‘What makes you so sure?’
Colton chewed his lip, considering. ‘Because Jarrod never planned any of this. Everything that happened to him tonight happened by chance – he’s thinking as he goes along, which means he’s more likely to stick with what he already knows.’
Betty nodded, reassured a little . . . and surprised to be taking comfort from Colton. ‘And if he’s gone when we arrive?’
‘Let’s worry about that when we get there. If they’re gone, someone may have seen them or know something that could help us.’
‘Then let’s go,’ said Betty.
Colton heaped more sacking into the bottom of the boat. ‘The prison patrol will already be on the water looking for Jarrod and me.’
Betty gazed out to the water, a ribbon of moonlight shimmering on the choppy surface. The shingle between the cave and the water had narrowed, the waves creeping closer. They seemed to be beckoning, urging her to her sisters . . . but they could have just as easily been luring her in, waiting to swallow her.
Her pulse quickened. ‘Look. The tide is rising.’
Colton glanced round in alarm, then began loading things into the boat more quickly.
‘Let it come. We need the tide.’ She watched the flow of the water, rising then curling back. Daring them to take the gamble. ‘It’s our only chance of clearing the Devil’s Teeth.’
Some of Colton’s confidence trickled away. ‘The Devil’s Teeth?’
‘I told you there were rocks!’ Worry began to build in the pit of Betty’s stomach. ‘Deadly rocks. There’s a reason these caves are called the Three Widows – because of all the shipwrecks. Smugglers used to hide here at low tide and shine lights to guide the boats in. They’d hit the rocks and sink, and their cargo would wash ashore.’ She paused, watching the choppy water rushing up the shingle. ‘You can’t see the rocks too well at night, just the water breaking over them. But they’re there, under the surface. She swept her arm in a wide arc. ‘Formed in a crescent shape, like a moon, or . . .’
‘Jaws with teeth,’ Colton finished. ‘As cheerful as the rest of Lament, then.’
‘Have you ever rowed a boat?’
Colton threw the oars in the boat. ‘Not for years.’
Betty’s chest tightened. She knew from stories of sinking ferries that crossing the water with an experienced boatman could still be dangerous. Crossing the water with a novice was madness, but what choice did she have? Abandoning Fliss and Charlie wasn’t an option. Together they heaved the boat down to the shingle and got in. Colton handed Betty a wad of sacking to wrap around her shoulders as she sat on the narrow bench.
Betty stared over the side of the boat at the shingle and the slimy mud oozing beneath it. How many lives had the rocks claimed over the years? Too many to count, that was for sure. And now she and Colton were about to grapple with them, too. As she watched, murky water trickled over the pebbles, slicking them with moisture. The tide was coming in, faster now.
She swallowed, but stayed silent. Would she ever see the Poacher’s Pocket again? Or would her final moments be spent with a stranger, fighting for their lives on the Devil’s Teeth? She wondered if Granny had discovered the girls were gone, or whether she’d only find out in the morning. Granny. Betty tried to remember the last time she had hugged her. If only she had known things would come to this she would have made it a little longer, a little tighter.
The water was lapping around the boat now. It lurched suddenly. Betty gripped the side, steadying herself as Colton dug an oar into the shingle, pinning the boat where it was.
‘Not yet,’ he muttered, squinting across the water to where several jagged rocks were breaking the water’s surface. ‘Not until those final Devil’s Teeth have been swallowed.’ He handed Betty the other oar. ‘Here.’
She took it, thrusting it into the sludgy water below them, holding it tight. The boat bobbed, eager to take to the waves, but she angled the oar, resisting its pull until her arms throbbed. Not yet, not yet, not yet . . .
And just when she thought she would have to let go, Colton said, ‘Now!’ He took the oar from her, and she heard a gulping glug as he pulled it from the sludge and began rowing. Betty glanced back as the cliff face moved away from them. The Three Widows watched them, the yawning blackness of the caves like faces covered over with mourning veils. Her stomach lurched, not from the water but from the fear of what lay under it: those treacherous, jagged rocks that were just waiting to tear into the boat’s wooden flesh.
