Siddy threw his arms up. ‘You’re angry with the Shadowmasks for taking your parents away. You’re angry with the smugglers for locking us up. You’re angry with Alfie—’
Moll stiffened.
‘—for leaving.’ Siddy lowered his voice and his words came softer. ‘I’m angry about all of those things too – and scared. Just like you.’
Moll felt an unexpected lump lodge in her throat. ‘Don’t talk about Alfie.’
Siddy sat down on the bed again. ‘I didn’t have to come with you to Inchgrundle for the amulet. But I did because you’re my friend.’
Moll swallowed at the sudden kindness of the word ‘friend’.
Siddy went on. ‘There are times when you annoy me so much I wish I could . . . lock you up in a box just to stop you charging into trouble. But I don’t go pointing that out every time things go wrong. We’ve got to work together.’
Moll fiddled with her talisman. She and Sid were so different outwardly: she was plucky and bold while Sid was cautious. But Moll knew Sid was brave too; his was a quieter sort of courage – measured where Moll’s was reckless. Moll said nothing for a while, then she looked up at her friend. ‘I’m sorry I called you a coward, Sid. It’s not true.’
Siddy smiled. ‘Good. Because I think there’s a difference between being scared and being a coward.’
Moll nodded. ‘Yeah, but I’m afraid Hermit’s both.’
They grinned at each other as the rain drummed against the windowpane.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Moll asked.
‘We need something to pick the lock.’
They glanced around and Moll thought back to the time Alfie had used a rabbit bone to pick the lock on the cage Skull had trapped them in in Tanglefern Forest.
‘There’s nothing in here we could use,’ she sighed. ‘Nothing.’
Siddy sat still for a few minutes, then he looked at Moll. ‘Maybe . . .’ He leapt up, ripped back the dusty bed sheet and tore at the mattress with his nails.
Moll frowned. ‘What are you doing?’
Siddy’s hand wriggled through the mattress and he yanked hard, then drew out a metal bedspring. ‘Looks like there’s something left in here to pick the lock with after all.’
Moll beamed. ‘Nice one, Sid.’
They huddled by the door as Siddy twisted the spring this way and that. At first, nothing happened, then there was a familiar click and the door creaked open. The corridor was dimly lit and empty – the Dreads would be out on the raid now – so Moll and Siddy crept along it, towards the staircase at the far end. But, just as they were about to turn down it, footsteps and voices clattered up. Moll yanked Siddy into the shadows as two drunken guests stumbled up the stairs and passed by the children. When the coast was clear again, Moll and Siddy tiptoed down.
‘Left at the bottom,’ Moll whispered. ‘Should lead us back towards the door out on to the harbour.’
Eyes darting this way and that, Moll and Siddy stepped off the last stair and scampered down the passageway. It was dark save for the tiny lamps positioned on the walls above paintings of stormy seas and ships docked in the harbour, and, behind a half-open door, Moll and Siddy could hear rowdy voices and chinking glasses – a bar perhaps. Holding their breath, they raced past, on towards the wooden door at the end of the passageway.
‘Nearly there,’ Siddy breathed.
They hauled the door open, felt the rain splatter against their skin, then they darted out into the night – and charged straight into Barbarous Grudge. Siddy screamed. Moll staggered backwards. But in seconds Grudge had collared them both.
‘You!’ he spat. Moll and Siddy twisted against Grudge’s hold, but he only tightened his grip. ‘You little tykes dared disobey me?’ He shoved Siddy towards the squat smuggler boy, then he raised his crowbar above Moll.
‘No!’ Siddy yelled.
Moll closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow.
‘Boss, we could use them,’ the smuggler holding Siddy muttered. Grudge’s crowbar halted in mid-air. ‘We’re short of hands and we can’t afford to mess this one up. I’ve got a couple of spare capes over by the wall.’
Only then did Moll and Siddy notice the dozen or so smugglers huddled into the shadows before the harbour wall. They were a jumble of different heights and builds, but they all wore the same black capes buttoned at the neck, long boots in which to stash stolen bottles and, as a mark of allegiance to their boss, each one of them had grown a knot of dreadlocked hair. But there was one boy who stood out from the others. Smaller than the rest by far, he flitted between the smugglers excitedly, like a beetle in need of squashing: Smog Sprockett. Moll glowered at him.
