Siddy gulped and clutched Moll’s waist harder.
‘You can hold the rope from Jinx’s halter if it’ll make you feel any better, Sid,’ Moll said.
Siddy gripped it hard.
‘But there’s not much point because Jinx only listens to my legs when we’re galloping.’
Siddy groaned as Moll urged Jinx on. Then they were off, racing across the heath behind Oak and Patch, bounding over clumps of dead bracken and swerving round marshes. A nightjar shot out from a gorse bush, its cry rolling in the air around them. Jinx shied, Siddy moaned, but Moll’s gaze never faltered. Straight ahead – towards the amulet, towards what she hoped was her ma’s soul.
Eventually the heathland petered out and in its place fields unfolded to their left, set back from the path behind a jumbled stone wall. Sheep huddled together in the field, their heads raised as the cobs galloped by. The land here hadn’t been touched by the Shadowmasks; their dark magic had been directed straight at Moll and Gryff in the cove. Moll looked down at the wildcat, bounding along between Jinx and the cliff edge some metres away. Far below them was Bootleggers Bay – the Tribe had been forbidden to enter it since the day they arrived at Little Hollows because of Barbarous Grudge and the Dreads – but the beach was veiled in shadow now and any smuggling that might be going on was drowned by the darkness.
They galloped on and on, cob hooves hammering on the path, churning the soil to dust. Moll kicked Jinx on harder, past a field of cows, and towards the ruins of an old stone cottage that lay to the left of the path.
Then Gryff stopped suddenly, whiskers twitching, tail flat to the ground. ‘Urrrrrrrrrrrrrr,’ he growled.
The cobs backed up behind him.
‘What is it?’ Moll whispered.
Gryff was absolutely still for several minutes, watching, listening. Then, a few moments later, he grunted and broke into a run once again. The cobs followed, but Patch was shaking his head now, tossing his mane from side to side, and Moll could feel Jinx’s withers tense.
She leant forward and stroked her cob’s mane. ‘’S all right, Jinx. Calm down, calm down.’
But Moll’s pulse was starting to race. From somewhere inside the ruined cottage, she could hear what Gryff must have sensed a moment earlier.
Low, crooning hoots.
Before anyone could react, a wave of black creatures burst out of the roofless cottage, shaking the night with grating screeches. Patch reared up in terror and Oak clung to his mane. The owls glided towards the crumbling stone wall, towards Moll and Gryff, yellow eyes burning into the night. But, as their wings opened full stretch, there came another noise.
A slow creaking, like a very old door opening for the first time in years. Then, when the owls’ wings began to beat, there came the unmistakable sound of blades sawing against each other.
Moll’s skin crawled with fear. Gryff’s fur tightened. But there was no time to lose. As Oak struggled to right himself on Patch, Moll drew out her catapult, placed a stone in the pouch and fired it into the throng. The stone collided with an owl and it hurtled backwards, stunned, then it regained control and circled tighter with the pack. Oak reached for his pistol and Siddy grappled for his knife.
And the wings beat on to the sound of crunching metal.
Jinx skittered backwards over the path and Gryff pounded his forelimbs, hissing. Then a cluster of owls broke free, yellow eyes unblinking, and dived down towards them. Moll dug her heels into Jinx’s flanks and they leapt aside on to the grass in front of the wall.
Cracks burst out from Oak’s gun and three owls dropped from the sky, slamming on to the path with a thud. One of the owls made to grip the soil with its scaled talons, but Gryff pounced and dug his claws into its throat.
The other owls screeched and spiralled higher in the sky.
Then Oak looked down at the owls by Patch’s hooves and gasped. ‘Blades,’ he muttered. ‘Their wings are grinding because they’re made of knives not feathers!’
Moll’s stomach lurched. Splayed out over the path was a wingspan of black blades, growing in size towards the tip, each edge serrated and sharp. She swallowed. The creaking sound they’d heard earlier before the wings began to beat had been hinges opening and blades slotting into place.
‘But – but the owls weren’t like this in the cove!’ Moll cried.
Oak’s face hardened. ‘The Shadowmasks’ dark magic has deepened since the owls were here last . . .’
Siddy clasped his knife tight. Moll pulled back on her catapult.
