DEW HILL MAIDEN
Siddy plucked at the reeds. ‘I mean, your pa could’ve translated the bone reading into something a bit easier. But still.’
Moll’s shoulders hunched up. ‘Dew Hill Maiden . . . The stories Hard-Times Bob tells us round the campfire – about the maiden who lives out on the heath beyond the Deepwood! He says she munches the bones of children who wander her way, then boils their eyeballs for breakfast!’ Moll’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think the bone reading’s talking about her?’
‘They were just stories, Moll. You know how much Hard-Times Bob likes a gory fireside tale.’
But Moll noticed Siddy’s body had stiffened. She chewed her bottom lip. ‘Or were his stories a warning because there really is a dangerous maiden out there?’ She paused. ‘But why would the bones send us straight into danger?’
‘Hard-Times Bob always talks about a maiden on the heath,’ Siddy said, ‘and our bone reading talks about one on a hill. Might not be the same thing at all . . .’
Moll’s eyes lit up. ‘There are hills on the farm – up where the cows graze. Maybe the maiden’s a milkmaid from the dairy up there and she knows where the amulets are.’ Moll flicked the hollow fists of her talisman open and slipped the bone fragments inside. ‘At least it’s the opposite direction to the Deepwood and the heath, away from Gobbler and Alfie – the devils who tried to kidnap me just now.’
‘Oak’s banned us from the farm though.’
She and Siddy had dropped by a few months ago as part of a two-day tempest of rule-breaking, a hobby both of them indulged in on a regular basis to mark their place in The Tribe, a secret club comprised of Moll, Siddy and when he was around, Gryff. Needless to say, the farmer hadn’t appreciated their visit. It wasn’t their fault he had interpreted their sun dance as a bewitching curse on the cows’ milk. The farm folk could be so jittery.
‘Which is why we can’t go back to the camp tonight,’ Moll replied. ‘We’ll go straight to the farm from here.’ The darkness seemed to grow around them and Moll shifted among the reeds. ‘At dawn though, when there’s more light.’
‘But Oak and Mooshie will realise we’re gone soon. You could’ve died back there under the waterfall. Shouldn’t we at least go back to camp and tell them about Gobbler and Alfie?’
Moll looked out over the river. ‘I don’t want to see Oak and Mooshie. Not yet.’
And Siddy knew that no amount of talking sense would change Moll’s mind.
They talked and talked about the bone reading until their eyelids were heavy with sleep. And the last thing Moll remembered before drifting off was Sid’s round face sleeping in front of hers.
Not long afterwards, the nightmare came for Moll, stealing into her dreams, grappling for her mind. She felt herself falling under its power, sensed the desire to get up and follow Skull’s drumbeats into the Deepwood. But then from somewhere deeper inside her came the memory of the Bone Murmur and her pa’s clue. Hope stirred within her and the Dream Snatch faded to the swishing of the river and an owl hooting in the distance. She opened her eyes to the night.
Moll’s belly tightened.
Staring back at her was a face. But it didn’t belong to Siddy.
‘Time to get up, precious,’ Gobbler snarled, his half-open eye red and running.
Hours must have passed; the sky above the trees was a purplish blue as dawn seeped in.
Moll made as if to leap away, but Alfie and Gobbler fell upon her. The gag came first, one jerk from Alfie, then Gobbler bound her hands and feet, his fingers cold and damp, like swollen worms. The wound to his head from his mare’s hoof was still red and glistening and Moll could hear the terrified whines of the cobs as they yanked against the ropes that tied them to the trees.
Moll bucked her body and jabbed with her elbows, but their grip was a lock and they dragged her upright. Her blood pumped hard.
Jinx’s tethering rope had been cut – she was nowhere to be seen – and there was Siddy, bound to a tree, his eyes wild with fear. He threw his head left and right, fighting against the gag, spluttering choked-up cries. Moll’s throat closed. She should have listened to him and gone back to the camp like he’d said. She tried to break free, to rush over and untie him, but Alfie was already hauling her towards Raven.
