Pip and the Twilight Seekers

by Chris Mould

  He should have just done it there and then, he thought, and, of course, he hadn’t. But he was going to do it now. It was time to instill some fear into these people. Time to show them how ruthless he was and how far he was prepared to go to get what he wanted.

  He left the house with the task burning away in his mind. He would do it whatever happened. Esther would have joined him but he slammed the door before she could glide out after him and she was left pecking at the window pane, only to be ignored. With the reigns held in his hooked hand he carried a flaming torch to light the way. Often the bay mare would bear the brunt of his anger—taking a scolding or pushed beyond her limits through his frustration.

  They moved off, Jarvis shouting at the horse as they went. The carriage wound into action, the back wheel turning swiftly on the repaired axle, crunching and grinding through the packed snow. It plowed through the streets, slipping and sliding in and out of the corners, all the way to the Deadman’s Hand.

  There is an old alley that runs down the back of the tavern and from there is the back door that leads inside. The barrels there are stacked high and low, so much so that it is difficult to pass at times.

  Jarvis made one simple move that was to change everything in an instant. He took the burning torch and he held it to the barrels that lay stacked against the doorway. At first it didn’t catch. The wood was frosted and the flames licked and licked but they couldn’t take hold. And then he kicked one until the inside was shattered and exposed. That was all it took. The fire met the empty rum barrel and flames whooshed into the air, smothering the confined space with instant heat and combustion. Orange glowed and billowed and suddenly everything was being swallowed up. The fire spread to the doorframe and now it ate along the structural timbers that held the inn together.

  It crackled and spat and roared. The external shutters collapsed in the heat, crashing inward, destroying the panes and taking flames with them. Jarvis just stood and watched as if in some kind of weird trance. Immediately, the fire spread across the kitchen and began to work its way through the house.

  It was a crazy move. Without flinching, Jarvis walked down the alley out into the open street and watched as the tenants of the Deadman’s Hand awakened to the disaster. The whole city could have gone up, taking the forest with it. The orange flicker reflected in the evil of Jarvis’s eyes, the torch still held in his hand. When the children emerged he would take all three of them, and he would show no mercy.

  It is true what they say: Fire is neither friend nor foe. It was the panes of glass smashing and not the fire itself that woke Frankie. But when she did wake she could hear the crackle and roar billowing through the building. She sneaked a look from the window. Glowing orange flecks danced and drifted and black smoke obscured the view. A peek along the corridor confirmed her suspicions. She couldn’t see anything but the noise was much louder and unmistakable.

  She woke the boys with furious shakes. “Out, out! Get out! The inn is on fire!” she cried and the boys, half awake, half still sleeping, were thrown headlong into the action.

  Sam was the same, snoring away like a rhino. She bashed at the door and screamed, running to his side and shaking it to wake him. He felt solid and soft at the same time, like a large lump of dough. Soon he was up and quickly away on his feet, taking her with him.

  All those escape plans they had in place had taken no account of the fact that they all slept like babies and could barely be woken.

  The four of them met on the corridor.

  “To the cellar,” instructed Sam, still pulling on his clothes. He herded the children down the staircase before him, squeezing along behind, finding it difficult to get his huge frame moving quickly down the narrowness of the walkway.

  “Faster!” cried Pip, who was pulling at Toad’s shirt and listening to his panting as he went.

  “I can’t see!” yelled Frankie. She was at the front now and feeling her way along the walls in the dark. The heat was forcing its way through the partition and making her hands warm. Pip tugged at her clothing, sensing his way forward, and Toad continued to breathe down his ear. They fumbled at the corners and now they were only seconds away from the kitchen—but it was being swallowed up in the fire and so the way to the cellar was blocked.

  That meant only one thing. There was no chance of an escape into the catacombs beneath. Their perfect route into the hollow was shut off. There would be no taking the boat through the bricked arches beneath the streets. No escape through the drain holes into the city above.

  Sam’s instinct was to keep the children safe, but their home was burning. A thick fug of black smoke piped out through the closed kitchen door. The door blistered with the heat. It was about to give way.

  Toad urged them down the passage toward the side door that lead down the alleyway to the street. There was no choice. “Don’t go yet, wait for my signal!” Sam shouted after them in panic. “Once you’re out, keep your heads down and stay safe. Get to the catacombs and find shelter. Don’t stay down there, it’s far too cold. Get to Finn Shaw’s or Ben Turnwheel’s or somewhere safe.”

  Sam peeked out through the door and felt the icy temperature hit him like a wall. The hollow was colder now than it had ever been. Cold right through to the skin. With blankets and hoods wrapped around them the children stood back in the darkness of the porch. Sam looked down into the back alley. Black smoke was choking the passageway and obscuring the view momentarily. It was a good time to move.

  He escorted the children toward the open road into the city and insisted they keep themselves tucked into the shadows of the tall buildings.

  “Be safe,” cried Toad under the crackling sounds of the flames.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Sam. “Go! And hurry.”

  Moments later he was in the back street. He was joined by city folk. Out in their night clothes, smashing the frozen troughs to get to the water and half filling what was left of the discarded barrels, passing it along the line to Sam, who poured it in through the window. The stacks of barrels were pried and kicked apart and it helped to lessen the impact. Snow was hurled in heaps and handfuls.

