by Robin Jarvis
“I hope the Wandering Smith’s secret remains lost to you forever!” the girl bawled. “While it is denied you, your life is always in danger. May you never find an instant’s peace, and may fear burn inside you for always. Until that time comes, as surely it will, when the gold casket is finally found and opened! Then your tyranny will be ended and I wish … I dearly wish, with every beat of my own little heart, that it will be an end filled with the worst pain this world can give!”
The High Lady stopped shaking the fox cub. Liffidia’s words had stung her.
For a moment she stared at the enraged girl in consternation, then she tossed her head and sneered.
“Watch now,” she said with wintry spite. “See how I choke the worthless life from this flea-ridden scavenger.” And with that she closed her fingers about Fly’s throat.
Liffidia covered her face, and Tollychook put his arms around her.
And then, in that blackest of moments, a miracle happened.
“Hey, Finnen!” a voice called in the distance. “Wait for me.”
The High Lady halted and released her strangling grip.
“He is here!” she exclaimed. “The one the Smith entrusted the secret to is here—at last!”
“Stop racing ahead!” the voice called again. “I can’t keep up.”
Rhiannon looked about her, forgetting for an instant the werlings in the caravan and even the fox cub in her grasp.
“You sure we’re on the right path now?” the voice hollered. “Oh, Finnen, we’ve been trudging through this forest all night long. Can’t we sit and rest awhile?”
A frown clouded the High Lady’s face. The voice was behind them, back along the track they had journeyed down. But it was growing fainter.
“They’re going the wrong way,” she seethed. “The idiots!”
Liffidia held on to Tollychook. For the time being Fly was still alive.
Then she thought of Finnen and whoever he was with, lost somewhere in the forest, and knew she had to warn them.
“Finnen!” she yelled. “Finnen Lufkin! Watch out!”
Before she could shout any more, Rhiannon stormed forward and thrust both werlings away from the caravan door, then threw Fly on to the bunk beside them.
“You can keep!” the High Lady said. “No one will hear your pathetic squeakings inside here. Dear, kindly Nanna Zingara must go fetch those poor lost fellows and deliver them to safety.”
With a cruel, conceited laugh, she slammed the upper half of the door shut, and the werlings heard a bolt being rammed home outside.
Tollychook and Liffidia were left blinking in the pitch dark, despairing for their friends.
Outside, Rhiannon Rigantona took up her lantern, clutched hold of the silver talisman, and instantly dwindled in shape until the aged figure of the gypsy woman was in her place. Slotting the pipe between her teeth, the dwarf began waddling back along the trackway, holding the lantern before her.
“Lalla liddle lalla luddle,” she sang in welcome. “Come to Nanna, you poor mites, how tired and hungry you must be. Falla ring ting, ring tiddling too.”
Imprisoned within the caravan, the werlings heard her shamble off.
“Lovely stew Nanna will make. Hurry, hurry. Do not fear her, she was a friend of the Pucca. Come here, you shy, tiddley lovelies. Dum dum dindley, dum dum dimbledim …”
“Who was that with Finnen?” Tollychook breathed. “Didn’t sound like Gamaliel to me.”
Liffidia made no answer; she was busily tending to Fly. The fox cub was shivering with fright, and the breath was wheezing in his throat. Liffidia ran her fingers gently through his fur and kissed his trembling brow.
“You’re safe now,” she told him. “None shall hurt you, not while I’m here.”
Fly licked her hand, and the girl laid her head upon his shoulder.
“That wicked ol’ grisly is gonna murder Finnen an’ whoever it is,” Tollychook said gloomily. “Soon as She don’t need ’em no more. Sure as pies is pies.”
Suddenly remembering his stomach, the boy reached into one of his bags and hungrily ate the squashed fragments of his remaining chestnut pasty.
“Prob’ly the last thing I’ll ever eat,” he lamented, spitting pastry crumbs everywhere. “We’ll be goners next.” And he chewed morosely in the dark.