Moll’s mind whirred. How had all this happened? Why hadn’t she heard a thing? The answer dropped like shattering glass: Skull’s Dream Snatch. It had held her prisoner, blocked everything from her knowledge – all noise, all realisation of anything happening. She thought that she’d managed to defeat it, but it had attacked in a different way. Her glance slipped to the riverbank; she could just make out Gryff’s body tucked behind the reeds. He was shaking and his eyes were closed. Perhaps he hadn’t broken out of the Dream Snatch; she’d been the one back in Skull’s camp who’d had to tear him from his trance. Moll wanted to scream out for him, to call him close, but what if Gobbler and Alfie seized him too?
She gulped down the lump in her throat and blinked hard at Gryff. I’ll find you again, Gryff, I promise. Stay safe.
As Gobbler turned away to untie the cobs, Alfie threw Moll to the ground. Then he leant over her, a tangle of blond hair tumbling over his eyes, and ripped the boxing fist talisman from her neck. He grinned. ‘I can sell that for a small fortune.’
Moll caught Siddy’s eyes; they were filled with dread.
Alfie rubbed a grubby thumb over the initials, then his eyes widened in surprise. ‘MP.’ He said the letters slowly, savouring each syllable. He felt for something in his pocket and smiled. Out of the corner of her eye, Moll glimpsed a roll of leather, but Alfie tucked it quickly away. ‘We’re getting closer and closer to who you are, girl.’
But Moll wasn’t thinking about that.
Don’t open the boxing fists . . . Don’t see the catch . . . Not my pa’s bone reading, my only clue to the amulets . . .
Alfie glanced behind him to where Gobbler was trying to keep the cobs steady. Then he flicked the catch on Moll’s talisman, pulled out the bone fragments and stuffed them into his pocket.
Siddy tore against the ropes, but they held him firm, and Moll’s heart thundered within her.
Gobbler approached, riding his mare and yanking Raven behind him. Moll dug her heels into the ground, but Gobbler reached down and hauled her up behind him, and, before she could even turn back to Siddy, Gobbler had set off along the riverbank, racing further and further back upstream to where the crossing was shallower.
The wind picked up, screeching through the trees like the souls of dead witches. Its spirit was angry, Moll could tell. It buffeted against Gobbler and his mare, but they tore through its strength, surging on to where the river shallowed.
Again Moll found herself at the boundary as Gobbler’s mare charged into the water, racing over the pebbles with Raven and scrambling up the banks of the Deepwood. Moll snatched a glance behind.
And there was Gryff, charging through the breaking dawn on the other side of the river. But he was too late.
The cobs were galloping into the Deepwood now and a strange darkness was growing, blocking the river and the Ancientwood from sight. Moll’s head spun. It was as if the shadows had come alive: dark swirls of night that moved in ghostly swishes. Gryff was gone. All that was left was the sound of the shadows, moaning like wind trapped in a chimney.
Moll tried to break free, but Gobbler whirled round to face her. The vein in his forehead pulsed and his back bulged like some kind of overgrown wart. Moll could feel his sour breath on her cheek and see the scarlet veins glistening on his open eyeball. A smile festered in the corner of his mouth and he raised a hand – a clenched fist. Moll saw it coming, saw the knuckledusters glinting.
Then the darkness clattered down.
Moll jerked awake, her head pounding.
Darkness. As far as she could see. So it was night again; she must have been out cold for a whole day. And where was Siddy? Still bound to a tree by the river? Her thoughts spun wildly, riddled through with guil
t. If only she’d listened to him and gone back to the camp as he’d said. She bit down on her lip and hoped with everything inside her that Oak would find Siddy soon.
The air around Moll was still, frighteningly so. No bird-song, no rustling undergrowth, no whispering trees. The ground beneath her bare feet was hard, earthen and cool. She raised her hands, still bound, and they met with a wall. A few flakes of soil came away, slipping between her fingers like sand.
The cool, quiet stillness, the earth walls . . . She was underground – trapped underground. In the heart of Skull’s lair.
She thought of Oak and Mooshie, how they’d pleaded with her again and again to speak to them in the clearing, but she’d stormed off into her wagon and now she was alone.
