by Chris Mould
In a short while Pip was in bed. He wondered what was happening in the orphanage and despite all of its troubles he wished he was back there.
Toad kicked off his boots and climbed under his rug.
“You’ve taken your boots off.”
“Oh, I don’t bother with the old man’s rule. I can have my feet together before he’s even woken,” Toad grinned.
They talked away into the night, the moon piercing through a slit in the curtain. Toad told dark tales in the silvery light: of the wood creatures and their trickery, of how the witches turned the milk sour in the dairy, sent swarms of flies among the market traders, punished them with boiling rain. Of how the bark demons came in the night, nailing dead rabbits to the doors of those they believed to be harboring children. How they sneaked throu the streets in the dead hours, spying at doorways and listening down chimney pots to catch the fireside talk.
“Once,” said Toad, sitting up in his bed as he remembered the tale, “a family, the Westleys, were sitting around the fire at night, and an old witch perched on the chimney pot. Her crow had tried every house in the street and this one seemed promising so she had gone to fetch her mistress. They sat together and listened to the children laughing and talking. The parents appeared outside, filling buckets from the water pump, unaware that they were being watched. The old hag took her chance and crawled down the chimney. The Westley children were never seen again.”
“How could you know this?”
“A neighbor was watching from across the street, too frightened to move from their own home or raise the alarm.”
Pip pulled his blankets up farther. He found Toad’s stories terrifying. It wasn’t just the tales themselves but Toad’s way of telling them, as if he somehow enjoyed it.
“Who is Captain Dooley?” he asked, thinking that some other subject might ease him into sleep.
“Oh, that old story.” Toad had hoped he’d forgotten. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Pip, it was just that he could see that Pip was already frightened.
But perhaps it was better that he knew.
“In the early years a toymaker named Von Shteppel worked in the town. His shop still sits in the square, except that now it’s boarded up and has been for many, many years. Without knowing it, he crafted a toy from Spindlewood. He gave it to his daughter. One day, Annie Von Shteppel was chased through the woods by witches. While running to hide from her pursuers she lost her doll, a solid figure of a soldier from the civil war. Captain Dooley, she called him. But unbeknownst to Annie, the Spindlewood curse ran through his woody veins and he betrayed her. When the witches found him, he told them where she was hiding. And no matter where she ran, they found her.
“They kept hold of that little wooden figure until he led them to all the children in the hollow. Some escaped and some didn’t, but in the end, like all favorite toys, it seems that Captain Dooley himself became lost again.”
A shiver ran down Pip’s spine.
“Is that a true story?” he asked. “Does Captain Dooley really exist?”
“Maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t!” said Toad. “I couldn’t tell you for sure. I can only tell you what was told to me. But one thing I can tell you, Pip. We must find Frankie Duprie before Jarvis does.
“But first things first. Tomorrow, I need to show you our escape route from the tavern. It takes us into the city. Good night,” said Toad, and he was asleep before Pip had even closed his eyes.
“Good night,” murmured Pip, knowing that his haunting dream would soon return.
The biggest problem was Toad’s father, Sam. He wouldn’t approve of them leaving the tavern. But that didn’t suit Toad, he was far too adventurous. Pip had come to notice that Toad wasn’t one for staying still. He was always on the go, always had a plan or a tale to tell. If he was upstairs he would find a reason to go down. Never in the same place for long, despite being cooped up in the house.
Pip was the opposite: much more laid back, but happy to tow along. In a short time Pip felt himself growing close to Toad. He had never had a brother or a sister and he soon began to enjoy the companionship that came with his newfound friend.
“We go at night,” said Toad. “I know it’s dangerous, but that’s when my father is busy. He won’t miss us.”
“I’m with you,” said Pip, biting his lip, and they shook hands as he drummed up the bravery from deep inside himself.
They said good night to Sam as they had become accustomed to doing. They took food and drink to the annex and left fluffed-up cushions in their beds so it looked like they were curled up asleep, in case Sam should check on them in the early hours. Then they put on warm clothes and crept into the cellar when they knew Sam was up to his eyes in customers.
Going down was easy to start with. There was a circular wooden drain cover in the cellar of the inn. Toad stood by the opening with the lid pulled back, inviting Pip to step down onto the ladder.
Pip disappeared into the abyss, bringing life to the depths with his torch. Toad followed him in, taking a last look around the cellar to make sure he hadn’t left any clues. He balanced the drain cover on his head, hatlike, and let it lower into place as he descended. The shaft of torchlight disappeared from the cellar.
The drains were deep and dark and long. The ceiling above was neatly vaulted and below the ladder was a short walkway. Cold drafts sent shivers through their bodies.
Just ahead was a length of rope attached to a loose fitting on the wall.
“Pull on it,” said Toad, “and keep on pulling.”
Pip tugged away and something heavy resisted at the other end.
“Keep going,” said Toad.
Eventually a small wooden boat appeared through the darkness. Two oars lay neatly inside.
Toad smiled. “It’s mine,” he said. “You didn’t think
I stayed up there all the time, did you?”
“Does your father know?”