‘Let me help you!’ she cried. ‘I can row!’
‘No. I need your eyes on the water,’ Colton grunted. ‘Look for the Teeth breaking the surface. If you can see any then we need to hold back. There’s a current pulling us towards the rocks.’
Betty rushed to the front of the boat. She trained her eyes on the inky water, familiarising herself with the push and pull, until she was able to see the little spots where the water ebbed differently.
‘There!’ She pointed, panic rising up in her throat. ‘There’s one just ahead, breaking the surface!’
‘How far?’ Colton asked urgently.
‘Not very – a stone’s throw.’ She waited as the retreating tide swept back over the glistening shard of rock, hiding it. For as far back as she could remember, there had always been drownings and accidents in this cove. Lungs filled with water, heads bashed on rocks. She sensed the Three Widows watching, ready to mourn.
‘Will the water rise higher, if we can hold off?’ Colton asked. He strained against the oars, rowing backwards now to keep them on the spot. Sweat shimmered above his eyebrows.
Betty glanced back to the shore, her gaze locking on to a layer of crusted seaweed partway up the cliff face. The water had almost reached its full height here.
‘Maybe a little, but not enough to get us over the rock. Our only chance is to use the waves. But you’ll need my help.’
‘Rowing is hard,’ Colton said. ‘I need to know you’re up to it.’
‘I’m up to anything if it stops us getting smashed to smithereens,’ she said indignantly. ‘Give me an oar.’
Colton passed one to her. ‘Face the caves. It’ll be easier to row, and one of us needs to be looking that way for this to work.’
Betty took the oar, less confident now she was no longer holding the edge of the boat. She shifted her weight, trying to get her balance. The oar was heavy and, with the waves growing ever choppier, it felt as though the water was sucking on it, trying to draw her into its murky depths. The boat began to drift.
‘Row, then!’ Colton snapped.
‘All right!’ she retorted hotly, dragging the oar through the water in the same direction as Colton. Immediately she found it was harder than it looked, but she gritted her teeth and found the rhythm.
Colton nodded approvingly. ‘Good. Now, I’ll watch the front of the boat. You watch the waves breaking by the caves, and count how long it takes for them to wash back and clear the rocks.’
Betty nodded. With a bit of luck and a lot of work, they could ride the waves, the swell giving them the lift they needed over the rocks. She tried not to think of the Widdershins’ track record when it came to luck. She fixed her stare on a large wave as it broke, crashing against the cliff before rolling back towards the boat and then out to sea.
‘One, two, three . . .’
The boat lifted considerably on three, rising up on the wave before dipping. The wave carried past them and over the rocks, clearing them easily.
‘We have to catch one of those waves,’ said Colton. ‘The next big one. You ready?’
Betty gulped. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
The boat bobbed like a cork, dancing on smaller waves like it was teasing them, testing them.
‘Not yet,’ Colton murmured. ‘Hold fast . . .’
Betty clenched her jaw, working the oar. She felt the pull of muscles rarely used, between her shoulder blades, in her arms and stomach. It was an effort keeping the boat steady, and her swings of the oar in
time with Colton’s. She felt the next wave rise up from under them, lifting and then lowering the boat as it coursed towards the caves.
‘Now!’ Betty yelled as it crashed, and with that they changed direction, pulling backwards for all they were worth. She was unable to look away from the wave as it swept into the cave, before rushing back towards them and out to sea. Would it be enough?
Please let it be enough . . .
Already the boat was moving with surprising speed. She heard Colton’s breathing, rasping and ragged, and realised that she, too, was gasping with the effort. Glancing over her shoulder, she searched for those treacherous teeth in the water, waiting to gnash the boat to pieces. And when she saw four of them jutting from the water, she wished she hadn’t looked. They were so close, greedy for blood and bone. They surely wouldn’t make it over them . . .
‘Give it all you’ve got!’ Colton roared.