Again the metallic sound beat above them, slicing the air to shreds – and more owls appeared as if the night itself had breathed them into being. They wheeled above the gypsies on the path and Moll watched in horror as their blades whirred and grated like sinister fingers. Owl eyes roved about, fixing on their prey, and the birds dived together towards Gryff. He leapt back, growling, as Siddy swung his knife, Moll fired her catapult and Oak let off his gun. But Gryff was too near the cliff edge now. Soil began to crumble beneath his paws, leaving the wildcat scrabbling at tufts of grass to save him from the drop.
‘Gryff!’ Moll yelled, making to jump from Jinx.
Siddy held Moll fast and yanked on Jinx’s tethering rope. The cob backed up against the wall, narrowly avoiding an owl’s blades. Siddy struck his knife against another that came close; metal clanged and the impact of the collision was enough to send the owl swerving away. But Moll’s eyes were glued to Gryff who was clinging to the cliff edge, his claws clutching at grass. Oak yanked Patch round towards the wildcat, then bent low and hauled him by the scruff of the neck back on to the path. Teeth bared in a snarl, Gryff spat and lashed at the owls with his claws. But they kept on coming.
‘If we split up, we might confuse them!’ Oak shouted. ‘We can’t beat them off like this!’ Patch bucked and his hind legs shunted an owl that came close. ‘Ride back to the cove and I’ll stay with Gryff!’
Jinx was edging backwards now, but Gryff was leaping up into the air and thrashing his claws into the talons of an owl above him.
‘I can’t leave you – or Gryff!’ Moll thought of Alfie suddenly. He’d have had a plan – he’d have known what to do. She drove the thought away.
‘We should try and go on,’ Siddy cried shakily. ‘We’re closer to Inchgrundle than we are to the cove.’ A look of horror washed over his face as soon as he’d said the words aloud.
And high above them the owls circled and screeched.
Oak looked from Moll to Siddy, his face strained. ‘There’s a chance the owls won’t follow you into the village,’ he panted. ‘They’re conjured from dark magic and the Shadowmasks won’t want villagers getting suspicious about stuff like that.’ He ducked to miss an owl’s blades and Patch whinnied in fear. ‘But The Crumpled Way – I can’t send you there alone!’
Moll struggled to keep Jinx steady, but her eyes were fixed on Gryff.
‘Gryff’ll be OK, Moll,’ Sid said, courage suddenly growing where he thought he’d had none. ‘And he’ll come after you when he knows you’re safe – he always does.’
Another owl spiralled down and Oak urged Patch forward so that he could take aim again. His shot shattered into the night and the owl fell, but as Oak turned back to them he was shaking his head. ‘I can’t let you go alone! It’s too dangerous!’
‘And this isn’t?’ Moll cried. She looked at Gryff and he met her eyes. ‘I’ll find you,’ she called. The wildcat bolted towards her, ducking and shying away from the swooping blades, then he dipped his head. He’d understood – somehow.
Oak spun round on Patch as he realised what was happening. ‘No, Moll! Mooshie would never forgive me if I let you and Siddy go!’
Moll kicked Jinx on. ‘Tell her you didn’t have a choice!’ Jinx sprang forward, grasping the chance to flee the owls, and then they were away, thundering on towards Inchgrundle.
‘Follow the harbour wall all the way round the village!’ Oak shouted after them. ‘We’ll come as soon as we can and we’ll keep these
beasts busy in the meantime!’
He turned back to face the owls. They wheeled high in the sky, their serrated wings outlined by the fading dark. Then they swirled together and, with renewed menace, the majority hurtled down towards Oak and Gryff and just a small group broke off to tail Moll and Siddy.
Moll leant close to Jinx, feeling her shoulders pounding at the earth, carrying them on. Behind, the owls were gaining on them, tearing through the sky like deadly bullets.
‘Your coat!’ Siddy hissed. ‘Throw it down in case they’re tracing your scent!’
Moll tensed her legs round Jinx’s flanks, then tugged her coat off. She tossed it on to the path and, in seconds, the owls hurtled down and tore it to shreds. Moments later, they were up in the air again, unsatisfied, but they’d given Jinx a lead and she seized it with a second strength, surging through the wind past a field of pigs. The cob galloped on and on, further down the coast.
The night was shrinking back, but huge purple-grey clouds crowded the sky still, and the owls beat closer with a darkness all their own.
