch for Quincy at the market. He was bound to show up there again tomorrow or the next day. She’d just hang around longer than normal until she spotted him. But she wasn’t coming back to the cottage again, that much was certain! His aunt and uncle were horrible. Of all the nasty, rude—

Hey.

Megan spun around. Quincy was trotting along the path toward her. He slowed and stopped a few paces away. He looked at her for a moment, then cast his eyes downward.

Um, he mumbled. Uncle Victor said some girl was asking for me.

"Some girl . . .?" Megan fumed.

That’s what he said. He’s always rude. So’s Aunt Gertrude.

Megan watched as Quincy absently scuffed his toe in the dirt and turned a small rock over. He refused to meet her gaze, and finally Megan stepped closer. Seems to me like you need a friend around here, she said softly, holding out her hand.

Quincy tentatively took it. Megan shook his hand hard, and when she let go he gazed dumbly at it as if something had just stung him. After a while he lifted his brown eyes to her. I’m not used to having friends.

We’ll soon change that, Megan assured him. Then she shrugged. "That is, if you want to be friends."

You might not want to know me, Quincy said seriously. I can bring bad luck. And good luck, too, but it’s pretty random. If you hang around with me, you might find a gold coin but accidentally drop it in the river. Or you’ll smash a vase the very moment you find out it’s actually worth quite a bit. Or . . . well, much worse can happen. That’s how my parents died.

Megan’s eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. How did it happen?

It was a long while before Quincy spoke. He chewed his lip and stared at her thoughtfully. Then he sighed. One night, when I was six months old, our house caught fire. My father was away at another village at the time. My mother was overcome by smoke and never woke up. By the time the neighbors knew of the fire, the whole house was burning. One of the neighbors heard a baby crying—me—and rushed in to save me. Quincy spoke in a dull monotone as if reciting the words from a well-memorized script.

That’s awful! Megan cried.

Two years later, my father died in a freak accident. It was a bad winter, and he left the house one morning and stood just outside under the eaves. Of all the places to stand, he picked the place where a large icicle was hanging.

"It . . . it fell on him?" Megan whispered in horror.

Quincy shook his head. No, it missed. But it startled him so much he leapt back out of the way and slipped on an icy patch. He fell and banged his head.

And that killed him?

No, Quincy said, shaking his head again. He lay there awhile, dazed. Then a hungry wolf came out of the woods and smelled the blood that was trickling from his head—

Megan clasped both hands to the sides of her face. "It ate him?"

What? Quincy frowned. No, no, nothing like that. It wanted to, but my father struggled to his feet and made it inside safely. Later that day, he told the neighbors all about his narrow escape, which is how I know all this today. He sighed and shrugged. My father’s story worried some of the villagers because we weren’t used to having wolves stray so close to our homes. So a group of men went out and headed up to the woods beyond where I used to live to hunt down this wolf.

Now Megan was confused. So . . . how did . . . ?

How did my father die? A stray arrow caught him. The hunters were on the hill, and they fired at the wolf, but it missed and kept on going—missed all the trees, shot out of the forest, slipped through a tiny gap in the open living room window, and got my father in the head.

Oh!

When my father died, I went to live with my Aunt Josephine and Uncle Gilderoy in Bramble Wood. I was still just a toddler then. They were good people, but life was hard for them with me around. For eight years they suffered all sorts of bad fortune, and although they never once blamed me openly, I think they saw me as a curse, the root of all their troubles.

Megan swallowed. So . . . what happened to them?

They died in a freak accident at the market when I was ten.

I’m so sorry, Megan gasped. You must miss them terribly. And so now you’re with other relatives?

Quincy nodded. Uncle Victor is my father’s younger brother, so he and Aunt Gertrude came forward and claimed whatever possessions would fetch a penny or two. Of course, that meant adopting me as well. He made a face. Rotten eggs, both of them. I’m nothing but a slave. In fact, three months ago I was so fed up that I ran away. Walked all day and ended up in a forest outside Gromble Gorge near the castle, where I found a leather bag full of treasure.

"You found treasure?"

A leather bag, just sitting there wide open, stuffed full of gold and diamonds. I thought Uncle Victor and Aunt Gertrude would go easier on me if we were rich, so I dragged it home.

Megan sucked in a breath and stepped back. "You stole it?"

Hey, it was a case of finders keepers, Quincy said. He huffed up and glowered at her.

She pursed her lips. If you say so. I’m not sure King Frederick would see it that way.

Quincy glared at her a bit longer, and then his gaze fell. You’re probably right. My uncle and aunt sure packed up and left in a hurry. People in Bramble Wood would have been suspicious if we’d suddenly come into a lot of wealth and paid off all our debts. So we moved here to Ramshackle Bottom. Since the treasure is lost property, it would have been safer to move someplace faraway, but Uncle Victor said it’s much easier to sell valuable jewels in the towns near the castle. There’s a ‘healthy black market,’ as Uncle calls it. We’ve been here three months now.

Megan was astounded—and worried. If Quincy’s luck was that random, maybe it would be better to stay away from him.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking and turned away. I understand. Thanks for thinking of me, though. It’s been a long time since anyone even spoke to me. Anxiety crept across his face. I may have said too much. You, uh . . . you won’t say anything to anyone about the treasure, will you?

I won’t say a word, Megan promised, still trying to process the information.

He nodded and trudged off along the path, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped.

A surge of guilt swept over Megan, and before she could stop herself, she called out, Quincy! Wait. Don’t go.

Quincy stopped and turned slowly.

How about we try things out? Megan said. Until bad things start happening to me.

Quincy looked hopeful, but wary too. Things aren’t always really bad, just annoying. If something can go wrong, it does, but not usually in a life-threatening way. It’s normally just small, irritating stuff. And things can go well, too. It’s pretty random. His brow furrowed. "But I should warn you. Knowing my luck, the next really bad life-threatening thing that happens could happen to you."

Megan nodded and looked around nervously. I’ll keep an eye open. Then she smiled. Would you like to walk? I’ll show you around the village, if you like?

There was a long pause, and then a smile crept over Quincy’s face and his eyes twinkled beneath his mop of hair. Thanks. I’d like that.

Chapter 2

Knight of the Oblong Table

Lawrence was a knight, though unfortunately not a very good one. He was clumsy with the lance, hopeless with the sword, and he had a lot of trouble getting on and off his horse due to his heavy armor.

He was fed up with the jibes and snickers aimed at him by the other knights of the castle. They all stood taller than he, and carried themselves with an air of grace Lawrence could only dream of. And in battle training, the others possessed strength, agility, and cunning that Lawrence could never hope to achieve. He had only been knighted by King Frederick IV out of sympathy