Despairing, Liffidia jumped up and pushed against the door, but it was firmly sealed, and she knew they were both far too small to break it down. Then she blindly made her way to the window and rattled the shutters, kicking and shoving them.
“No use,” she fumed. “We’ll never escape this.”
“Done for, we is,” Tollychook sniveled. “Deader than stones.”
Sliding wearily to her knees at Fly’s side once more, Liffidia was forced to agree. They were beyond help and hope now.
CHAPTER 10 *
SUMMONING THE SPIRIT
OUTSIDE THE CARAVAN, THE FIRST faint glimmerings of a leaden dawn were banishing the outermost fringes of night, and the stars were already losing their brilliance. The fire that the High Lady had lit within the stone circle was still crackling and the silver smoke climbed steadily upward like a wavering ribbon in the still air. The figure of Nanna Zingara had disappeared from view down the track, and only snatches of her hearty calls could still be heard.
In the dim shadows of the failing night, a small shape came scuttling. Hurrying along the bank, a chestnut-colored field mouse darted through the grass, recklessly avoiding the shelter of the trees. Into the open it sped and raced up the trackway as fast as its legs could carry it.
Straight beneath the caravan the field mouse ran, skidding to a stop where a bundle of small clothes lay discarded on the ground. Grabbing them in its paws, the mouse pattered out again and gazed up at the wagon’s bolted door with a frown upon its furry face.
It was a strange-looking rodent. Its nose was upturned, a clump of brown curls covered the area between its ears, and hung around its neck was a small velvet pouch.
“I ought to leave that soft pair in there!” the mouse said crossly as it pulled its jacket on. “Serve them both right it would—gormless brace of bunglers!”
Liffidia and Tollychook were waiting in wretched silence. All hope had left them. They were too despondent to even cry.
“Hoy!” a voice suddenly shouted from beyond the door. “You losers in there! You want to be rescued or what? And what’s it worth?”
The werlings caught their breaths. They recognized that voice immediately.
“I don’t believe it!” the girl cried.
“Oh ’eck,” exclaimed Tollychook, not sure whether to be glad or even more worried than before.
Outside the caravan they heard several grunts of exertion, followed by the sound of the bolt being dragged across, and then the upper half of the door was pulled open.
The impenetrable darkness within the wagon lifted, and the trapped werlings shook their heads in wonderment.
“It’s impossible!” Liffidia cried.
Leaning upon the open door, looking very smug and pleased with himself, while sniggering at the expressions on their astonished faces, was Bufus Doolan.
“What!” The boy laughed. “No flowers? Not even any clapping?”
Tollychook eyed him shyly. Bufus and his late brother, Mufus, had always bullied and mocked him. “Thank yee fer lettin’ us out,” he mumbled.
“Well, don’t strain yourself, Chookface,” Bufus snorted.
Liffidia was so overjoyed to see him she rushed over and threw her arms round the Doolan boy’s neck.
“Get away!” he spluttered, fending her off.
“How did you get here?” she asked, still not quite believing this was really happening. “How did you know where to find us?”
Bufus burst out laughing. “I’ve been with you all the ruddy way,” he replied, casting a scornful glance at the interior of the caravan. “Been hiding ’round the back out there, haven’t I. Made myself comfy in them lopped-off tails she’s got hung up. Tie
d some together in a sort of hammock and had a right good snooze I did. Only woke up a few times when she stopped or hit a bump. Thought them three dozy spriggans were gonna find me at one point though, till that baggage sent them dreamin’.”
“But … why did you do this?”
“I told you she were a faker,” he shrugged casually. “Ha, s’pose it takes one liar to spot another. I knew straightaway she were talking out the back of her clack. She were up to summat and I wanted to find out what. You really fell for all her claptrap though, didn’t you? You an’ the rest of that sorry lot of suckers back home.”
Bufus shifted and glanced behind him. Liffidia thought she caught a sly look in his eyes and felt that he was not telling her the complete truth, but she had known him for so long that this came as no surprise.
“Listen,” he said, “we don’t have much time. I led that old crone as far away as I could, but she won’t keep hunting for Lufkin long.”
