by Chris Mould
When he awoke he was sweating. What was this place? He was so haunted by Sam’s story that he now wished desperately not to be there at all. He toyed with the idea of leaving in the night, but the thought of meeting something ghastly in the winding streets was too frightening to bear. Flickering firelight caused dark dancing shadows to play on the walls. He closed his eyes tight and curled up in his blanket.
At first light Sam appeared. He’d made a breakfast of eggs and ham with home-baked bread and fresh milk. Funny how things always seemed a little better in the daytime.
“Not so fast, Pip,” warned Sam. “You’ll make yourself ill. You’re safe now. You’ll be fed and watered for as long as you’re here. Take your time.”
“I still don’t know why you are being so kind to me,” insisted Pip. To be treated so well was something he had never experienced before. Usually, such an act would be accompanied by drunkenness or followed by a beating.
Sam smiled. There was something of the gentle giant about him. He had a huge but calm presence.
When Sam was convinced that Pip had satisfied his appetite, he stood up and beckoned him to follow.
Pip jumped from his chair, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He followed Sam through the house. They wound up a staircase at the back of the building to the first floor and up a second narrower set to another. The passages grew slimmer and the spaces smaller.
Eventually they reached a turn in the corridor, where what appeared to be a panel turned out to be the entrance to a room at the top of the building. Sam put his hand through what looked like an accidental hole in the wood. He lifted a latch and entered. What Pip saw wasn’t what he had expected. There, perched on a makeshift bed, was a boy perhaps slightly older than himself and much bigger, with a portly face and a round belly. Almost a miniature version of Sam. He jumped up and held out his hand.
“I’m Toad,” he said. “Pleased to meet you!” He had a wild look in his eyes and an expression that told Pip it was the first time he had seen another child in some time. He looked somehow familiar and, on closer inspection, Pip realized that he had seen a penciled portrait of him on the wall in the downstairs rooms of the tavern.
Pip stared around the room, taken aback. There were drawings and sheets of writing pinned to the wall, and small models made from wood. Then he looked back at Toad.
“I like to keep busy!” Toad laughed.
“I’m Pip,” he replied and they shook hands. The boy Toad seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of his new companion.
“His real name is Thomas,” said Sam. “And he’s my son. Now you can see why I helped you, Pip. I must attend to the tavern. Keep your heads down and I’ll return later.” He closed the door and was gone.
“Make yourself at home,” said Toad. “You’ll be getting to know this place pretty well.”
Pip stared around the room. It was tiny. He didn’t want to know the place well. He wanted to leave. Toad’s bed was a large wooden box filled with sheets and comfortable-looking cushions and pillows. Something similar had been swiftly put together in the opposite corner.
“That’s yours,” said Toad. “We keep a spare in case we take in any strays from the city.”
“Strays?”
“Escaped children, wandering alone. If you don’t take them in, they’ll be preyed upon by the forest folk or picked up by guardsmen. Either way, you’re imprisoned.” Toad seemed so matter of fact about the whole thing that Pip felt his stomach turning again and his heart sank into his belly.
“It’s an unwritten rule among the elders,” claimed Toad. “Or at least, among those who are hiding children. They must all be ready to help each other out should the need occur. It’s quite normal.”
Pip told Toad his long tale. Of Mister Oakes and the orphanage, and how he had worked at the stables and taken care of the horses, riding through the ravines, splashing through the running water, and heading out over the hills.
“It sounds incredible,” said Toad. “One day you’ll return and I’ll come with you. You can show me how to ride a horse.”
Pip stared at Toad. “You’re right. It is incredible, but somehow I never realized it, not until now. I would give anything to be back there. I need to get out of here.”
There was a tapping at the window in the sloped roof above. Fluttering, cooing.
“Just a dove,” said Toad. “I never used to see them, but lately this one has joined me every morning. Sometimes alone, sometimes with others.”
They looked up and watched it dance on the tiles, backward and forward at the window. There was a telescope and a curtain with a circular hole in it so that Toad could poke the lens through and look out over the city unnoticed.
“Come and take a look,” said Toad. There was a stepladder underneath the window, resting against shelves of books and paper and wooden boxes filled with junk. Toad climbed the stepladder, and Pip joined him on its top step. He stared through the telescope, taking a moment to get used to the view through the lens. He could see the treetops of the forest and the sun melting the rooftop snow. Then he steered downward into the square.
He handed the scope to Toad and watched him push his chubby face into the viewer.
“Why do they call you Toad?” asked Pip.
“Father says if the wood witches ever caught me, that’s what they’d turn me into,” Toad explained. He looked round at Pip and laughed.
Pip couldn’t find it in him to find it amusing just yet. He was still growing used to the idea that the forest creatures existed at all and that he would have to hide for as long as he was here. It felt like a pointless existence.
“Did Father tell you about the Dupries?” asked Toad, who was now wearing a serious expression.
“No.”
“Jean Duprie is a friend of my father, a baker in the city. He used to supply us with bread. His house was turned over by the authorities in the night and two of their children were discovered. The house was boarded up and now the children and their parents are held captive.”