“Of course. It’s my best chance of escape should the need arise. But he doesn’t know that sometimes I sail around the city when he’s not around. In the past, lost children have moved through the city this way.”
“What if they come down here, you know, the authorities or the forest things?” asked Pip.
“Neither the forest nor the city folk know that children move through these catacombs. If they did, this place would be swarming! Anyhow, the forest folk don’t like the water.”
“Maybe the Duprie girl is down here!” suggested Pip.
“I’ve already checked. I’ve spent hours on end searching. I’m sure she’s not. I don’t think it would suit her! Too dark and damp. You can’t last long down here without light.”
Without saying anything else they both climbed into the boat. Toad took control and steered the boat, showing his skill as an oarsman. The drains mirrored the streets, going this way and that in a brick-filled maze. Pip sat perched at the prow with the lamp held out, illuminating the oncoming darkness.
Toad was reeling out information. “Now we’re under the blacksmith’s. We’ve just passed the priory. There’s the overflow from the river. We take a right here.” Toad plowed down with one oar into the swirling black of the water.
Drips fell from above and the sound of their tiny landings echoed through the tunnels.
Out of the blue a question popped out of Pip’s mouth. “Where is your mother, Toad?” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it had been sitting there in his throat and then it lunged out.
Toad stopped rowing. The boat idled along under its own steam for a short way and Pip turned to look at his friend, casting the light across his face.
“She was taken when I was young. By the forest folk. Father never speaks of it. She died trying to protect me from them. I survived and she didn’t. I remember nothing!”
“I’m sorry,” said Pip. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I just …”
“It’s all right,” said Toad. “You were bound to ask at some point. I guess we’ve both h
ad a hard time in our own way. Keep your eye up ahead, there’s a turn soon.” And nothing more was said.
Pip began to shiver. It was cold down here and the farther they went, the colder it seemed. He held the base of the lamp in his hands to warm them.
“Freezing, eh?” said Toad.
“Just a bit,” said Pip. He wanted it to look like he wasn’t bothered but he was shivering uncontrollably.
“Use this,” said Toad, throwing him a blanket from the bottom of the boat. Pip wrapped himself up, keeping his torch arm held out.
“We’re away from the buildings now,” said Toad. “Underneath the square. We have to get out soon. When we reach the ladder give me the nod and I’ll pull in.”
Pip looked into the dark. The way ahead was barred with a steel grille, allowing the water to carry on but without space for small boats or boys. To the left he saw a laddered shape emerge from the gloom.
“We’re here.”
They pulled in and tethered the boat to the wooden ladder, leaving the torch and the blanket behind.
Pip stood behind Toad and waited for the nod, his heart thumping inside his chest. To hear of forest creatures was one thing, but to see them for real was another thing entirely.
Toad’s head pushed the drain cover upward and his eyes peered into the darkness of the streets, still lined with snow.
CLUNK!
Before he could lift any farther the drain cover was bashed back into place, thumping his head.
“Ouch!”
Toad rubbed his head before taking a look. Jarvis’s carriage! Who else would be rumbling through the streets at this hour?
They would have to be extra careful.
When the carriage disappeared through the dark arches they emerged quickly, taking cover in the safety of the long shadow from the tallest buildings.
Something flew above, its shadow sweeping across the square. They stopped and Toad pulled them into another shadow in the recess of a church archway.
“Did you see that?”
“I saw something,” whispered Pip. “What was it?”
Toad pointed upward. Clinging to the side of a nearby tower was a black shape. What looked like a ragged bat wing was draped across the stone. A closer look revealed two spindly arms hooked into the brickwork.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Pip.
“Witches,” murmured Toad.
Pip felt his stomach roll over. Nerves pulled at his body and a sickness stirred inside him.
“It won’t be alone,” hissed Toad, his eyes pinned above.
They watched and waited.
Soon the sky was peppered with black shapes. They moved quickly, darting and swooping in circles, searching through the air. Pip did not wish to see their faces or their gnarled and twisted hands, but they were close and their features became clear. Whooshing through the archways and gliding over the rooftops, they stopped here and there to cling to the buildings like bats. The boys shrank farther back, deep into the shadows.
“I’ve never seen so many,” whispered Toad. “They must have got word of something. Are you sure you weren’t seen when you arrived? They don’t come out of the forest in such numbers for no reason.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so! What do we do now?”
“Sit tight,” said Toad. “Something has alerted them. Frankie Duprie may have been seen.”
A rolling sound echoed over the stones. It was Jarvis, returning. He circled in the square, almost tipping the carriage over onto two wheels.
Then there was shouting and men appeared on horseback, gazing up at the flock. Tension filled the air. Something swooped down, drawing close to one of the riders. He swung his torch with his arm held high, hoping to singe the heels of the wood witch.
Then more came, spiraling down and sending the horses into a fluster, circling and braying.
Pip and Toad concealed themselves further, dropping back deeper into the darkness beneath the stone archway where the snow disappeared, and finding steps leading into some kind of vault. Complete darkness surrounded them and they held on to one another.
