by Chris Mould
In the tall wingbacked chair that was huddled to the burning embers sat the large figure of Sam. He broke the silence with loud snores.
Sam felt something shake him, and he awoke immediately. At first he stared unknowingly. He said nothing but he held his arm out and touched Toad’s face. He looked up to see that Frankie and Pip were by his side. He stared for a while and the four of them stayed silent, all looking at each other. “Is it really you, son? I thought I’d lost you!”
Sam sat up in his chair. He was still half asleep and confused.
“Welcome back,” said Sam. “I thought I’d lost you for good. It’s not been the same without you. I miss having you around. Are you well? Did you come to any harm? It’s not safe here, you do know that, don’t you? You can’t stay, son.”
The children stared back at him. They said nothing. And then, just like before, they faded away into emptiness. They had never been there at all. It was another fevered dream. They seemed to grow more and more regular. For sure it was Sam’s anxieties that led him to his nightmares, but each night he would awake and think that they were right there before him. Then the realization of the dream would hit him like a hammer and he was devastated when he discovered all over again that they were still lost.
He got to his feet and rubbed his eyes. It was time to head up to his bed. He pulled on the shutters at the windows and blew out the candle stubs that were glowing at the table side. He took a long weary look at the slashed drawing of Toad that still hung on the wall and then he took a last look out of the window before he climbed the stairs.
Did he really see what he thought he could see? Was that the black pumpkin rolling past or was he still seeing things? It was late, even for Jarvis. Sam had a score to settle. His anger rose up inside of him. He pulled on his boots and coat and stepped out into the snow, emerging quickly from the door and taking after the trundling wheels of the carriage.
“Jarvis, I want words with you. Jarvis!” But his cries went unheard and he struggled to keep up as the carriage grew smaller and smaller. He began to pant and puff, and was quickly out of breath. He couldn’t keep going like he used to. He was angry and worn out all at the same time.
“I just want my boy!” he said to himself and he fell to his knees in the snow and covered his face with his hands as tears ran down his reddened cheeks. “I just want my boy!”
“Come on, Sam. It’s late,” came a voice. It was Mr. and Mrs. Beetry from the candle store. Mr. Beetry put his arms around Sam and pulled him to his feet, dusting him down to shake off the snow.
“Time for bed, you daft old beggar,” he said. “Don’t let this place get the better of you. He’ll be fine, your boy. He ain’t no fool.”
Mrs. Beetry gave him a hug and wiped his cheeks with her apron.
“I know, I know. You’re right,” said Sam, coming to his senses. “I just miss him, that’s all. I miss him badly.” And they helped him inside.
Something flew overhead. It looked like a small flock of witches clumped together. All Pip could do was stay calm and carry on. He steered the carriage into a bend to avoid them. There was a bridge up ahead and its archway formed a tunnel under which he could conceal himself for a brief moment. Had they seen him? Perhaps they had, perhaps they hadn’t. He waited a moment as they passed over and headed for the forest. The children hoped to avoid as much contact as possible. They knew Jarvis was an old misery so as long as Pip kept his head down and didn’t say much they would be in character.
The three of them felt the forest looming. Toad poked his head out from the cloak and called out to Pip, “Keep calm, brother. You’re doing an excellent job.”
A shiver ran down Pip’s spine. But it was not a feeling of fear—quite the opposite. It was the feeling he’d had when Toad called him brother. It seemed to give him confidence in his task and buoyed up his spirits.
They grew nervous and held on tight. Not far to go before they were in the thick of those woods. They could hear the swishing and bowing of the branches now. A stiff breeze was swaying the frailest of the brushwood.
A clattering walkway of wooden panels announced the timber bridge that crossed into the leafy suburbs of the hollow as the wheels rolled across them. There was less snow here and the ride became bumpier. Stiff roots tried their best to upturn the rickety black pumpkin.
