Soul Splinter

by Abi Elphinstone

  Neither of them noticed the figure crouching behind a barrel a few metres away. He lay low for several minutes, thinking, then he smiled to himself and disappeared from the shipyard without a sound.

  Moll and Siddy peered out from behind the last of the boats in the shipyard to see a cobbled road running between a row of houses and the harbour wall. The sky was overcast now and villagers were starting to wake. An old man opened his front door, let his dog scamper over the cobbles, then picked up some firewood from a stash beneath his porch and hobbled inside again with his dog. Moll scanned down the row of houses until she came to a weather-beaten sign hanging from a building over the street: The Gloomy Tap. And, to Moll’s relief, there was no one outside it.

  She turned to Siddy. ‘If we wait any longer, the whole village will be up.’

  Siddy nodded, clutched his talisman hard, a smoothed stone with a hole in the middle, then shot out from the shipyard and ran over the cobbles after Moll. They raced past the first few houses, holding their breath as they pelted by The Gloomy Tap, but when they were halfway down the street the commotion began.

  ‘Stop, thief!’ a voice screamed from somewhere behind them. ‘Two children stealing firewood from old Mr Weaver!’

  Siddy shot a sideways glance at Moll. ‘What?’

  Moll grabbed his arm. ‘Just run!’

  A shuttered window above them burst open. ‘Thieves!’ a woman shrieked. ‘Down by the harbour wall!’

  More shutters clattered open as men, women and children caught on and leant out of windows, hollering abuse.

  ‘They were trying to take Mr Weaver’s firewood!’ a man bellowed. ‘Somebody stop them!’

  The village was suddenly alive with hysterical villagers screaming from their windows and, in minutes, the inhabitants had stormed downstairs and were pouring out of their front doors into the street. Moll and Siddy charged over the cobbles, tearing past the houses.

  ‘They’ve got rolling pins and kitchen knives!’ Siddy cried, snatching a glance behind him.

  Moll kept her head down. ‘Ignore it! Just keep running! If we follow the harbour round, they’ll chase us on to the pier so we’ll need to turn up a side road and lose them in the backstreets!’

  Siddy nodded, swerving left up a narrow lane behind Moll. They took a right down an alleyway, twisted left up a flight of steps, taking them two at a time, then darted down another street lined with shops. A grocer was laying out vegetables under his shop awning and beside him a baker was arranging loaves. They looked up, startled, then, when they heard the commotion hurrying closer, they stepped forward with fists raised. Moll grabbed Siddy by the arm and they dashed into a side street which climbed steeply uphill. Muscles burning, they burst out on to another road lined with houses. The shrieks of angry villagers rang louder and they dashed down the street. Moll slowed.

  ‘It’s a dead end, isn’t it?’ Siddy panted.

  Moll nodded.

  There was a shout behind them. ‘Oi!’

  Moll and Siddy spun round.

  Standing in the middle of the street was a boy – small, scrawny and covered in dirt, like something forgotten about wrapped in rags. And yet his face was sharp: two eyes set wide apart flitting from Moll to Siddy.

  Moll glanced around for a stone to lodge into her catapult, but, on seeing none, she raised her fists. Siddy drew out his knife.

  The boy took a step towards them and from somewhere nearby, the shouts of the villagers loomed closer. But the boy didn’t raise his fists, as Moll had expected.

  ‘You got money?’ he said. His voice was thin and watery.

  Moll squinted. She could have sworn she recognised that voice. But from where?

  The boy worked up a gob of phlegm, then spat it out on to the street. ‘I said, have you got money? Cos if you have,’ he muttered, ‘I can get you out of this mess.’

  Moll looked to Siddy and nodded. He fumbled for the leather pouch Mooshie had given him, then he held out a couple of coins.

  The boy came closer, inspected his payment and made to snatch it.

  Siddy yanked his hand back and closed his fist. ‘A way out first.’

  The boy sniffed, allowed the din to come closer still, then said, ‘Where d’you wanna go?’

  ‘The Crumpled Way,’ Moll said firmly.

  The boy raised one eyebrow, then shrugged. ‘Come on then.’

  He darted back along the street and slipped down a shadowy alleyway Moll and Siddy had missed before. At the end was a padlocked gate, but the boy launched himself at it, clambered up, then flipped his body over the other side.