Compared to this, the boat ride had been a breeze. Pip got on all fours and felt his way around.
“What are you playing at?” whispered Toad.
“Give me a minute,” insisted Pip. “Here,” he said at last. It was another drain cover.
“Good thinking,” said Toad, patting him on the back. They disappeared downward.
“From here we should be able to reach the courtyard drains,” Toad continued. “But the walkway only goes so far.” The sound of his voice changed as they entered the catacombs. “We might have to get into the water!”
“I can swim,” said Pip. “How about you?”
“Pip, it’s freezing in there. You’ve no idea how cold it will be. But I guess we’ve no choice.”
And so they braved the frozen, stinking, slimy mess of the sewer, shivering manically as they went, with their heads bobbing in the water. They gasped as the cold numbed their bodies. Everything felt heavy, arms and legs like lead weights.
Getting out felt worse than getting in. Their clothes were heavy with the weight of the water and dragged as they pulled themselves up onto the ladder by the boat.
The lamp had gone out. It was blacker than black and they had to hold the oar against the side of the tunneled walls to feel their way. Every drip, every echo, every splash seemed louder than it did in the light. Were they going the right way? They could only hope. But Toad’s navigation of the tunnels could be trusted and though it took a good long while before they reached the opening to the cellar at the Deadman’s Hand, they eventually made it.
They were soaking, stinking, and frozen.
“So now you know what it feels like to escape from the witches,” said Toad, breathing heavily and rubbing himself to keep warm.
“I need my bed,” groaned Pip and they disappeared upward into the cellar, where Toad found rags to dry themselves and clothing from a hidden box.
Before long they were warm again and comfortable in their beds. And as silence fell, Pip thought back to his room in the orphanage. The warm bedtime drinks made by Mrs. Tulip, the dreadful bedtime tales read drunkenly by Mister Oakes. Somehow it seemed so much more appealing than it ever had before. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming fitfully of how on earth they were going to find the Duprie girl in the maze of Hangman’s Hollow.
For the moment the skies had settled. But the very cautious would have seen that the witches still clung to the buildings like huge insects.
Toad climbed the ladder to look through the telescope. Morning had already settled in, the crows were shouting through the woods and the sun had decided to show up. Melting snow dripped from the roof.
Something obscured his vision through the scope. Feathers. White feathers. Toad pulled back the cover from around the window and there was a dove, sitting on the edge of the frame. The doves were of no danger to the children, they did not deal with witches or speak with crows. Toad knew this because he had once overheard Esther explaining it to Jarvis. He watched for a while until a second dove appeared, and then another.
“Pip. Are you awake? Pip!”
“I am now,” Pip said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Come look,” Toad called. “They’re here again. They keep coming. Every day there are more and more.”
Pip took a while to come round. They had not returned until late and he was more interested in sleeping right now. Toad was doing it again: unable to keep still, that was Toad.
Ruffled white feathers blocked the window and a gentle cooing sounded. Beaks tapped at the glass and black eyes stared back at them.
Sam bobbed his head round the door. Breakfast was ready.
The day was filled with tiresome work around the tavern. Moving the barrels up and down the cellar steps, some filled to the brim, some empty. Washing the tankards, cleaning the crockery, sweeping and mopping the wooden floor, and replacing the dead candles.
When customers came the boys drifted discreetly into the back. The odd friend of Sam’s knew about Toad, but nothing was ever spoken of for safety’s sake. Just the occasional “How’s things?” or “Everything all right?” inquiry.
By nightfall Pip was exhausted. Such a long day of hard work, and not a breath of the outside world had he seen. He fell head-first into bed, drifting immediately into sleep.
But in his slumber his mind was working. He woke and sat up, shaking Toad in his bed. Toad snored and groaned but Pip persisted. “Toad, wake up!”
“What is it?” mumbled Toad, opening one eye as Pip lit the candle.
“It’s the doves!”
“Eh? What? Where?”
“The doves. Where do they roost?”
“Er … the clock tower, I think. Why?”
“I think they’re telling you something.”
“What?” Toad sat bolt upright with his eyes wide. “Telling us what?”
“The clock tower. It’s where Frankie Duprie is!”
“How on earth did you work that one out?” asked Toad, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The doves had started to appear just after the Duprie house had been raided. “It’s not going to be easy to get there. But it’s worth a try,” Toad decided.
And so the following day, they sat planning their way through the city. Taking the boat through the tunnels to avoid being seen leaving the tavern, they would emerge into the streets and put their plan into action.
They were now only two days from the Winter Carnival: costumes and market stalls and processions, people dancing and parading through the streets as the weird and the wonderful. They would move in disguise.
There was no sight quite so wonderful as the Winter Carnival in the hollow. It was a time when the elders of the city forgot the sadness of their lost children and cheered themselves through the cold months. Smells and sounds brought the darkened streets alive. Roasted meats sizzled in the market square. Breads and fruits of every kind were crammed onto the backs of wheeled carts and parked as stalls with canopies overhead. Jugglers and fire breathers filled the spaces in between. Choirs sang heartily, huddled into the warmth of their braziers.