  Sam stopped to take a breath. He did not know that Jarvis preyed silently at the scene. Lurking in wait for the children emerging and not realizing that the black smoke his fire had created was the very thing that had allowed them to get away.

  The distant cries of the firefighters were drifting. To avoid a clutch of witches circling overhead, Toad had brought the children almost full circle and now they were almost back where they started. But he would take them to a point where he knew there was a drain cover. From there they could escape into the catacombs below.

  Not far to go. Except that when they reached the right point, something was parked over the wooden drain cover. Something squat and round and black with huge wheels and a fat body.

  “Jarvis!” whispered Pip. “He’s waiting for us to emerge.” He was back in his carriage and poised for action.

  “Crafty old snake,” said Toad. “I think we’ve found our fire starter.”

  “How do we get to the drain?” asked Frankie. But the only way was to find another one nearby.

  Captain Dooley was now sitting perched in Jarvis’s lap and he was beginning to feel that something was nearby. He felt the words coming from inside him.

  “Three little birds, sitting on a log,” he sang, in his pathetic, scratchy little voice. But he was drowned out by the crackling and roaring of the fire and Jarvis’s trancelike state.

  All the while the fire was raging and the city folk were throwing what they could find of water and snow onto the flames. It could have been a stroke of luck or it could have been pure magic but just at that moment a huge drift of snow broke from the roof and slid down, smothering the flames with soft white. Maybe the heat inside was rising up through the roof and had released it. Maybe the weight of the snowdrift had sent it sliding. Whatever caused it was a mystery, but it was enough to quell the fire outside and the folk went in to tackl
e the parlor where the stores were burning wildly.

  Jarvis moved off, feeling impatient and somehow convincing himself that if he kept circling, perhaps he would come across the children.

  Toad knew where every drain cover lay in the whole of the city. But the thick snow only served to confuse him. He couldn’t find a single one and they scrambled around in the dark, hiding among the piles of firewood and broken barrels to avoid being seen by Jarvis. Eventually, the one he had been seeking was right there, and he scratched away with cold hands. But the lid was frozen, stuck to the ground and refusing to budge. Pip tried to breathe on the seal of ice, as if to loosen the frozen grip, but it wasn’t going anywhere for the time being.

  They slipped into shadows, making a quick succession of turns through a maze of houses, and suddenly they were at a low doorway. Who knew what was about to greet them—friend or foe?

  Sam stood back in the alleyway. Thick smoke was rising quickly upward but the fire was out. He had the villagers to thank. That and the stroke of luck delivered in the form of a rooftop avalanche.

  It was times like this when Sam realized there was a strong community spirit bubbling under the chill winds of the hollow. The people who passed his window and stayed buttoned up in their homes under the snow were out there, heart and soul, when he fell into trouble.

  He looked around himself. There they all were. Covered in black smoke, coughing and choking. Some of them drenched in the water they had been passing to and fro and now frozen with it. If they ever rid this place of all its woes there was a great city beneath its evil crust.

  The damage was bad enough, but Sam would get by. He had been through worse than this. It seemed that the fire had begun in the back alley. That was where it had burned the longest, the barrels reduced to nothing but crumbling charcoal. A fire in the alley when the streets were filled with winter snow! It could only be deliberate. He was furious. His mind tracked back, wondering if he had upset anyone at the tavern. And then he remembered the scene with Jarvis. The frustrated outburst, the raid on the premises and now the fire. Were those things connected? Maybe!

  It was time to have words with Mister Jarvis.

  Toad pushed down on the latch. It was open. It was not the first time he had chanced upon an open doorway and he knew that to do so here in the hollow was to take a life-threatening chance. But what could they do?

  They stepped in, their three faces appearing around the frame of the door. The room was in darkness and the only light was from blackened coals and logs crumbling into a relaxed warmth in a stone-built hearth.

  “Quick, get in and shut the door,” said Toad.

  They shuffled forward, banging the snow from their boots and calling out gently, but no one came. For a moment they peered through the curtains at the small square panes of the window.

  Jarvis rattled past in the black pumpkin. He seemed to slow up at the window and the three of them almost jumped from their skins when his leering face appeared to stare right in. Surely he hadn’t spotted them? They shrank back from their positions at the curtain and coiled themselves up into a corner. It wasn’t until they could hear the wheels of the carriage rolling forward again that they breathed a united sigh of relief.

  They crouched in the hearth, warming their frozen fingers in the orangey glow.

  “Where are we?” asked Frankie.

  “How do I know?” said Toad. “Someone’s house.”

  “Well, we can’t just make ourselves at home. It could belong to anybody. We might be in great danger,” insisted Pip.

  “Just being here in the first place means we’re in great danger, doesn’t it? It’s nothing new.” Toad grinned.

  Just then the latch lifted at the door and the children froze. A long lean bespectacled man entered, bringing a heavy smell of wood smoke with him. He shook his coat tail, removing a long scarf that was bundled about his neck, and then he sat in his chair to kick off his snow-filled boots. When he looked up he saw the children, silent and staring back at him.

