by Chris Mould
“I’ve been hiding in the clock tower,” said Pip. “The doves bring me bread and I collect water from the spouts in the dead of night.”
“Poor thing,” the man said with his head to one side. “You must stay here, and for as long as you like. I shall make up a bed for you.”
“No, really,” Pip insisted. “I cannot rest until I find my friends. Something could be happening to them right now.”
“But these streets are not safe, especially at this hour.” The man tried to place a reassuring hand on Pip’s shoulder as he moved to the door.
“I’m sorry,” Pip said, “but I have to find them.”
“No!” he roared as Pip reached for the handle. The man’s voice burned like fire. His eyes turned from green to red, then bright orange, and his white hair singed with the same fiery hot colors. His mouth opened wide and now Pip could see that his teeth were sharp and pointed. All the kindness drained from him, his features changing in a moment, his hands growing into long-fingered claws.
Pip fumbled at the door and slipped through it, realizing in that instant that the man was a creature from the forest, sent into the city to trap him. For a moment he had no idea where to turn, holding on to the door to prevent him from following outside. Then he lunged across the street into the dark alley they had come from and lost himself in darkness.
He bolted, foxlike, into the dark. His mind raced. Whose home had the forest dweller used to lure him in? Surely not his own. Perhaps he had raided the house of some poor woman and had her tied up in the kitchen. Maybe he lived in secrecy as a city dweller and a spy. Maybe other forest types could change themselves into human form and lived in the same way. How could he ever trust anyone again? All these thoughts and more invaded his head as he raced onward.
Pip’s mind tracked back. The last time he had run so fast was making his escape from Mister Oakes at the harbor. If only he had known what he knew now, he would have turned back for sure.
Old Jed followed awkwardly, bent double, his back arching upward. His wolfish moon eyes stared into the black, searching desperately. He couldn’t let go of his prize, not when he’d had him right there in his grasp.
He pulled himself into a shadow and drew his cloak around him to conceal his presence. If he waited long enough, perhaps Pip would emerge from somewhere.
But it was Old Jed who was spotted first. Torchlight rang down the alleyway, voices broke the air in two, and guardsmen in uniform appeared. The forest dweller was caught, rabbitlike, in the orange light. For a moment he was still, then he tried to dart away, but an attack ensued and a shrill cry pierced the night.
Pip was a breath away, motionless in a bricked-up doorway, watching as wood witches came flocking from above to come to the caller’s aid. Something lunged past him toward the chaos, something that stank heavily of damp and trees and moss. It was gone in a moment, and he watched it pass into the light of the torches: some kind of clawed beast that speared its long fingers at the guards from beneath a red cloak.
Pip soon realized it was a battle between forest and city. Clangs of shields and spears, claws raking walls and metal, horses trampling. He was entranced by the scene, almost unable to move, but he knew he should use the confusion to flee from sight.
He stepped out and risked being caught by the light. The bedlam was enough to distract the fighters as he moved away, still unable to understand that what he saw was real.
He moved backward, his hands raking their way across the walls, and it soon became apparent that he had steered himself toward the woods. He looked down to see a pair of rusted broken gates. Knotted and gnarled tree bark reached down toward him. The streets had gone and the buildings had been replaced with twisting trunks and branches. At his feet the cold bit into his toes through a bed of leaves and snow. There was no mistaking it. Pip was in the forest.
Perhaps it was Pip’s wild imagination, but as soon as he felt the forest floor beneath his feet he sensed that the trees were against him. That their roots twisted and turned and tried to trip his feet. That the branches above seemed to reach out to grab him or scratch at his face and tear at his clothes.
And somehow he had begun to feel sleepy. There was some drowsy, dreamy feel about the forest, almost as if sorcery was in the air, filtering between the trees like fog and bringing a strange earthy scent that was somehow pleasant and hypnotic.
Pip pushed on. He dared not call out and the night grew darker as he went farther in and the light from the city faded. Where should he look? Which way should he turn? There was more chance that he would be caught than that he would find Frankie and Toad. He stumbled and fell and the strange scent grew stronger, making him sleepier.
Up ahead, there was a clearing lit by a shaft of moonlight. Pip stopped and rested a moment, listening to the noises in the woods. Distant cawing and cackling, the creak and twist of trees. Who knows what could be happening to Toad and Frankie? He looked down to see the prettiest-looking flower. The smell was so strong now that he felt himself dozing as he sat. His head tilted down, making his body jerk, and his own movement woke him.
In that instant he realized what was happening. It was the scent of the winter flowers making him tired. Of course! This must be how so many of the children had been caught in the very beginning and no one had ever realized.
Pip ripped the sleeve from his shirt so that he had something to cover his nose and mouth before he soldiered on. The smell tried to drag him down, but he was determined to fight. He picked up freezing handfuls of snow and rubbed the snow into his face to keep himself awake.
But the farther he went the more chance there was of being seen. The nose of the wolf would sniff him out, or the eye of the crow would find him. The craftiness of the witch would catch him. Still he carried on, plowing through the snow.