“Where is Finnen?” Liffidia asked. “He’s in terrible danger if she catches him.”
Bufus hooted with laughter. “You barmy conker!” he cried. “I’ve no idea where Lufkin is—don’t care, neither! It’s just me here, no one else. I heard everything that scabby witch ranted on about so I scarpered off and lured her away. There, what do you think of that then?”
“Ooh,” declared Tollychook. “That were awful clever.”
“Too right it was,” Bufus bragged. “Downright heroic and noble as well. Well, don’t stand there gawking, fat boy. She’s not going to be gone long. Do you want to still be stood there like a slapped rabbit when she gets back? She won’t be cackling and la-la-ing her potty tunes then.”
Liffidia nodded. “We have to go,” she agreed. “Right now—as far from here as we can. Our only chance is to head through the trees, away from the path.”
“Us’ll never find our way back home through this ’orrible forest,” Tollychook whimpered.
Bufus leaned over and rapped his knuckles on the other boy’s forehead. “Better to be lost and alive out there,” he told him, “than be caught by that mad trollop here.”
Shaking his head impatiently, he gave a brisk wave and jumped from the caravan on to the grass below.
“You can dither as much as you want,” he called over his shoulder. “But I’m off, you lardy juggins.”
Liffidia turned to Tollychook. “Go after him,” she urged. “He might be rude and infuriating, but he’s cunning, and we don’t stand any chance at all if we don’t stick together.”
“What about you?” Tollychook asked.
Liffidia returned to the fox cub and coaxed Fly to stand. “We’ll be right behind you,” she promised the boy.
And so, clutching his last two bags of biscuits, Master Umbelnapper climbed down and was soon rolling head over heels in the grass.
Staggering to his feet, he looked around for Bufus, but he was nowhere to be seen on either side of the trackway. Had he already run off into the forbidding trees?
“Don’t you be hidin’,” Tollychook called out fretfully. “This be serious—no time fer you to be funnin’ with me and makin’ me more scared than what I already is.”
No jeering laugh answered him, and Tollychook crinkled his large nose in vexation until, finally, he peered down the avenue of standing stones. There, hurrying between the granite monoliths, he saw Bufus.
The Doolan boy was already close to the entrance of the stone circle beyond, and Tollychook pouted in confusion.
“What be he rompin’ off down there fer?” he murmured. “Why not nip into this nasty ol’ wood just ’ere?”
A slithering, scrabbling commotion caused him to jump out of the way as Fly and Liffidia came tumbling from the caravan above.
The fox cub whimpered when his injured leg took his weight as he hit the ground, but he was happy to be out in the open once more and nudged the girl with his nose affectionately.
Liffidia patted him, but she was alert and wary for any danger and saw at once where Bufus had got to.
“Hi!” she cried out. “Where are you going?”
Reaching the end of the avenue, the Doolan boy spun around. A delirious smile was on his face, and a fey, fearless light burned in his eyes.
“Don’t you understand?” he called back. “This is the Pool of the Dead. We can’t turn aside now, not while we’re here!”
Liffidia hesitated for an instant, then knew he was right. “Of course,” she said. “While the High Lady is gone, we can call on the Smith’s ghost. It’s the only way we’ll ever defeat Her.”
With Fly limping along at her side and Tollychook huffing and puffing after, she set off at a run toward the avenue of stones as, far ahead, Bufus Doolan leaped away—into the circle.
Watching the werlings race off, the donkey flicked its long ears, then stomped on the ground and bucked in its harness, kicking against the caravan. Then it threw back its head. A raucous braying went crashing into the fading night. The spring leaves of the forest shook at the clamor of it, and, far away, a group of dark specks came shooting through the sky.
Haring along the track, Liffidia heard the terrible alarm and knew that Rhiannon Rigantona would immediately shed her gypsy disguise and return as swiftly as she could.
“Please let there be time,” she murmured. “There just has to be!”
Faster she ran, leaving Tollychook plodding way behind, and even Fly could not keep pace with her. In a moment she sprinted to the end of the avenue and stared around wildly.