“What will happen to them?” asked Pip.
“Prison,” said Toad. “Concealing children is the worst of crimes here. Children encourage wood creatures into the city. It makes the place unsafe, so they are held in the city prisons until they are older. But they have no right to do that to a family. They are as bad as the beasts in the woods. But there’s more to tell you,” he continued.
Pip waited, not wanting to bump him off his stride. “Go on,” he urged.
“My father knows Jean Duprie very well, well enough to know that he had three children, not two. We fear that his youngest daughter is somewhere in the city, hiding alone. She will not survive for long on her own. We must find her, Pip, without Father knowing that we are leaving the tavern. I need your help.”
It grew cold again and flurries of snow drifted down at intervals. But excitement boiled in the freezing depths of the woods. Word was passing quickly, from beak to lip, from lip to snout. There had been no sign of a child for such a long time that the sighting had stirred the forest dwellers into a frenzy. So much so that the Stone Circle was called.
In the very heart of the forest sat the ancient remains of a building. Here and there crumbling archways still stood. Moss and lichen lay thick beneath the snow, and thorns and long tendrils pulled at the stonework, almost as if dragging it back into the earth below.
And right here, in the center of the ruin, was the home of the Stone Circle. As the old saying went:
Whosoever comes to the circle must bring rock or stone and place it in the ground. A full circle of stones represents the strength of union in the forest.
Cloudy wisps of frosted fog swirled and drifted around the clearing. The first arrival held a rock in both hands. She kissed it for good luck and placed it in the soft snow. Another followed and for a moment they stood alone in the darkness watching the moonlight. Then the others came. The small yellow eyes of the wolves pricked through the black curtain of night. The crows followed, descending
from above, dusting the snow from the higher branches as they came. Then witches, scratching their way down the trunks from their high perches and emerging from the hollows on all fours like scrabbling insects.
Something padded through the snow. Rolling and rumbling followed, and torchlight sang through the mist. First a black mare, then the pumpkin carriage, then down from his perch stepped the man with the hooked hand and the wolfskin cloak. He entered the circle and took a small pebble from his pocket with his good hand. He polished it against his filthy cloak and placed it down neatly.
A bark demon was clamped on to the back of the pumpkin with its cloak trailing over the wheels. It climbed down, grabbing the torch as it came, crawling awkwardly, bent double. On two legs and one hand it passed across the clearing with the flame held over its head.
A wood witch followed. She wore a skull cap and was wrapped in so much rag and old cloth that only her sunken eyes could be seen. She dragged a small two-wheeled cart whose tracks gave away her winding path from the densest part of the forest.
She pulled a pile of kindling wood from the cart and placed it neatly in the middle of the circle, using the torch to light the fire. For a while there was no sound except the crack and spit of blistering twigs and branches.
Roach came last to the circle. He was long and loose-limbed like Jarvis, but their similarities ended there. He had a second pair of arms positioned under the first so that he appeared not unlike an upright insect. The hands of the second pair swung below his knees and almost reached the forest floor. His long forehead and sharp chin made him frightening for sure, but he was somehow awkward. He used a stick to walk, yet he was swift and skillful in his movement, lightning fast.
He was accompanied by Fenris, leader of the wolf pack. Fenris ambled up to his side and Roach stroked the nape of his neck gently. The wolf’s eyes glowed like fireflies, catching the reflection from the yellow moon. Roach took his stone out from his top pocket, passing it from an upper arm to a lower arm so that he could place it without bending his knees.
Hogwick leaned forward, resting on her stick with both hands.
“Creatures of the forest, I bring news. In these last few days my companion Silas has discovered signs of children. Fresh signs. Trails in the snow. We came close to catching a youngster,” she claimed, dressing up her tale, “but harsh weather impeded the hunt. Once again Silas brings hope to the Spindlewood. It is too long since we captured one, but the young still move through the city. Persistence will bring triumph. Use your companions well, they are your eyes and ears.”
All of them looked at Silas. Many of the birds stirred with jealousy, and the wolves were determined to succeed in the search for young life.
“There is at least one child that we know of. The Duprie house has been turned over, but one young girl escaped into the city when the authorities failed to find her. Silas brought this news also,” she announced proudly.
Jarvis raised one eyebrow at Esther, perched on his shoulder. She ruffled her feathers and ignored his glare.
“The hunt is on. Go now,” called Hogwick, “and return with good news. We are all waiting.”
A hooded figure appeared at the tavern doorway, shaking his cloak and kicking snow from his boots. He ordered ale with his head held low and was careful to conceal one hand. He asked for food and sat quietly in a fireside corner where a candle had been melted into the grain of the tabletop. A ripple of hush and whisper ran around the tavern and sly looks fell his way.
Pip and Toad watched in secrecy from the cellar stairs. Toad whispered to Pip, “He’s here, the one I told you about. That’s him. Let’s go.” They shrank back into the shadow and crept down the stone steps.
Sam knew it was old Jarvis but there was little he could say or do. He knew he’d be listening for information, hoping the locals might forget themselves and spill a secret here and there when the drinks had gotten the better of them.