Grudge grunted and lowered his crowbar. He yanked a piece of rope from his pocket and bound Moll’s wrists then Siddy’s before dragging them up to his nose. ‘You’re gonna be sorry you were even born after this raid’s done and the amulet’s ours,’ he snarled. ‘Now get a move on.’
Heads down to fend off the rain, Moll and Siddy followed the Dreads round the harbour wall. The houses behind them were shuttered up against the night, as if they knew all too well what was going on outside their front doors. A street light cast a hazy glow on to the cobbles and Moll glimpsed a child crouched before a window, watching wide-eyed. Seconds later, a woman appeared and bolted the window fast.
The group hurried on, following the harbour wall round to the far side of the village. The sea below them moved like a phantom, gathering and swelling before crashing against the stones and mingling with the rain. They were nearing the walkway that ran along the inside of the harbour wall now and, just where it started, Moll noticed the stone steps leading down to the water’s edge. There, two smugglers battled against the waves to keep a large rowing boat steady. Moll looked out to sea; in the distance, a light was edging slowly through the gloom. Just as Grudge had said, a ship was sailing right past Inchgrundle.
With no choice but to keep moving, Moll hastened on with the smugglers, watching the sea heave and churn below them. She thought of the Shadowmasks plotting to find her still – of their dark magic seeping in through thresholds after her and Gryff. Would the witch doctors stay outside Inchgrundle, as Oak had hoped, or did they not mind being seen by smugglers so wrapped up in dark deeds of their own that their evil might go unnoticed?
Closing her eyes for a moment, Moll listened to the wind and tried to read its spirit, as Cinderella Bull had taught her. It surged in wild gusts, whipping rain into her face, and with a shudder Moll remembered the words of the Bone Murmur. And storms will rise; trees will die, if they free their dark magic into the sky. Perhaps this storm was a sign that the Shadowmasks’ evil was lurking close by. A cold sweat crawled over her skin. She and Siddy needed to get away and find the amulet fast.
As if he’d been thinking the same thing, Siddy turned to her and, in words softer than a whisper, he said, ‘Don’t get on the boat. We need to make a run for it, whatever Grudge threatens.’
Moll could have hugged Siddy then. She could sense his fear – her own heart was trembling – but hearing those words beneath the storm and Grudge’s threats made her feel bigger, bolder. Somehow they’d get out of this mess together. She nudged Siddy with her elbow as they passed a track wide enough for a cart to pass through, leading away from the harbour and out of Inchgrundle. Siddy followed Moll’s gaze to the wooden signpost fixed at its entrance which had THE CRUMPLED WAY stamped in crooked, worn-out lettering on it.
The smugglers crept down the stone steps towards the rowing boat, a snake of moving black. The first few clambered into the vessel, cloaks wrapped tight against the driving rain. Moll queued up on the walkway behind Siddy, racking her brain for something that would distract Grudge so that they could get away – but it was hard to think straight when she could feel Grudge’s breath hot on the back of her neck.
Then one of the smugglers holding an oar in the boat suddenly roared in pain. ‘Argh!’ He turned to the smuggler next to him. ‘If you go smacking your oar at m
y head again, I’ll see you drowned tonight!’
The other man shook his head. ‘Wasn’t me! The wind whipped it up and I lost control!’
Moll blinked into the rain. She could have sworn she’d seen a figure wrapped in a tattered brown cloak reach out and jerk the oar into the smuggler’s head. But, when she strained her eyes again, she could only make out the black-caped Dreads.
The smugglers began to bicker with one another and, as Grudge stepped forward, peering closer to see what was going on, Moll and Siddy took a tiny pace backwards, away from the steps.
Grudge whirled towards them. ‘One move and you’re goners,’ he growled. ‘I’ll drown you in seconds.’
As the leader of the Dreads loomed before her, Moll noticed her knife tucked into his belt. She eyed Barbarous Grudge with disgust; he had no right to something her pa had given her. But, before she could make a swipe for it, another smuggler yelled out.
‘Ahhh!’ he cried, slipping from the steps and lunging forward, into the man in front.