Spindly woody fingers scratched the roof of the mobile prison as if to try and tear open the insides and pull out prisoners. Pip knew the woods would be against them. There was something about those trees he knew not to trust and they seemed to know more than you would give credit to a tree.
Howling and barking began to circle the woods. Strange night noises resounded from trunk to trunk like echoes bouncing across the landscape. Pip ran his hand over his belt where Captain Dooley was tied. Perhaps it was a mistake bringing him back into the forest, but he had not wanted to lose sight of him. He mustn’t let go of him, whatever happened.
And then to Pip’s surprise a nearby crow landed on his shoulder. “Shall I steer you to the keep, sire? Esther does not seem to be here. It is dark and I know your eyes will not be as good as mine.”
Pip’s heart leaped and he was sure it could be heard thumping. He tried to settle himself. He didn’t answer. He simply nodded and hoped the crow would not push him for an answer.
“Straight on and mind the low branches,” she said.
Toad watched her from beneath. He felt she’d taken a sneaky look down at him but he could not be sure. It was darker than he could have imagined and his eyes were still adjusting.
“Straight ahead, sire, and pull to the left in the clearing. There is a steep dip, so do hold on.”
Again Pip nodded but as the carriage dropped down, the hood of the cloak slipped and his hand was quick to pull it back across. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed in the darkness.
Something ran at the side of the black pumpkin, clawing its hands on the doors and peering in. Heavy, hot breath poured in through the barred window and yellowy eyes spied their victims.
“Down, Fenris,” pleaded the crow. “You will see them eventually.”
“The undergate is just ahead. Are you heading to the keep, sire?” it questioned.
Again Pip nodded. All three of them grew more nervous, their hearts beating in unison. This was it.
She steered them forward through the dark and a chink of orange light turned out to be fire beacons burning at the mouth of the undergate.
“You’ll find your way from here, sire,” she said, and she lifted from his shoulders, disappearing into the dark of night.
They were alone now except that howls and squawks from the woods surrounded them. The carriage dropped into a low spiraling descent, gradually becoming steeper. More torches lit the way and Pip could see the walls of the labyrinth at close hand now, and the claw marks decorating the walls.
“Look!” he said. “It’s OK, you can see. There’s no one here. Take a peek.” And their heads came out briefly for a moment.
It was quiet. It seemed there really was no one else here. It was a dark, dank, ominous-looking hole.
Soon they would be rescuing the children that were harbored in the keep. If they could escape the forest in the same way that they came in, the plan would be a simply executed success.
The black pumpkin was spiraling toward the end of the undergate tunnel and the gnarled and woody entrance to the keep. It was stony silent but Pip and the others knew that for sure, up ahead, was a prison already filling up with the children of Hangman’s hollow.
Pip watched with dread as the root-riddled walls began to move. There were things attached to those tunneled dug-outs. Creatures that had not been apparent at first sight were moving slowly, awakening to the rumble of Jarvis’s carriage. Something hung down from above with staring eyes. Pip averted his gaze and tried his best to appear unmoved by what was around him.
Unexpectedly, out from the darkness appeared the dreadful figure of Roach. His four arms poking out from his jacket. His s
trange glare, one dark eye and one milky white. He was a terrifying sight. He held a torch aloft and his wizened figure became apparent, all spindly and tall, an insectoid in a bedraggled ill-fitting outfit. Pip had seen Roach when first escaping from the forest, but only at a great distance. It was quite a shock to see him up close and he had a real task just to cover up his shock and fright. Pip bowed his head as if to acknowledge the man and conceal himself at the same time.
Roach beckoned him onward, waving his hand. He squinted into the porthole of the carriage as they passed through. Hopefully it was too dark for him to see that they didn’t carry any prisoners.
Up ahead was a further gateway, more like a door, constructed from steel and wood, with a small barred opening in the center. Someone or something stood at the entrance. It was small and goblin-like, hunched and skinny with pale skin and lank hair. It held a lantern and as they drew close it inserted the keys into the lock.