The circle of standing stones spread out before her. Lit by the flaring flames of the campfire that still crackled merrily away, the stones appeared to pulse and resonate with energy and force.
To the girl’s small size they were monstrous gray giants that no one could ever have shaped or set in place. They must have been formed in the belly of the earth when the world was made, then pushed their way through the soil to create the colossal pillars of this unroofed temple.
This was the powerful heart of Hagwood, an ancient site that drew wild magic through the ground like a magnet, gathering it and storing it in each massive stone, and at the very center of the circle was a great wide pool of deep, dark water—the Pool of the Dead.
Ringed with smaller boulders, it reflected nothing: no glimmer of the stars, no upturned image of the surrounding stones. It was like a lake of liquid night.
At its farthest edge, a pier of rock projected from the ground and leaned over the water, creating a peculiar half bridge—a platform from which to gaze down into the enchanted depths.
Bufus Doolan was already running along it, his face unable to contain his excitement.
When he reached the end, Liffidia saw him drop to his knees and stare searchingly at the pool.
The girl hastened to join him. Her skin tingled, and the hairs rose on her arms. In this place even the air was charged with power, and she raised her eyes to the stars above. It appeared as if the stones were holding up the heavens.
Breathing hard, she lowered her gaze. She had never felt so tiny and insignificant. This was beyond her humble understanding. No werling belonged here. It was too vast and harbored too many forbidden secrets for them to disturb it, yet what other choice was there?
Drawing closer, she made the gruesome discovery that the boulders that surrounded the shadowy pool were in fact skulls. Each belonged to a different animal, and all were facing inward, their hollow eyes staring across the water, and Liffidia shivered as she passed them.
Then a number of things happened at once.
The pewter-colored dawn began leaking into the sky, and the girl gave a fearful gasp. The last dregs of night were fading. With a sick clenching of her stomach, she recalled what Nanna Zingara had said: the magic of the pool would recoil from daylight. There was hardly any time left.
In that same instant Fly joined her, and a shrill squeal sounded behind them. The girl whirled around. Still a long way down the avenue of stones, Tollychook was sprawled on the grass. He had tripped over
his own feet.
Liffidia shook her head in exasperation at him, then felt the fox cub’s body stiffen at her side and heard a growl building in his throat.
Beyond the avenue, along the trackway, the black-gowned figure of the High Lady was running, and Liffidia knew that in minutes she would be upon them.
Unaware of the danger, Tollychook tried to stand but instantly fell down.
“I thinks I busted my foot,” he whined, pulling off his shoe and inspecting his toes.
Behind him, the Tyrant of the Hollow Hill had already reached the caravan.
“Tollychook!” Liffidia screamed. “Look out!”
Still oblivious, the boy shook his shoe at her and pointed to his injured foot.
“Get up!” she cried. “Get away!”
The boy scratched his head and shrugged stupidly.
A tremendous din suddenly exploded behind him. The pots and ladles, bottles and jars that had festooned the caravan were crashing and clattering to the ground.
Startled by the clangorous noise, Tollychook turned his head and let out a terrified wail.
Rhiannon had torn down the long vicious knife she had taken from Captain Grittle, and her beautiful face was set for murder.
With her raven hair streaming about her, she swept toward the avenue like a raging tempest.
Tollychook lumbered to his one good foot and started hopping away the best he could.
Liffidia knew she had to help him. Casting an anxious glance back at Bufus, she saw that he was staring intently into the Pool of the Dead and prayed the mysterious forces that swirled within its depths would answer him before the dawn grew any brighter.
Then she was away, tearing back toward the avenue, and Fly ran limping beside her. But she would never be able to reach Tollychook in time.
He was hobbling now, and the High Lady was already at the first of the standing stones. Taunting him, she dragged the tip of the blade across the granite, and the shrill scraping cut him to the marrow.
“I am death!” she snarled. “This time there will be no saving you. Into morsels small enough for wasps to feed on I shall dice you.”