In some ways Sam saw it as an opportunity. He was keen to show that everything was as it should be at the tavern. It was plain to see there were no children here!
Jarvis kept an eye on Sam and in return, Sam did the same. In truth, no one trusted Jarvis. He was a traitor. The authorities employed him to seek out children for imprisonment but, disgruntled at his meager wages and fueled by his hatred of the young, he was determined to pass them on to the forest folk. And how did the forest folk pay him? They went in search of what they knew he desired more than anything—money. They raided houses at night, ransacked shops in the dark hours, ambushed market traders if they made their way home late at night. And so things grew worse, all because of Mister Jarvis: the man who had secretly spent so much time double-dealing with the creatures of the forest that he had almost become one himself.
Right now he was keeping warm at the fire. He nursed a tankard of ale and in the flickering shadows he used his hook to spear the food on his plate. Esther stepped out from under his cloak and they whispered under the cracking and spitting of the burning logs.
Unbeknownst to Jarvis and his crow, Pip and Toad were positioned beneath them in the cellar. A hole in the floorboards revealed the underside of Jarvis’s leather boot. They listened carefully.
“I want to know where the Duprie child has gone,” said Jarvis. “What news do you have?” He brushed some breadcrumbs under her beak.
“I have news from Silas, sir. She is on the move. She may be disguised, but we have no idea how.”
“Do you think I am stupid, Esther? Of course she is on the move. Their home has been ransacked. Of course she’ll be disguised. Tell me something I don’t know and don’t tell me you paid Silas for that information.”
“She may be using the river to pass up and down the city. There are rumors of a small boat.”
“What rumors?”
“A boat was tethered to the Firefly Bridge. It disappeared at the same time the Duprie girl went on the run.”
Jarvis stared hard back at her. “You know I don’t like water.”
“Maybe she doesn’t like it either. She may have been forced to row upstream to avoid the city folk.”
“Esther, if you feel sympathy toward those little rats, don’t ever let it slip in front of me. If I ever lay my hands on that dreadful child she will wish she had perished in that water.”
Toad looked at Pip and Pip stared back. Jarvis really was the villain that Toad had described. He really did hate children.
“If she escapes outside the city gates she’ll never make it alive. I’ll bet my shiny hook that she is heading into the heart of the hollow,” said Jarvis. “The day I rid this place of all its children will be a happy one. Ah, if only we could find Captain Dooley,” he sighed, sipping at the froth of his ale. “Then all our troubles would be solved.”
“No one knows where Captain Dooley is. Not even Silas,” Esther assured him.
“Captain Dooley?” whispered Pip, staring questioningly at Toad. “Who on earth is Captain Dooley?”
Toad held his finger to his lips. “Later,” he whispered.
Just then Esther spilled Jarvis’s drink and ale poured through the floorboards on to Pip and Toad.
“Uurgh!” said Pip.
“Sshhh!” hissed Toad. “Come on. We should get up to the annex.”
But something held them back. As they were about to leave they realized that Jarvis had been joined at his table. Toad pushed his face up to the gap to see who it was.
“Hector Stubbs!” he whispered to Pip, his eyes wide.
Pip said nothing, but made a gesture with open arms. Who was Hector Stubbs?
“He’s another one to look out for,” continued Toad. “If there’s a raid from the authorities in the night, he’ll be the one at the front banging the door down. If there’s a fight with the forest folk he’ll be the first to stick the knife in. He wants every child under his guard with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, to build his army, to take up war against the woods. He wants to protect the city, but to do it he wants to take
you to war. And woe betide anyone caught concealing children from him.”
Pip sneaked a look. The man was stocky and short. He had shoulder-length hair, a broad face, and a downturned mouth. The ornate handle of some kind of weapon was at his waist. His cloak trailed on the floor above them.
The boys listened intently.
“Do you have word of anything?” asked Stubbs. His words came slowly and menacingly.
Jarvis started to answer, but Stubbs interrupted. “Barman, bring me a drink. Ale will do.”
Sam nodded his head. He didn’t take too kindly to the man’s lack of good manners, but he knew he should be careful.
“I’m … following a few leads,” hissed Jarvis, cowering in his seat. “I may have news before too long.”
“Really?” said Stubbs. “I heard a rumor. And the rumor was that you were spending too much time in that forest!”
Jarvis shrank into his seat. Esther was concealed inside his cloak and she lay still with her eyes closed. “You never know where those kids might be hiding. I search everywhere, Mister Stubbs. ’Tis my job.”
Stubbs carried on, dismissing Jarvis’s mumblings. “Some people think that you might be trading children with those forest freaks and that you’re making a fool of me in the process. I even heard you’d got yourself a little feathered companion, just like those darned witches.” Stubbs paused, studying the intricate carving on his tankard and swilling beer around his mouth. “If I find out you’re dealing with those monsters, I’ll hang you at the city gates. Do you understand me?”
“You have my word, sir,” whispered Jarvis.
“I want those kids, and soon. That’s what you’re here for.”
Pip and Toad turned to look at each other. Their eyes met. Their mouths stayed shut.
They left the cellar and climbed the stairs in candlelit secrecy.