“Dis way, Misser Jarvis.”
It pushed open the keep door and they moved on. The little fellow peered into the carriage as they passed. He held his lantern aloft as he gazed inside.
“Why you don’t got nuffink in der, Misser Jarvis?”
Pip pretended he hadn’t heard the gatekeeper and carried on moving.
“Jus you tells Bodkin when you’s ready to come out, Misser Jarvis, sir,” said the strange little man, and he handed over his burning torch to what he thought was the city warden.
“Anyfink else you wants, Misser Jarvis, you jus calls Bodkin.”
“Bodkin!” exclaimed Toad quietly beneath his cloak. “Strange name for a … whatever it was!”
“Shhh,” urged Frankie.
In they went, the carriage rolling slowly over the undulations of the root-bound earth, and as they passed into the cave the faces of small children began to show around them. They scattered into the corners like rabbits frightened by the sight of foxes. Whenever Jarvis returned, they knew they should hide. Most of them had felt the tip of his shiny hook at some point and some had scars to prove it. He would not hesitate to lash out if he felt the need.
They pulled the cloak away and revealed themselves. “It’s all right, it’s me, Toad from the tavern.”
“And Pip,” said Pip.
“And Frankie Duprie, from the bakery.”
“Mister Jarvis isn’t here. He’s locked up in the city prison. We came in disguise. The woodsfolk thought we were him,” explained Toad in a loud whisper. “We come to get you out. We need you.”
To begin with there was no response, but then slowly the children emerged from their holes. First their faces appeared, the lantern light reflecting in their pupils. Then their bedraggled figures materialized, their clothes tattered and worn and their bodies bony and wasted.
“They’ll be hungry. I never thought to bring food,” said Pip.
“I’ve got bread,” said Frankie, taking a parcel from her apron pocket, “I’ve always got bread. You should know that.” She smiled and then she handed it among the children. They pinched it from her and scuttled back as if still frightened.
Pip held the lantern to them so that Toad might know some of their faces. There were some he knew and some he didn’t. Young McCreedy, the Brice boy, the Carraway twins. Mrs. Malvern’s daughters. They must have been here for some time. They looked different—older, definitely, and taller. He counted the children. There were twelve. It would be a squeeze to get them in the carriage and they would have to endure the onlookers peering in. It would look suspicious, taking children out from the keep!
“I have an idea,” said Pip. “It could work.”
“Not again!” said Frankie. She could not help but despair at the boys’ wild ideas. So far they had already cajoled her into far more than she would have liked to have been involved in.
But within minutes they were bundling the children into the confines of the black pumpkin. There were seats on either side. No use of course, but they lifted up to reveal neat little cubby holes. Pip had remembered the way that Toad had described the carriage after taking his first journey. Two either side would hide four of them. If three had the strength to cling on they could fit side by side beneath the carriage, holding on to the axle. Three could lie in the floor space, and two more in the footwell with the surplus of the cloak draped over them. That was twelve, plus the three disguised as Jarvis made fifteen children in total.
It was worth a try. And after all, there was little choice.
After much shuffling and squeezing into small spaces, the crew of children were ready to make their journey. Like a crew of hidden pirates they were about to set sail secretly aboard their black ship. The pumpkin turned itself around in the squat space of the forest keep. Pip could feel the carriage struggling with its newly acquired weight. It strained itself to make the turn, the horse braying as she found herself pulling much harder, the roof scraping against the earthen ceiling. But they would, all of them, soon be glad to be out of the forest prison.
Pip rapped on the door and waited. Bodkin’s pointy little head showed itself, yellowy eyes squinted through the barred window of the door, and then he disappeared again. They waited a moment longer until they heard the chink of keys and the turn of the lock in its barrel. Then the door opened with a distinct creak and light spilled inward from the torchlit labyrinth of tunnels ahead.