‘Come on, Jinx,’ Moll murmured. ‘We’re nearly there . . .’
Eventually the path began to wind downhill and Moll could make out the slate roofs and whitewashed walls of Inchgrundle’s houses ahead, tucked into the side of the hill. Her heart beat faster. The amulet was somewhere in that village.
The owls slowed as Inchgrundle came into view, then, moments later, they soared higher into the sky before changing direction, as Oak had said they might, and heading back along the coast. Moll breathed deeply and urged Jinx on, down the path towards the harbour wall that curved in front of the fishing village, a shelter to the sailing boats moored inside it, before stretching out on either side into the sea.
‘Do you think those owls will go back for Oak and Gryff?’ Moll asked quietly.
Siddy didn’t answer immediately, then he said, ‘If they do, Gryff’ll have them.’
Jinx led them to the bottom of the path that ended at a small pebble beach just outside the harbour wall, and Moll and Siddy slipped to the ground.
Siddy inspected his arm. In the struggle on the cliffs his coat had torn, but Mooshie’s plaster was still intact.
Moll held Jinx’s head. ‘Thank you, girl,’ she whispered. The cob was panting still, her withers wet with sweat, and Moll noticed a small cut on her calf where one of the owl blades must have sliced. It wasn’t deep, but Moll reached into the pocket of her dress and wiped it with her handkerchief.
‘We won’t be long, Jinx,’ she said, tying her tethering rope to a gorse branch on the side of the path. Siddy drew out a flask from his coat pocket. Moll cupped her hands, Siddy poured the water in and Jinx drank. ‘Wait here and we’ll be back,’ Moll said, taking a swig from the flask and offering it to Siddy.
She hugged her cardigan round her and looked up at the harbour wall in front of them. It was tall enough to withstand huge waves, but small enough for Moll to know that she and Siddy could scale it without too much bother. Moll glanced around; it felt strange not to have Gryff by her side, as if she’d forgotten something very important on the journey. Balancing their ankle boots on the jutting rocks and gripping at ledges with the tips of their fingers, Moll and Siddy hauled themselves up on to the top of it. The houses scattered up the hillside and spilling down to the harbour were still fast asleep; doors were closed and windows shuttered.
But before the houses began, where the harbour wall met the land, there was a jumbled shipyard. Boats had been jacked up on to wooden blocks to be repaired or repainted and, through the cloudy dawn, Moll could see the yard was a muddle of old buoys tangled in rope and lobster pots piled up amid crates and battered boxes.
Siddy chewed on a fingernail. ‘Looks like the kind of place Barbarous Grudge and the Dreads might skulk around in . . .’
Moll considered this. ‘Perhaps.’ And, to Siddy’s surprise, he saw that she was smiling. ‘But it’s going to give us plenty of places to hide from the Shadowmasks if they come after us.’
Siddy gulped. ‘You think the Shadowmasks will follow now the owls have seen us riding here?’
Moll brushed her hair from her face and gritted her teeth. ‘Dunno.’ She began to lower herself down the other side of the wall, on to the stone walkway that led towards the shipyard. ‘But it was your idea to ride on.’
Siddy took his flat cap off and punched his fist inside it. ‘That’s the last time I bother being brave.’
The paint on the hull of the boat Moll and Siddy crouched behind was weathered and chipped and all around them lay old crates and heaps of rope. Moll poked her head round the stern of the boat.
‘We’ll run round the length of the harbour, just like Oak said, until the wall starts peeling out to sea. Then we’ll hide again before The Crumpled Way; we don’t know what we might find out there.’
‘Shouldn’t we walk?’ Siddy asked, fiddling nervously with his neckerchief. ‘Might look less suspicious if we’re seen strolling through the village rather than charging at it full pelt . . .’
Moll wrinkled her nose. ‘Charging is more efficient.’
The sea lapped against the harbour wall and Moll took a step out from behind the boat. Siddy clutched her arm and yanked her backwards. There were footsteps clacking over the cobbles – and they were getting louder. Through a crack in the boat’s stern, Moll and Siddy watched, their breath hemmed inside them.
First they saw the boots: two pairs – long, black and leather.
Moll gripped Siddy’s arm. ‘They’re bootleggers,’ she mouthed. ‘Smugglers!’