After some time he spied a shape up ahead, a rounded silhouette. It was the pumpkin carriage, abandoned in the middle of nowhere. The horse was still tethered and shuffled on its hooves, whinnying and braying and breathing its clouds of fog into the still air.
What had happened here? Pip’s heart began to beat fast. Had his friends already been beaten by some disaster?
Pip realized that he was missing Toad’s company. He thought of the way that Toad made him laugh, of his clumsy blustering ways and of all the other things that made Toad who he was. How he kept Pip awake at night with dark tales of the hollow, or woke him up early when he was worn out. Pip feared that he might have lost the only person in his life that he had ever really felt close to.
At the same time that Pip found the carriage, Jarvis and Roach had a stroke of luck.
“What is that?” said Roach. He had sent Fenris searching up ahead and there was a flurry of activity. More wolves joined him as his snout poked into the hollow of a tree and howls filled the air.
Roach and Jarvis hurried forward. Jarvis held up the torch with his one good hand and lit the scene.
“Get back,” said Roach, protecting his battered hand by nursing it in a spare armpit. “Let me in.”
And there inside the trunk were the sleeping figures of Toad and Frankie, worn down by the scent of the forest flowers.
“Got ’em!” Roach grinned. Fenris grabbed each by their collar and pulled their sleeping bodies out onto the snowy floor of the forest. The other wolves leered over them and licked their lips.
“Away,” growled Roach. “These are not for your picking.”
“Hurry! We must make haste,” said Jarvis. “These young ones will make fine prisoners. The keep has been empty far too long.”
Howls filled the air and the call of the crows joined them from the city streets. The witches knew what that meant, they knew the children had been found and captured.
In a swarming spiraling flock they spun upward and swarmed back toward the treetops.
Pip stopped and listened to the deafening howling and cawing. As he gazed up into the moonlit space above he saw the black flock returning, and a chill ran through his already freezing
bones.
It was a rapid assembly of the Stone Circle. The wolves plowed through the snow, moving swiftly between the trees in packs of five and six.
A sweeping, whooshing sound whistled through the air as the witches flocked downward like rapidly falling autumn leaves. The crows drew up behind them, spreading their cloaks as they landed on the shoulders of their companions. Other creatures climbed out from their holes and scratched their way across the branches.
By now Pip had untethered the horse and managed to climb on to its back by using a step from the broken carriage. At first the horse resisted, braying and rearing up on its hind legs, but Pip held on. If there was one thing he felt comfortable doing it was handling a horse. “Whooaa, girl,” he said, steadying her nerves. He put his arms around her neck and whispered something that seemed to calm her down. Then he began to steer her through the trees.
Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Pip headed in the direction of the howls. He knew that if he did not get there in time he would not see Toad and Frankie again.
“The boy is coming. He’s almost there!” called out Captain Dooley, who was now wide awake. “Hurry, hurry. Faster, faster!” And he grew so excited at the prospect of the new prisoners that he caused the old cloth sack to dislodge itself from its position and it fell, unseen, through a hole in the floor of the old attic.
Pip was thundering through the forest now, getting to know his newfound companion. He held a sturdy stick in his right hand and beat at the twigs and branches, ducking and bobbing his head here and there.
The sleeping children were being carried by the wolves. The whole forest followed, gazing upon the youngsters.
A clap of thunder rumbled up above and lightning struck a nearby tree, sending a flash of light and fire into the Stone Circle.
The thunder and lightning had startled Pip’s horse and he struggled to keep control, holding on tight to her neck and feeling her hot breath cloud his face.
He stumbled into the clearing and suddenly he was faced with the Stone Circle and the crowd that huddled tightly around it, but the horse was going so fast that she plowed into the tangle of wolves and witches, and the crows lifted into the air in fear, scattering amongst the trees.
The horse trampled the fire in the confusion and Pip saw that Frankie and Toad were standing motionless, propped up against a pillar. The horse’s rear end circled as Pip held on to her neck: She kicked out, and Roach and Jarvis were thrust into a nearby thicket. The wolves snapped at her ankles, but they were no match for the stature and strength of the black steed.
Pip pulled desperately at Toad and stirred his drowsy state. “Quick!” he roared. “Climb up!” He was not going to let go of his friend, not now that he had found him. Toad was startled into action: Half-roused and half-asleep, he began to pull Frankie along with him. They kicked out at the wolves and the witches and used the crumbling stone of the surrounding ruin to climb up onto the horse.
The crows were descending again, pecking from above. Hogwick darted forward, keeping out of range of the horse’s hooves. Pip grabbed a flaming branch from the fire and swiped at the beastly limbs and crows’ beaks.
The horse continued to circle, her three passengers clinging to each other for dear life. With a jolt, she shot forward and a chase ensued through the trees. The crack and splinter of wood echoed beneath them as they bolted toward the light from the city.
“Don’t look back!” cried Pip. But they did. The wolves were struggling to keep up with the horse. The witches darted skillfully between the spaces in the trees. Toad grabbed Pip’s flaming branch and began to beat at them as they came. Frankie was sandwiched between them, with her arms round Pip’s waist. She tucked her head between his shoulder blades, kicking her legs out at whatever was there.