  Siddy turned to Moll. ‘Scrawny little kid, but he’s handy on his feet.’

  Moll grunted. ‘He’s got eyes on the side of his head; looks like his grandmother knitted him wrong.’

  They followed the boy over the gate and found themselves in a yard full of junk: ripped tyres, scraps of rusted metal and rolls of tangled wire. But the shouts of the villagers were almost muted in here – and, as they bounded over piles of discarded junk, the boy turned to them and grinned.

  ‘Smog Sprockett,’ he said. ‘Street urchin most of the time – but I’m the eyes and the ears of this place. There isn’t anything I don’t see.’

  Moll couldn’t quite find it in her to smile back. Making friends with a street urchin called Smog Sprockett hadn’t been part of the brief from Oak. She kept her head down, as did Siddy, and ran on.

  At the far end of the yard was a stone wall. Smog was up it in a flash, chasing off the seagull perched on top. Moll and Siddy followed. They jumped down into another alleyway, dark and closed off, despite the morning light. But they were careering downhill again, which meant they were heading back towards the harbour. Towards The Crumpled Way.

  Smog looked back at them as he ran and Moll could tell what he was thinking. His eyes scanned their traveller clothes – Siddy’s spotted neckerchief, her colourful dress – and their dark features. ‘So what are a pair of gypsies doing in Inchgrundle then? Thought your lot were up in Tanglefern Forest.’

  Moll ran alongside him, remembering what Mooshie had said about keeping a low profile in the villages beyond the forest: Don’t go shouting about being a gypsy; the villagers are a suspicious bunch – they think we’re all nasty curses and thieving silver.

  ‘Oh, we’re not gypsies,’ Moll panted, thinking fast. ‘Sidney and me, we’re – we’re shepherds from the farm before Inchgrundle.’

  Smog snorted. ‘Pull the other leg, Bo Peep.’

  Moll hung back from Smog and Siddy shot her a look. ‘I got the name change,’ he whispered, ‘makes us less like gypsies and all that – but shepherds?’

  Moll scowled. ‘Meant to stop after “Sidney”, but the words just tumbled out.’

  Houses rose up either side of them, but lace curtains were drawn across most of the windows and the only inhabitant they could see was a stray cat slinking behind a dustbin.

  Without warning, Smog screeched to a halt.

  ‘What is it?’ Moll whispered.

  Three figures detached themselves from the shadows in front of them. They wore long black boots and the largest of them carried a crowbar in a clenched fist.

  Moll and Siddy staggered backwards, but Smog only smiled and dipped his head at the smugglers. ‘Morning, Grudge.’ He jerked his thumb towards Moll and Siddy. ‘As I promised – the gypsies.’

  Moll’s stomach dropped as she realised why she’d recognised Smog’s voice. ‘It was you!’ she hissed at him. ‘Stop thief . . . You called the villagers after us even though we’d done nothing wrong!’

  Smog blinked large, flickering eyes. ‘Shouldn’t go boasting about enormous jewels you’ve found in the forest then, should you?’ He smiled as Grudge dropped several coins into his grubby palm.

  ‘You were spying on us in the shipyard?’ Siddy spat.

  Grudge’s boys smirked. ‘We fancy ourselves one of those jewels, don’t we, Grudge?’

  Moll felt for her catapult and Barbarous Grudge steppe
d forward, his crowbar clanking on the cobbles. ‘Aye, we do.’

  Moll snatched a stone from the ground, set it to her pouch and fired. It struck the lanky smuggler in the shoulder and he doubled over, crying out.

  But Grudge only smiled, eight gold teeth shining between his gums, and brushed his dreadlocks back from his face. ‘Grab them,’ he growled.

  The children made to run, but in seconds hands clamped down on their shoulders, grinding them still. Siddy jabbed his knife at the larger smuggler, but one kick from his boot and it clattered on to the cobbles.

  Moll eyed the knife desperately, writhing beneath the lanky smuggler’s hold – she’d lent it to Siddy for the journey but it had belonged to her pa once and it was the one thing left that linked him to her. ‘There aren’t any more jewels in the forest!’ she snarled, slotting a stone to her catapult.

  Grudge yanked the catapult from her hand and hurled it to the ground, then he stooped low so that one dark eye loomed against Moll’s. ‘Ahhh, but there’s this amulet, I hear.’