  “Holy witchwood!” he said, holding on to his heart and almost leaping backward through the seat of his chair. “Where did you spring from?” And then, squinting through his glasses in the dark, he took a closer look at Toad as his hands gripped his armchair in startled fright. “Well, bless my soul, you’re Sam’s boy, aren’t ya?”

  “Yes, sir, and we’re sorry to intrude but Mister Jarvis was after us, sir. We didn’t mean no harm.”

  The man jumped to his feet and took a nervous check on the street outside. “Now look here, children,” he began, “I don’t mind helping out, really I don’t, but I could be in serious trouble for harboring youngsters. You realize that, don’t you?” He scraped his hair back and rubbed his chin. He was tall and light on his feet and somehow all his limbs seemed too long and loose, as if he had been badly put together. He was the nervous type, the kind that can’t seem to stop shuffling when they’re talking.

  “I can’t put you up,” he said. “No way.” And then as soon as he had said it he changed his mind. “OK, I’ll do it,” he returned, “but not for long. I’ve been helping your father put out the fire,” he said, turning to Toad again. “It wasn’t easy. There are good people here among these darkened streets. They all helped. It’s out now, your father is safe. He’s a good man, your father, and I’ll help him as much as I can, I will, and if that means keeping you here, I’ll do it. That’s what we do here. We help each other.” It was almost as if he was telling himself to do it as he spoke. As if he needed to convince himself of his actions.

  The children breathed a sigh of relief. They had had no control over the extinguishing of the fire and had watched helplessly from the labyrinth of alleyways.

  “My name’s Floyd,” said the man, “Percival Floyd. But you can call me Percy.” And as he asked the children their names he put water in a pan over the burning embers and stoked up the fire with fresh wood. “I’ll make us a warm drink, eh, that should sort you out.” Toad instinctively pulled the shutters closed and Pip and Frankie hung their wet clothes by the hearth. “I never had children of my own,” he continued. “I was never married. I’m a simple man. But I’m a good cook,” he insisted, and he brought another pot into the room. This one was filled with a wonderful-smelling stew and as it warmed at the stove the room filled with the aroma. “I know it’s a strange hour to eat,” he said, but it will do you good to get something warm down you. All that time out in the snow will have frozen the bones.” He laughed.

  They sat and talked through the early hours and it seemed Mister Floyd was full of knowledge about Hangman’s hollow. Even more so than Toad, Pip thought. And perhaps, after all his concerns, he was actually enjoying the company that he craved in the times he was alone. At length, daylight poured through the gaps in the shutters and the children disappeared to a secret spot to get some rest as Floyd sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Just for now, they would all stay still.

  There was no reason at all why Jarvis would suspect they hid at Percival Floyd’s house, was there?

  There was a soft gray blue light at the end of the day that signaled more snow. It had stayed freezing cold and icicles stared down from above, pointing at the passersby.

  But it took more than mere cold weather to keep Mister Jarvis from the streets. And now that he had Captain Dooley in his possession he was all too keen to venture out.

  To Mister Jarvis, it was the perfect evening. Captain Dooley was tucked into his belted waist and the two of them were setting out into the heart of Hangman’s hollow. As the wheels of the black pumpkin began to turn, small flakes of white began to fall around them. It was postcard pretty but things were about to grow a little hectic.

  Where would Jarvis head first? He had lost sight of those rats from the Deadman’s Hand, but for now there must be plenty more for the picking.

  “Tell me, Captain Dooley. Where might the nearest of our dear children be? It would be so good to furnish our cabin with city rats. It has been so long since I
plucked one from its nest. Speak to Mister Jarvis, Captain, and make him happy.”

  “Where the river swallows up the broken bridge. One little bird in the rounded roof,” croaked the captain.

  A smile broke across Jarvis’s face. This was going to be so easy. Plucked like fruit from ripened trees.

  He considered it hard, his eyes staring upward in thought. He kept moving the carriage forward and then as he realized he knew where the captain was sending him he slowly pulled on one side of the reins, yanking a steady left-hand turn and sliding gently until he faced the other way.

  A little farther and he’d be in a good position to get a view of where he headed.

  He steered up and around the corner to take in the view of where he knew the timbers of an old walkway had sunk into the stinking river. From the stone bridge he could see it: a wooden construction that had long since collapsed halfway across the water, as if unable to make the distance. Its rotted wooden struts stuck out like broken fingers and at the bank side was a small circular building: home to Mrs. Duvell. Though Jarvis had presumed she lived alone she was obviously harboring an escapee.

  He set off again and savoured the moment, the carriage swaying and rocking across the snow-topped cobbles as he wound back down to the other side of the river. As he neared he could see a wisp of smoke pipe up from the chimney pot, and though the shutters were tight across the window, a slice of light peeped out from within.

  “How dare she!” he whispered to himself. “How dare she lie to me and keep those rats from my sight.” He pulled up just short of the rounded house.

  He climbed down from the carriage seat, wandered to the back, and, confident of his catch, opened the lock and positioned the prison door ajar, ready for its first victim.

  He announced himself with three slow loud knocks at the door. Thud, thud, thud.