Moll frowned. There it was again – unmistakable this time. A figure nipping between the Dreads. But the strangest thing about it was that none of the smugglers seemed able to see it. Moll’s heart quickened. There was magic involved here – she was sure of it – and she wondered if Siddy could feel it too.
‘What’s wrong with you all?’ Grudge hissed. ‘We gotta job to do!’
It was at that point that Smog Sprockett screamed. He had been standing on the final step, waiting his turn to board the boat, but now his arms were flailing, whirling in circles, trying to keep him steady. A second later, he toppled backwards into the sea with a loud splosh.
And once again Moll glimpsed the strange, cloaked figure dart back into the shadows.
‘Someone pushed me!’ Smog gasped, choking up seawater. ‘I can’t swim!’ The smugglers on the steps bickered and whispered, all of them denying having laid a finger on Smog. The street urchin thrashed in the sea, grappling for an oar one of the others held out to him from the boat, and the smugglers glanced at each other uneasily.
‘Something’s not right,’ one murmured as he made his way down the steps and climbed into the boat.
Moll flinched. First the oarsman, then the smuggler on the step, now Smog Sprockett. What was happening? Who was this strange figure? And was it trying to help Moll and Siddy break free or . . . Moll chewed her lip. Was it fending off the Dreads for a more sinister reason of its own?
Grudge looked at Moll and Siddy as the last of his smugglers climbed into the boat. ‘Is this your gypsy magic then? Muttering curses to muck the whole raid up?’
Siddy’s eyes widened. ‘No! We didn’t do a thing!’
Grudge’s hands tightened on his crowbar. ‘I’m not having you mess up our biggest raid yet.’ He shot a glance at the fat smuggler. ‘Guard them here until I get back. Any trouble – drown the boy and we’ll make the girl show us where the amulet is.’
But Grudge couldn’t see the figure behind him. Though the person was obscured by a cloak and half masked by shadows, Moll glimpsed a hand moving slowly towards Grudge’s crowbar. Quick as lightning, the figure yanked the metal rod back and swung it into Grudge’s shin.
The smuggler roared in pain and stumbled backwards, but it was clear he couldn’t see the figure who had dealt the blow and who was now crouched low by the harbour wall. The smugglers shifted in the boat; Moll could almost smell their fear. But she and Siddy had a window of opportunity now, and they seized it for all they were worth. Hands still bound, they turned and ran.
‘Grab them!’ Grudge bawled, lumbering forward.
But his legs buckled beneath him, as if someone had wound rope round his ankles, then yanked it hard. He thumped on to the stone and brandished angry fists at the Dreads. ‘After them!’ he roared. ‘Don’t let them escape!’
Moll threw a glance behind her. Had the cloaked figure been responsible for knocking Grudge over? The smugglers were clambering out of the boat and up the steps now, the light-footed Smog at their head. But, as the street urchin reached the top step, his whole body juddered to a standstill, then he tumbled backwards into the other boys. The line of smugglers crumpled to the left and right, some losing their footing and toppling into the waves, others gripping the stone steps to stop themselves falling.
‘It’s gypsy magic!’ they muttered, refusing to climb back up. ‘A curse because we kidnapped them! Let’s leave them behind and get on with the raid!’
Grudge glanced up at the ship’s light moving past the harbour, then back to Moll and Siddy, his face racked with indecision.
Moll shot the smugglers a deranged look, hoping it was enough to convince them that she and Siddy were up to their necks in gypsy curses. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she yelled, ‘Told you to watch out for the small people, Grudge!’ Siddy grabbed Moll by the shoulders in a bid to shut her up, but stopping Moll now would be like trying to hold back an avalanche with bare hands. ‘We’re ten times as fierce!’ Moll shouted before disappearing down The Crumpled Way.
Smog, still dripping wet, looked up at the leader of the Dreads. ‘I’ll go after them – once we’ve done the raid. And, if they’re gone from Inchgrundle, I’ll track them. They won’t get away.’
Grudge nodded, then he stormed down the steps behind his boys. ‘Let’s get this raid started!’