  Moll struggled against the smuggler, then spat on to Grudge’s boot. Grudge grinned as he grabbed hold of Moll and flung her down. She felt a sharp pain as her head hit the cobbles, then her vision blurred and the alleyway vanished from sight.

  It was the sound of rain pattering against a window that finally brought Moll round. A strange numbness enveloped her body and it rested on her eyelids and weighed heavy on her limbs. But it couldn’t block out the pain. Her head throbbed from where she’d hit the ground and, raising a hand to her brow, Moll felt a lump.

  Forcing her eyes open, she saw that she was in a dimly-lit room, lying on floorboards riddled with woodworm and layered with dust. There was a fireplace next to her that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years, and Siddy lay before it, fast asleep. Moll crawled towards him, her body slow and lumbering.

  She tugged his arm. ‘Sid, you OK?’ Her voice was a mumbled slur.

  Siddy snuffled, then rolled over and began to snore. Moll struggled against the unsettling tiredness spreading through her body; whatever the smugglers had done to her, it looked like they’d done it to Siddy too. She shook him again, hard, but he was sleeping deeply now. Moll glanced around. Plaster peeled from the walls, a single wrought-iron bed draped in musty sheets slumped in the corner of the room, and below a shuttered window was a table on which sat a pail of water and a lamp.

  Moll hauled herself upright and clutched her head. The ache pounded inside her skull, but it was the strange dizziness that clouded her sight when she moved that frightened her most. She stumbled over the creaking floorboards towards the door and pulled it. Locked. Fear twisted inside her. She’d been so worried about the Shadowmasks catching them she hadn’t even thought about the Dreads, not after they’d made it past Bootleggers Bay unharmed.

  She summoned up her energy and staggered over to Siddy. ‘Wake up,’ she hissed. But, when she shook him again and again and still he slept, dark thoughts clouded in. Why couldn’t she wake him?

  Shivering from the cold, Moll walked over to the wooden table, cupped her hands into the water and raised it to her lips. She felt the dizziness lift a little and the tiny writing etched into the bottom of the pail became clear: The Gloomy Tap.

  Moll bit her lip. Where was Oak? And Gryff? Had they raced into Inchgrundle after beating off the owls? A sickening feeling lodged in the pit of her stomach. What if something terrible had happened on the cliff top? Moll thought of Jinx suddenly, tied up beyond the harbour wall. Had she yanked her tethering rope free and wandered home or was she still there, waiting for Moll to come back? Moll found herself wishing that Mooshie was near to heal the bruise on her head and tell her it was all going to be OK.

  She pushed back the shutter from the window above the table and looked out. The cobbles were streaked with rain and it was already growing dark. Moll’s insides lurched. They’d been out cold for a whole day; whatever the Dreads had done to them had knocked their senses completely . . . She watched a fisherman hauling a net full of fish from his boat up on to the walkway running along the harbour wall, then a shuffling noise came from behind Moll and she wheeled round.

  ‘What – what happened?’ Siddy’s voice was thick with sleep, but Moll felt a surge of relief.

  ‘You’re OK,’ she breathed.

  Siddy rubbed his eyes and sat up against the wall. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘It’s night already – we’ve been asleep for the whole day.’ Moll shook her head. ‘I remember Grudge knocking me to the ground, then – then I must have passed out cold . . .’ She blinked back a wave of dizziness. ‘But you must remember what happened after that?’

  Siddy struggled to his feet. ‘The smugglers dragged us back here, then—’ He frowned. ‘I remember they forced me to drink something. Something hot and soothing. Then I’m not sure what happened next.’

  Moll blinked. ‘I get knocked out and you sit down to a cup of tea with the Dreads?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that . . .’

  Moll turned away to face the table, then she raised a hand to her mouth. ‘Siddy,’ she said slowly, her voice altogether different now. ‘Look.’

  She pointed to what appeared to be a handful of dried-out plants strewn on the table beside the pail of water: light brown stems with a circular pod at the top next to two tin cups and a pestle and mortar filled with ochre grains.

  ‘Poppy stems and seedpods ground up to make tea!’ Moll’s eyes widened, but then shock gave way to outrage. ‘The wretched smugglers drugged us!’ she cried. ‘We need to escape and find the amulet!’