Siddy turned a shade of green and hunkered down with Moll. Two boys, much older than Moll and Siddy, were talking in low voices on the other side of the boat. They wore long-sleeved white shirts, dark waistcoats and trousers, but, where one was tall and wiry, like a straightened-out coat hanger, the other was squat and fat, as if he’d been poured into his leather boots. Both boys had long hair though, knotted and backcombed into wild-looking dreadlocks.
‘Grudge told me we can expect a big haul tonight,’ the skinny boy said.
His friend smirked. ‘Drinks on the Dreads in The Gloomy Tap afterwards then?’
The skinny boy nodded, then he reached into his waistcoat and turned a sheathed knife over in his hands. He slipped the blade out and held it up towards the sea, smiling as the sun surfaced from the horizon and flashed off the metal. ‘We’ve got Inchgrundle eating out of the palms of our hands now; we’ll be rich before we know it.’
The low grunt of a laugh sounded from somewhere near by.
Moll’s hand slid to her catapult and Siddy’s wound tightly round his knife.
‘When fishing’s scat, when farming’s poor, there’s always smuggling, boys.’
The voice was a growl and Moll and Siddy’s eyes widened as an enormous man stepped forward to join the boys, his legs as thick as the boughs of a very large tree. He held a crowbar in his hand as casually as a gentleman might hold a walking stick and hanging down all around his face were dark dreadlocks as thick and matted as sailor’s rope.
‘Didn’t expect to see you until later, Grudge,’ the lanky boy said.
Barbarous Grudge chewed on a small bone and Moll glimpsed eight gold teeth glinting in the sunlight against his black skin. She turned a pale face to Siddy who nodded. The stories Hard-Times Bob had told them about Grudge had been true: he really had melted down stolen coins to cap his teeth and he really did chew on a finger bone.
Grudge grinned. ‘Thought I’d recruit a few more locals; the ship we’re planning to raid tonight is big – packed high with kegs of gin, brandy and tobacco – and we’ll need all the hands we can get to load the goods into the rowing boat, then haul it out to the harbour wall and away to the bigger towns to sell.’
The squat boy laughed. ‘Gin, brandy, tobacco – that’ll line our pockets for weeks!’
Grudge pointed his crowbar halfway round the harbour. ‘I’ve got us a room at The Gloomy Tap; if I can count on you boys back th
ere with me now to help plan the raid slick, I’ll see you a bigger cut of the booty.’
He turned and left the yard, weaving his way between the lobster pots and boats. The boys grinned at each other, then hurried out of the shipyard.
Siddy stared after them, wide-eyed with fear, and Moll thought of Gryff and Oak suddenly, wishing that they were there beside her. Surely they’d beaten back the owls by now? Oak was quick as lightning with his pistol and Gryff was as fierce an animal as she’d come across. Why weren’t they here already?
Moll shook herself; she couldn’t let Siddy know how scared she was. ‘He’s a smuggler, that’s all. We’ve faced much worse than him.’
Siddy looked down. ‘When Gryff was with us – and Alfie.’ He paused. ‘I wish I’d brought Hermit.’
Moll tightened the laces on her boots. ‘Well, we haven’t got Gryff – or Hermit thankfully.’ She glossed over Alfie’s name completely, as if Siddy hadn’t even mentioned him. ‘We’re going to have to make do with each other.’
‘The Gloomy Tap sounds like an inn – or a pub,’ Siddy mumbled.
‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ Moll said, which was a lie. She’d been thinking about boiling Hermit up in a very large pan. ‘We’ll creep to the edge of the shipyard, then, once we’re sure Grudge and his bootlegger friends are inside The Gloomy Tap, we’ll nip out and run across the harbour. Then we’ll go up The Crumpled Way and look for the amulet.’
Siddy nodded. ‘Do you think this amulet will be like the first one?’
Moll considered this. ‘Dunno. Maybe. Though I’m not sure magic happens the same way twice.’ She thought back to the sparkling blue jewel they’d found inside a hollowed tree in Tanglefern Forest and grinned. ‘And the Dreads thought they were dealing with valuable goods on their smuggling raid! They should have seen the size of the jewel we found in the forest . . .’
Moll crept out from behind the boat, glanced left and right, then tiptoed forward. Siddy followed.
Soul Splinter Page 5