Wincing, Moll pushed herself up. Her dress was torn, the rope burned into her wrists and her head throbbed. Shakily, she traced the wall with her hands. This was a pit and its sides rose up far beyond her reach. She felt for her catapult, and then remembered that it was gone. But they’d made their first mistake: they’d untied her feet – her fastest weapon – and she’d stop at nothing to escape.
Moll swallowed. She took a step forward, then another, feeling her way round the sides. The pit was bigger than she’d thought, possibly three metres wide and long, but any opening above her was masked by darkness.
Help me, earth spirits. Help me escape. But something told Moll that even the earth spirits didn’t venture this far into the Deepwood.
Sweat settled in her palms. What were those shadows that had blocked Gryff from coming into the Deepwood? They couldn’t have been real. A wave of dizziness flooded her. She needed to escape but her head was pounding. And as she crouched down, hugging herself into a ball, fear coursed through her.
Moll clenched her fists. Skull was out there and he wanted her dead.
And then the voices came from somewhere above.
‘I need at least four, no less. And they should be here by now – they’ve had long enough.’
Moll shivered. The voice was metallic, cold, like a splinter of ice. And she’d heard it before, when she’d stolen Jinx back. It belonged to Skull.
‘Oh, they’ll be here. The boys won’t go messing up a thing like this,’ Gobbler’s voice came in reply – rasping, thick, like mud. There was a pause. ‘They’re not like Alfie.’
A fire crackled, but neither its light nor its warmth reached down to Moll.
‘She’s a Pecksniff all right.’ Skull bit off his words like shards of glass. ‘I could see it in her face – so like her mother, she is. And to think she was in Oak’s camp all along.’
Moll’s body tensed at the mention of her ma, then anger burned up inside her. Oh, she’d get out all right and then Skull would pay. For everything.
‘But her talisman’s got another letter too,’ Gobbler snarled. ‘M.’
Moll held her breath. The boy, Alfie, had given them her necklace. Her breath caught in her throat. Had he handed over the bone reading? That could lead them to the amulets . . . and if the amulets are destroyed they’re lost forever.
Skull’s voice again, low and hungry. ‘We need her full name to work the curse when the time comes. Without it, we can’t do anything.’ He paused. ‘When she wakes, get it out of her.’
The voices drained away, swallowed by the distant clatter of wagon doors. Moll tried to think, but pain throbbed behind her eyes and her stomach churned.
From somewhere outside, a tree creaked. Moll covered her ears. In the Ancientwood, the tree spirits whispered her to sleep. But here . . . She shivered.
‘You’d better get used to it, shrimp.’
Moll spun round, fists raised. There was someone else in the pit.
‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.
There was a shuffle in the darkness then the rasp of a match. The flame lit up a tangle of fair hair and two pale eyes. Alfie.
And, as the light filled the chamber, she saw that all around them, scattered on the ground, were bones.
Moll’s chest tightened. Just animal bones, she told herself. Nothing more . . .
The pit wasn’t round as she’d imagined. It was an oblong of sorts, a den of darkness that sank into shadows behind Alfie. Tree roots lined the walls and directly above her was an opening. Rough steps had been cut into the soil up to it, but the entrance was covered by a huge metal grate.
Moll’s eyes darted back to Alfie. He was sitting against the wall of the pit, unarmed and still wearing his blue feather earring, but his lip was bleeding and his shirt was ripped. A torn rag and a plate of stale bread lay discarded by his feet and beside that was a flask of water and a small rusted tin in which he must have kept his matches. Moll raised her bound fists higher and scowled.
‘Let’s have you then, you mangled weasel,’ she muttered.
Alfie kicked a bone by his foot. ‘Don’t cross me, runt.’
Moll narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
‘Lost your voice?’ Alfie sneered. ‘A button-sized idiot, that’s what you are. And one that dealt me the pit. You and your stupid pony.’
Moll remained silent, her eyes hot and dark. No one insulted Jinx.
The match faded. Alfie sprang up, lighting another against the box.