  At that moment, the door handle turned, the door creaked open and lamplight fell upon an enormous figure. Moll and Siddy backed up against the table as Barbarous Grudge walked into the room, the floorboards sagging and groaning beneath him. The boys they had seen in the shipyard and the alleyway swaggered in after him, locking the door behind them.

  Grudge ran a tongue over his golden teeth and sat down on the bed. The springs wheezed. ‘Glad to see you’ve had a good rest. Now it’s time to get down to business. This amulet you talked about in the shipyard – where is it?’

  Neither Moll nor Siddy said anything. Their silence was hard and cold as if it had been sculpted from marble.

  Grudge grunted. ‘Smog told us you were heading for The Crumpled Way?’

  Moll willed herself to be brave, tried to make herself think as Oak – or even Alfie – would have done. ‘We don’t know exactly where the amulet is, but we know it’s out past Inchgrundle.’ She offered Grudge two haughty eyebrows and a nostril flare even though her heart was thumping.

  Siddy nodded, catching on to Moll’s thoughts. ‘We were heading for the first road out of here – The Crumpled Way.’

  Grudge’s boys whispered to each other, then the wiry lad leant close to Grudge. ‘They’ll be lying, boss. Pesky gypsies trying to throw us off the scent.’

  Grudge said nothing. Instead, he reached into his pocket and brought out the legendary finger bone. He chewed on it as he thought, then he stood up and walked towards the children.

  His eyes bored into Moll. ‘You look like the kind of girl who might—’

  ‘Bite hard?’ Moll muttered. She sprang forward, a ball of furious energy, and jabbed an elbow into Grudge’s stomach. When he didn’t even flinch, she pummelled her fists into his ribs and began to yell. ‘You’ve no business holding us here!’

  Siddy watched in horror, thought about stepping in, then noticed the other two smugglers advancing behind Grudge and decided to stay where he was.

  Grudge held Moll at arm’s length by her hair. She swung with her fists and snarled, but he only laughed.

  ‘Well, you’re something, aren’t you?’

  Moll twisted herself free and stepped back, panting. ‘Yes. No. Shut up.’

  Grudge pointed a large finger at her. ‘Let’s get this straight. I’m in charge here so don’t bother fighting me as you know who’ll win.’

  Moll glared at him. ‘
Moosh always says you’ve got to watch out for the small people; they’re full of surprises.’

  Grudge snorted, then drew himself up before Moll and Siddy, his dreadlocks framing his face like bundles of grimy rope. ‘I’ll send up some food to line your stomachs while me and the Dreads get on with the raid. It’s our biggest one yet and you’re not getting in the way of it.’ He paused. ‘But afterwards you’ll lead us to this amulet – and we’ll see if your stories about it are really true.’

  Moll’s thoughts whirred; how were they going to find the amulet before the Shadowmasks tracked them down when Grudge planned to lock them in The Gloomy Tap?

  The leader of the Dreads turned towards the door, key in hand, then he looked back at Moll and Siddy. ‘And don’t even think about trying to break free while we’re away. We Dreads own this village and you’re our property now. If you so much as put a foot outside this pub, we’ll string you up with sailor’s rope and see you hanged before dawn.’

  There didn’t seem a great deal to say or do in response to this so Moll just nodded. Beside her, Siddy gulped.

  Hours later, after a lukewarm stew of gristly meat and watery potatoes, Moll and Siddy sat on the bed in the room at The Gloomy Tap.

  ‘We need to escape,’ Moll said quietly.

  The rain pattered against the window. Siddy bit his lip.

  ‘And we need to do it quickly,’ Moll added.

  ‘We’ll be hanged before dawn if we’re caught,’ Siddy mumbled. ‘You heard Grudge.’

  Moll dug her nails into the mattress. ‘Go and sit by the fireplace and practise not being frightened, then come back here when you’re done and we’ll make a plan.’ She paused. ‘Coward.’

  Siddy sprang up, his face flushed. ‘Don’t you go treating me like I’m five, Moll! The things we’ve done – fighting off Shadowmasks and running from villagers with knives – it’s been terrifying! And you feel it too, even if you’re all closed up and you pretend you don’t. You’re scared, just like me.’

  ‘I’m angry,’ Moll muttered, scuffing her boot against the floorboard. ‘With you mainly.’