They slid across the horse’s back, their feet digging in to hold on. A clawed hand dug its grip into Toad’s shoulder. He looked back to see Pugg straining to hold on to him, preventing him from turning round to attack her with the stick. But the low bough of a nearby tree cut her short, knocking her out completely.
Hogwick was trailing way behind. All she could do was hurl a spell in their direction, but it was drowned out by the shouts and dissipated into thin air.
Jarvis was furious. “That’s my horse, you thieves!”
Roach was determined not to give in. He crawled on five limbs, drumming over the forest floor and drawing close as the witches continued to slow the horse down until she was almost standing still.
Pip dug his feet into her side. “Come on, girl. Just a little more.” They were almost out of the woods.
Screaming and cawing and cackling and howling surrounded them. The children were pulled and scratched and tugged, but somehow they held on.
Toad was swiping the stick with all his might. “No one is going to make a forest boy out of me!” he yelled.
Abruptly the sound of hooves on cobbles could be heard and they spilled out through the broken rusted gates into the city streets. But that did not stop the chase. Still the witches held on.
Roach was gaining on them fast. He was so determined that he had now forgotten his injuries and he tore across the cobbles like lightning.
Pip didn’t know the city well enough and the maze of streets was a blur, but Frankie knew this part better than anyone. They were near to the Duprie house. She piped up and began to shout out directions from her position in the middle. “Left, right, straight on. Heads down!” she warned, as they entered the skinny, tunneled passageway of Puddle Snake Alley. It was so tight that the horse struggled to pass through, and as it did it scraped off any hangers-on. A heap of witches lay scattered at the entrance to the walkway, but some flew overhead and waited at the other end, circling like vultures, ready to swoop on the emerging riders.
Out came the steaming breath of the horse, followed by her head and then her bare back. The children had gone, lost in the black of the tunnel. The horse bolted through the streets alone, sweating and braying and slipping on the icy surface of the cobbles.
A swarm of witch life filtered into the narrow space from both ends, searching the darkness.
“They’re in here!” screamed Jarvis, but no one could see anything.
Roach scrabbled upside down along the walls, feeling his way along every brick.
“Nothing!” he roared. “Nothing at all!”
Witches hung like bats from the ceiling, searching every inch of the void where the children had disappeared. And when that proved fruitless out they went, filing through the streets like ants until finally the streets grew quiet and soon the only sound that could be heard was the doves in the nearby clock tower.
“Where are they?” screeched Jarvis as he stood in the silence of the market square with his arms held up in despair. “Where have they gone?”
Silence returned to the streets. There was no cawing or cackling or squawking or the thunderous pounding of feet. Just stillness.
Toad lifted the drain cover in Puddle Snake Alley and the whites of his eyes broke the darkness.
“Have they gone?” whispered Pip.
“There’s no sign of anything,” said Toad.
“It’s freezing down here,” said Frankie. “I want to go home.”
“You can’t go home,” said Toad. “The old place is empty. You’ll have to return with us, to the tavern. We should head there now. All that matters is that you’re safe. We’ll have you fed and watered in no time.”
They climbed down the wooden ladder and disappeared into the depths of the tunnels, while above their heads the wood folk filtered back into the forest without the slightest clue of where the children had gone.
There was no boat, but their branch was still burning at least, and there was a good length of walkway before the friends would have to get into the water to cover the last stretch.
The light petered out as they felt their way through the darkness. They stopped to catch their breath, puffing clouds of white air. Pip blew on the branch to stop t
he flame from dying, and when the brick path ran out they braved the freezing water for the last stretch of the journey.
They emerged soaking and frozen into the darkness of the tavern cellar. Sam was right there, and when he heard the drain cover rattling at his feet he panicked and grabbed a pitchfork. He stood there waiting, shaking. What would appear? Something from the forest? But no, it was the face of his only son.
Sam had been so frantic with worry and despair, and unable to talk to anyone about it, that he dropped to his knees when he saw Toad. Relief washed over him and tears sprang uncontrollably from his eyes.
“I’ve never been so worried,” grunted Sam. “Look at the state of you! Where on earth have you been?”
“If it hadn’t been for Pip, you would have never seen the three of us again.” Toad grinned.
“Three?” quizzed Sam.
“Yes, three. There are three of us now,” began Toad, “There is someone we want you to meet. Someone who was worth the risk.”
And out climbed Frankie Duprie. Almost as tiny as Pip, with torn and ragged clothes that matched the scars on her face. Shattered and worn, soaked to the skin, and frozen to the bone.
“Frankie!” said Sam.
He was shocked into silenc and he stood a moment while took in the scene around him, realizing what the children must have been through.
Pip had never seen an adult cry before. For a moment he didn’t understand it, and then a feeling washed over him, a feeling he had never had before. A warmth that came from the people around him, a hum of companionship, a glow of safety and kinship. Of all the things he could have felt right there and then, and after all he had been through, he did not expect to feel like this at all. He felt himself holding back his own tears.
“We must get news to your parents, Frankie,” Sam said. “But you must stay here for your own safety. Toad, make up another bed. Pip, show Frankie the annex. Go quietly. Make a bath. I’ll cook.”