‘Come on then,’ Moll said evenly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. But her pulse was racing. Where was Gryff? And Oak? Would the camp even come for her after she’d shut them all out? She needed time to think, time to come up with a plan. ‘I’ll – I’ll fight my way out, past you, past Skull – past the whole rotting lot of you.’ She hissed.
Alfie raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, they won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re frightened about.’
Moll spat. ‘I’m not frightened.’
‘They’re waiting for the beast too, like the Bone Murmur says.’ Alfie paused. ‘So, when the wildcat comes for you and they find out your name, they’ll kill you both. Got to be at the same time or the Bone Murmur jumps to another child, another beast. But, now Skull knows who you both are, this is his chance, and he won’t let it jump.’ He glanced down at the bones. ‘See them? Animals that Skull’s sacrifices for his Dream Snatch. The bones wind up here.’
Moll’s gut twisted into a knot. ‘Shut up.’ And then she added, under her breath, ‘You rotted polecat dipped in cow dung.’
Alfie leant forward but his fists weren’t raised. ‘I think you’re forgetting something.’ The light from the match danced inside the pit. ‘I’ve got the bone reading from inside your talisman.’
Moll’s body stiffened. ‘Why didn’t you just give it to Skull?’ Her voice was level but her heart was pounding. If Alfie had the bone reading, there was still a chance she could find the amulets before Skull killed her.
Alfie wiped his nose and straightened himself up. ‘Because Skull isn’t after the amulets – he’s after you and your wildcat. But I’ve heard the gang talk about them. I know these amulets’ll be worth something. A small fortune, I’ll bet. And you’re going to find them for me so I can sell them and get as far away from here as possible.’
Moll’s heart skipped a beat.
Alfie pulled the bone fragments from his pocket and turned them over in his hands. DEW HILL MAIDEN. There was something else in his pocket, something Moll had glimpsed earlier. She’d bide her time on that though; she had to be sly.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And why would I help you?’
Alfie smiled, then he straightened his cap. ‘Because I know what the bone reading means – and it’s got nothing to do with the farm you and your pal were mumbling about back by the river.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I heard you when Gobbler was cutting your cob free.’
Moll’s heart raced faster. He may have heard her and Siddy talking, but he hadn’t seen Gryff. She reached out to grab the bones, but Alfie leapt back and the match faded.
‘Who are you?’ Moll said into the darkness.
‘Never you mind. But I don’t need Skull, or his wretched dark magic. I’m only interested in the amulets. And once I�
��ve sold them everything will be better.’
Moll squinted at him. ‘You mean you’ll have enough money to fend for yourself – without Skull?’
Alfie hesitated for a moment, fiddling with his feather earring. ‘Yes.’
It was only a second’s hesitation, but Moll knew in that moment that the amulets meant more to Alfie than food and shelter. He was after them for another reason, she was sure of it.
Alfie lit another match from his tin and looked Moll squarely in the eye. ‘I know what the bone reading means. And I know how to escape Skull’s camp. You need me if you’re going to survive this.’
Moll looked around at the pit. ‘You’re burping out lies.’
‘What if I’m not?’
Moll frowned. ‘If you know all this, why do you need my help?’
‘Because I found something last night and I think it’s likely bound up with your bone reading and the amulets.’ He looked away. ‘Only I can’t read well so I don’t understand it all. I reckon you can help because you’ve been lettered up all fancy at your camp.’
Moll threw him a savage look. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Because I’ve been in Skull’s gang since I was a child and from time to time I watched your camp from the trees. Picked up this and that – enough to get by.’
Moll stared at Alfie. He had been sneaking around Oak’s camp unnoticed. To learn letters . . . ‘You’re no gypsy, are you?’
Alfie met her bright, fierce eyes. He straightened himself up. ‘I want to work with you to get the amulets. Once we find them, we sell them and we each take half the profit.’
Moll couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew next to nothing about these amulets, but she felt one thing clear and true: they weren’t things you could just sell. And splitting the money honestly? Alfie was bound to cut and run. But this was her only chance. She could go along with him, pretending to agree to sell the amulets while he helped her get away, then she’d try and somehow send a signal to Oak and her camp. She looked over at Alfie who was smiling slyly.
The Dreamsnatcher Page 7