Moll and Siddy hurtled down The Crumpled Way. Unlike the cobbled streets of the village, this was a sandy track with tufts of grass and weeds running down the middle and a stone wall on both sides, shielding gardens and houses behind. There was one street lamp at the start of the track, but after that the road sank into darkness, a perfect passageway for the Dreads to smuggle goods out of the village. Moll and Siddy pelted down it, their bound hands jiggling awkwardly in front of them.
‘There!’ Siddy panted.
Moll squinted into the night until she saw it too. Propped up against the wall was an abandoned anchor, partly overgrown with weeds.
‘Good spot,’ Moll puffed, setting the rope around her wrists against the rusted metal and sawing it back and forth.
‘Did you see it too?’ Siddy asked, sliding a glance to Moll. ‘Back by the harbour steps?’
Moll nodded. ‘A figure – all cloaked up – messing with Grudge’s plans . . .’
Siddy let the rope fall away from his wrists. ‘Phew. For a moment, I thought I was having visions – that I might have fortune-telling powers like Cinderella Bull or something.’
Moll looked at him. ‘Sid, you’re the last person on earth that I can think of who’d end up a fortune-teller. You’d be a shepherd before a fortune-teller.’ She looked back towards the harbour. ‘It was as if something was watching out for us back there – something giving us a way out. Wasn’t it?’
Siddy wrapped his cape tighter round his shoulders. ‘Or something trying to get us away for itself.’ He shuddered. ‘Whatever it was, it worked – and the figure hasn’t followed us out here.’ He looked down the track. ‘There are numbers on the gates in the walls. We’re at number ten – number four must be further on.’
They kept running, dodging the rabbit holes and keeping to the shadows, until they stood before a wooden gate. It swayed back and forth, nudged by the wind and rain, and nailed to a slat was a hand-painted sign. The words on it would have been lost in the darkness had it not been for the light coming from inside the house. All of the other houses on the road were merely dark shapes, but this one sent a hazy glow out into the night from a ground-floor window. And, though the lace curtains blocked the interior from sight, the light spread across the garden and fell upon the wooden sign: 4 CRUMPLED WAY.
Moll’s heart drummed inside her cloak; the amulet was only moments away.
‘Who do you think lives here?’ Moll whispered.
Siddy shrugged. ‘I dunno. I just hope it’s none of Barbarous Grudge’s relatives.’
He pushed the gate open and stepped inside the garden. Moll followed. The house had whitewashed stone walls, a
perfectly arranged slate roof, four large windows surrounded by ivy and a freshly-painted red door.
‘It all looks so – so ordinary,’ Moll said.
Siddy glanced around. ‘What did you expect?’
Moll didn’t reply. But, ever since they’d found the first amulet and discovered its powers, she’d been expecting the second one to involve magic, to be hidden away somewhere secret, somewhere unusual, not a simple cottage like this.
Siddy pointed to the chimney. ‘Smoke. Whoever lives here is still awake.’
‘And what, we just ask them if they’ve seen an amulet recently?’
Siddy blinked hard against the clattering rain, then gripped his stone talisman in his pocket. ‘One thing at a time. Let’s just get inside first.’
They tiptoed over the flagstones that led to the house. There were flower beds either side of them, but they were shrouded by darkness and all around them shadows seemed to shift and stir.
Moll stood before the door, huddled beneath the porch with Siddy. Could the amulet, her ma’s soul, really be inside this house? She glanced down at her cape. ‘We should take these off. We don’t want whoever’s inside thinking we’re smugglers.’
‘Don’t go blathering about shepherds or gypsies either,’ Siddy said, wriggling out of his cape. ‘We’ve been in enough bother as it is. Try to act normal when you’re inside.’ He shook the rain from his flat cap and brushed his curls back from his face. ‘And be polite.’
Moll thought about kicking Siddy in the shin for being bossy, then she remembered their conversation in The Gloomy Tap: they had to work together. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she stretched out a hand and knocked three times on the door.
Almost immediately footsteps sounded, clacking over floorboards towards them. Then the door opened a crack and a man’s face appeared: two bespectacled eyes, set amid a face of absolutely flawless skin. There were no freckles, no wrinkles round the eyes or colour in the cheeks; he might almost have looked young had he not been entirely bald, wearing corduroy trousers that were a little too short and a tie tucked under his jumper.
Soul Splinter Page 7