The boat surged upward, carried on the wave. Betty rowed, with every breath and every screaming muscle. And then they were rushing out of the cove, riding the water like a great, fluid dragon, and still Betty pulled the oar for all she was worth. Blisters rose on her palms, but she wouldn’t let herself stop.
As the wave got away from them the boat jerked as something caught its belly from below, like a fingernail scraping a scab. Colton gasped, reaching out to grab her. Together they froze as the water’s surface calmed. For a moment neither of them moved, then slowly Betty turned to face him.
‘We made it.’ Colton’s voice was incredulous. ‘I can’t believe we made it.’
Betty peered back through the darkness, searching the water. The pointed tip of a rock jutted from the surface, like a skittle that refused to fall. Colton crouched down, running his hand along the bottom of the boat.
‘Can’t feel any leaks,’ he said hesitantly. ‘But that was close.’
‘Too close,’ Betty whispered. Her hands were still clamped around the oar. She realised she was shaking. How narrowly they had escaped! The Devil’s Teeth had had a taste of the boat, but not quite managed to swallow it. She stared at Colton, seeing her own relief mirrored back at her.
It remained unsaid, but Betty was certain he knew as well as she did that strangely, the experience had bound them, somehow – for neither of them would have made it without the other.
Silently, Colton took the oar from her and began to row further out, the job easier now they were away from the pull of the cove’s currents.
Betty stayed frozen where she was, teeth chattering. Ahead, she saw only a vast expanse of water. Behind, Lament was blocking any signs of life from mainland Crowstone. She stared, waiting and hoping to see the lights in the distance and the irony was not lost on her that she now longed for a last glimpse of home, of the place she’d waited so long to escape from. She had always thought this moment would be a victory. Instead, she was with a stranger, and stood to lose everything she cared about. She had never felt more lost.
She blew into her numb fingers, trying to coax warmth back into them.
‘How long before we reach land on the other side?’ Colton asked.
Betty squeezed her eyes shut, recalling past trips to Repent on the ferry, and the timetable for Marshfoot. ‘Hard to say. A couple of hours, probably, if we’re going further inland.’ What time was it now? Midnight? Later? She had no idea. The night had stretched for what felt like for ever. How many hours until sunrise, when they would no longer have the cover of night to hide them? Each hour that passed was an hour closer to her sisters’ deaths . . . and her own, now that she was leaving Crowstone, too. She had thought she would feel different, more afraid, yet all she could think of was Charlie’s and Fliss’s faces, painted with horror . . . and Jarrod’s cunning, broken smile. If they were going to die, it couldn’t be afraid and alone with him.
‘Are you going to tell me what he did?’
‘Huh?’
‘Jarrod. You said he was dangerous.’ Her voice quavered. ‘And now he has my sisters, I need to know what we’re up against.’
Colton hesitated, deepening Betty’s fears.
‘Tell me!’
‘All right! He . . . he kills people. I mean, killed people. He was a lifer in that place. He would never have been released, so the warders say.’
‘Kills people?’ Betty asked faintly.
‘For money.’ Colton’s disgust was plain. ‘There were no limits to what he’d do . . . or who he’d do them to. Revenge, money owed . . . whatever the reason, he’d do it.’ His voice hardened. ‘He’s a monster. Last year there was a riot. Jarrod broke one warder’s legs and almost killed another. They say his youngest victim—’
‘Stop!’ Betty cried. The memory of her sisters’ terrified faces swam before her, their panic becoming hers. How ready Jarrod had been to hurt Fliss to get what he wanted. He could make them do anything, Betty realised. His biggest weapon was their love for each other. ‘I can’t bear to hear any more!’
‘Hey.’ Colton stopped rowing, touching her arm. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But you asked. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’ll hurt them as long as they’re useful. And that bag makes them very, very useful.’
This was the only grain of comfort Betty had to cling to.
‘What if we don’t find them? Saving them from Jarrod is just the start!’ Her throat closed as tears swam in her eyes. She had wanted so badly to change things. Though Fliss had always been content at home, breaking the curse could have meant more for Charlie: happier memories of growing up and visiting new places. Tonight could mean no more memories made for any of them. Betty had changed things, all right. At least if she failed, she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt over her sisters’ deaths . . . because she would die with them.