Pip pulled on the reins and grunted his best impression of Jarvis’s grumbling tones, handing the flaming torch back to the strange figure of Bodkin.
“Fankin you kindly, Misser Jarvis, sir. Master Bodkin at your service,” he said all at once, and then he made a small bow and grinned with pointed teeth.
They moved on quickly, eager to escape interrogation. Still there were creatures meandering about the labyrinth beyond the keep. Pip kept his head down. Only moments to go before they were free and making their way through the frozen trees and undergrowth. At this moment he longed for the freedom of the forest. Where before it had seemed like a foreboding place, now it smelled of freedom. If they got that far, they would feel as if they had made their escape.
The carriage was winding upward. The return was uphill and it felt like a struggle. Pip urged the horse onward but he could see the sweat forming on her back and the steam clouding around her nostrils as she pulled ahead. The wheels were slipping in the dirt but eventually a grip was regained and they were off again.
“Come on, old girl,” he whispered to her as they went. For a short while it leveled out and she could take a breath or two. Pip had no idea how the children were coping. It was the ones beneath the axle that were the biggest worry. If they couldn’t hold on, they would fall into the path of the carriage and be seen.
Bodkin was still poised at the door to the keep. He had turned the lock and placed the key back on his belt. But something was bothering him a great deal. He was scratching his head and trying to work something out and no matter how he tried to reason with the problem in his head, it definitely made no sense. “No sense at all,” he said to himself.
Again, creatures clambered around the walls as the carriage passed. Leering into the space and searching with their yellowy eyes through the portholes. Something climbed right on to the top of the roof as they went. Pip tried not to look around but Toad was pulling on his legs and whispering to him to take a look at what made the clatter. Inside the children tried to remain calm but the scraping sound of claws on the roof brought great concern. If it decided to climb inside they would have problems.
“What is it?” whispered Frankie. “I can’t see.”
“Dunno,” said Toad. “Tell you in a minute when it climbs on top of us.”
“Stop it!” said Frankie. Up ahead, the tunnel ceiling came closer to the carriage roof and the thing attached itself to a wall space to clear the narrowing gap. Its claws dug into the woody roots that wormed their way down and the creature rested itself in a small hole. Pip wiped the sweat from his brow and braced himself for another climb.
Still, Bodkin was troubled
. “Erm … umm … no … hmmmmm!” He scratched his pointy head and closed one eye. He stared upward, as if perhaps the answer floated around over his head, but no, he still couldn’t see it. “Hmmmmmm … erm … no. Bodkin still muddled!”
The Malvern girls and the Brice boy were now hanging on desperately. All the strength was being sapped from their arms as they gripped the rear axle and kept their feet hoisted on to the front. Pip had told them that as soon as they cleared the labyrinth and emerged into the woods, they could take a moment to stop and then they could climb inside the carriage. But for the moment, they must suffer.
Edgar McCreedy lay curled up inside the cubby hole beneath the rear seat. One of the Carraway twins squeezed in alongside him. Edgar shook with fright. Soon he would be back with his parents but he had promised himself he would not open his eyes again until he heard his mother’s voice.
Toad sneaked a look from his position under the cloak and passed word to Frankie, who was unable to see. “Nearly there. I can see the torchlight at the undergate. Fingers crossed.”
Only Fenris guarded the exit. He wandered across in front of the carriage and, using his long snout, he sniffed nosily at its base, raising a growl as he came. The smell of children had become a familiar scent upon it but still it made him bare his teeth. Pip pushed past, urging the carriage wheels onward as the wolf stepped back.
They were clear. The view of the snow-covered ground was a welcome sight, signaling their escape. A refreshing brisk wind whirled around them. Pip carried on and waited until the light from the undergate had disappeared and then he stopped to let the others climb inside. The discomfort of the footwell and the pain they had endured while attached to the axle was replaced by the relative ease and comfort of the hard seats in the carriage.