‘You need to get that bag,’ Colton said thoughtfully. ‘Once you have it, Charlie can get you anywhere, and fast. Then you can search for answers.’
‘If we knew where to look,’ Betty croaked. ‘All I can think is that the answer to breaking the curse must be in Crowstone, if that’s where it all began.’
Colton stayed silent for a moment. Then he nodded to the bundle of rags in the bottom of the boat. ‘You should lie down and rest. You’re going to need your strength.’
Betty shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly sleep. My tummy is all tied up in knots for one thing. And for another, it’s too bleedin’ cold.’
‘Lie down anyway,’ Colton said gruffly. ‘At least it’ll be warmer in the blankets.’
Reluctantly, Betty lowered herself into the jumble of sacking. They smelled fishy and stale, but were dry at least. Her mind churned over the events of the night, chopping and changing with the waves. Unexpectedly, something came back to her.
‘Earlier, just before Jarrod turned up, you said you knew something else about the Tower. What was it?’
‘When we first met in the prison, I told you the curse began in the Tower,’ he continued. ‘I–I told your granny the same thing. Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know—’
‘So another lie.’
‘Wait. Just hear me out.’ Colton paused to wrap scraps of rag around his palms, then took the oars again. ‘During the summer, a handful of us were chosen to clear the Tower out, make repairs, that sort of thing.’
‘Wasn’t anyone being kept in there?’ Betty asked.
‘Not any more. Rumour has it that no one’s been held in there since that girl flung herself from the window. The one they called a witch.’
‘Sorsha Spellthorn,’ Betty whispered.
‘As soon as you go in there, you can . . . feel it’s not right. On the surface it’s like any other cell: cold, cobwebs. A threadbare bed. But in that place it’s the walls that really tell a story . . .’
‘What . . . what was on the walls?’ Betty asked.
‘Words.’ There was a sheen of sweat on Colton’s face now. ‘They made us paint them. Covered in words, they were. She’d started marking the days she’d been locked in there, along with
these four words: malice, injustice, betrayal, escape. Just those same words, over and over, scrawled until they were barely readable. Until, right by the window, there was only . . .’
‘Only what?’
‘One word.’ He hesitated. ‘Widdershins.’
‘Widdershins?’ Betty sat up, tense. ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘I know what I saw.’
Anticipation flared like a beacon within. If this was true, Sorsha Spellthorn had been linked to the Widdershins. ‘This had better not be another one of your lies, Colton.’
‘It’s not, I swear!’ He stopped rowing and stared at her in earnest. ‘What reason would I have to lie to you now?’
Betty found she was gripping the edge of the sacking. She could think of no motive for Colton to lie – he’d had what he wanted from them. More importantly, what he’d said fitted like a puzzle piece into the rest of the information she had about Sorsha. Someone who could work magic, and had scratched her family’s name into the walls of Crowstone Tower as the result of some deep-rooted grudge. She felt certain this was it: the beginning of the curse.
‘By the end of that first day the place looked completely different,’ Colton continued. ‘Cobwebs gone, the bed cleared out and the walls freshly painted. But the next day we were hauled back again, and from the way the warders were whispering we knew something was wrong. And when we entered that tower room the second day, we knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘Knew the place was cursed. We thought it was a trick at first. Some of the warders would take any chance to scare us or make our time there as unpleasant as they could. But we could see they were as shocked as we were. Because the entire room was exactly as it had been the morning before. Every word on the walls, every last cobweb. Like we’d never lifted a finger.’
Two days ago, Betty would have scoffed at this. Now the words easily conjured up an icy foreboding.
‘So we did it again. Only that second day we worked twice as fast and twice as hard. My knuckles bled from scrubbing those walls. I wanted to get out of there just like everyone else. But the next day, just like before, it was all back. And that time, they didn’t make us try again.’
A Pinch of Magic Page 15
