‘Tucked inside one of the oaks I was hiding behind when Gobbler and me came for you at your camp. Didn’t think much of it until I saw the bones inside your talisman.’
Alfie unrolled the leather while Moll scowled beside him. The inside was covered with black words and each one had been burned into the leather. Moll tensed. This was something that belonged to her and Alfie had no right to it. She swiped for it but Alfie held it close.
‘Read it to me,’ he said sternly.
Moll glared at him, then looked down at the burnt lettering. She was silent for a few seconds, and then, very quietly, she said, ‘You can tell a lot about a person from their handwriting.’
‘Load of old squiggles to me,’ Alfie muttered.
Moll shook her head. ‘Mooshie says writing’s like a clue to what a person’s like. Big bends in the g, f, j and q mean a person’s greedy; small loops in the a, d, e and o mean a person’s tight-fisted . . .’ She was fighting for time, trying her best to read the words in her head while blabbing away to Alfie.
Alfie shoved her in the back. ‘Just get on and read it, will you?’
Moll arched her eyebrows. Just a little longer. ‘Those wispy dashes across the t and f there mean this person’s clever-thinking.’
‘Look,’ Alfie growled, ‘we’ve got to read this and get out of here. We don’t have time for this.’
Moll’s mind was racing. Suppose this was a message only she was meant to see? But she needed Alfie; he was her only way out and for now she had to trust him. She took a deep breath. ‘It’s a poem,’ she said slowly. Then she started to read aloud:
‘MANY AND MANY A FOOTSTEP FROM YOU,
IN A HOVEL AMONG THE GORSE,
A WILD MAIDEN LIVES WHOM MOST ESCHEW,
BY MARSHLAND AND HEATHER GROWN COARSE.
THIS MAIDEN SHE WAITS FOR THE CHILD TO APPEAR,
TO MEET ON A HILL TURNED BLACK,
FOR DARKNESS IS SPREADING, STIRRING SO NEAR –
AND THE MURMUR IS STARTING TO CRACK.
FOLLOW THE PATH, PAST THE BOG-MYRTLE PONDS
WHERE THE NESTS OF THE WARBLERS LIE.
AND FURTHER ON, PAST DEWY BRACKEN FRONDS,
SEEK THE SHIVERING NIGHTJAR’S CRY.’
Moll scanned the words again. The dew, the hill, the maiden. It was all there, just as her pa’s bone reading had said. And this maiden, whoever she was, was calling for ‘the child to appear’. It had to be about her.
Alfie looked at Moll, wide-eyed. ‘This maiden’s living out in a hovel on the heath, among the heather and the gorse! And that child is you. She’s waiting for you, isn’t she? She left a poem that links with your bone reading so as you’d find it and seek her out!’
Moll’s face paled. She had to tell Alfie. ‘Hard-Times Bob, one of the Elders in our camp, used to tell us stories about a maiden out on the heath who gnawed on children’s bones.’
Alfie smirked. ‘And you believed him!’
Moll was silent for a second, then she waved her hand airily. ‘Course not,’ she scoffed. ‘I kept telling my pal, Siddy, that there was no such person.’ But shivers were crawling down Moll’s back now. The poem and the bone reading were telling her to walk straight into the hands of the maiden she’d grown up fearing. Moll thought of Siddy and wished he was with her; he’d have said something to chase away the fear. She thought of him struggling against his ropes by the river. Surely the camp would have found him by now?
Alfie looked back at the roll of leather. ‘You think this maiden knows where the amulets are hidden?’ he asked.
Moll tried to pull herself together. ‘Perhaps.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never been out to the heath. How far is it?’
‘South from here for about two miles. It’s just past the edge of the Deepwood.’
Moll squinted at the poem, then she blinked several times. She peered closer. She could have sworn that some of the letters looked different somehow – just for a second – as if perhaps there was another message hidden inside the poem. She frowned at the leather, but the poem stared blankly back, every letter just the same as before.
Alfie hadn’t noticed and he turned to Moll. ‘Who in their right mind would live in a hovel out on the heath?’
A bone-chewing psychopath, that’s who, Moll thought. But she said nothing.
Alfie shrugged. ‘I suppose it doesn’t really matter who this maiden is. We’ve just got to trust the poem and follow it.’
Moll was silent for several seconds. ‘What if it’s a trap?’
‘But there are the bones I found in your talisman: Dew Hill Maiden. Who read them? Because it’s all there in your poem.’
Moll shifted her weight. ‘My pa. He was the Guardian of the Oracle Bones.’ Her jaw stiffened. ‘Along with my ma before Skull killed them.’
Alfie gave a whistle. ‘You’re in this thick and fast then, aren’t you?’
Moll nodded grimly.
A crow landed on the top of the cage and Moll was almost glad of its company, then it ruffled its feathers and took off into the pale sky. Moll’s gaze fell on the feeble embers of the fire in the middle of the clearing. It was so different from the roaring flames in Oak’s camp. She glanced at the grey trees craning over Skull’s black wagon and thought of Gryff breaking through the vapours to find her, only to be torn away. Was he safe, she wondered? Would he even try coming back for her now he knew what lay in wait in the Deepwood?
Alfie looked at Moll. ‘I didn’t believe in the Bone Murmur for years – thought it was a load of old rubbish.’ He paused. ‘Then I saw your wildcat.’
Moll’s stomach flipped.
‘Something about the way he looked when he burst from the bank, like . . . like he’d do anything to keep you safe. That’s not normal. He’s something, that wildcat.’ Alfie turned his penknife in his hand, then his eyes sparkled. ‘Maybe he’ll help us find the amulets. Then we’ll be rich and free.’
Moll could feel tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
‘What’s it like knowing a wild animal – one who hasn’t been tamed by humans before?’
Moll swallowed. ‘He’s the closest thing I’ve got to family, aside from Oak and Mooshie.’
Alfie looked away. ‘Wouldn’t know. Haven’t got a family.’ He worked his knife over the ropes that bound Moll’s wrists and they fell away. Then he knelt down before the padlock and, as the cage creaked and swayed, he looked up at Moll. ‘Lucky for us, I might know a way to get out of this.’
Moll shoved the leather roll into the pocket of her dress and crouched before the lock. Then she jumped back from the bars. Dark shapes were crossing the clearing towards the cage. Could it be Oak and the others? Had they beaten their way past the hounds and come back for her after all? But as they grew closer, Moll realised the shadows weren’t Oak and her friends; they weren’t even people.
Far below Moll and Alfie, eyes burned into the early morning light, wolfish and untamed, and jagged teeth shone, stained with blood. There were four of them and their muscles bulged out of their black coats as if they could barely contain their own strength. Chains still hung from their collars: even Skull’s boys hadn’t dared untie them. And they circled the cage, growling.
Brunt appeared through the watery sunlight, seizing the hounds by their chains, and Moll re-bound her wrists. He wrenched the catch on the rope that held the cage and it crashed down into the clearing. Moll was smashed against the side, her spine grating on the metal. Brunt thumped two bowls of lukewarm porridge through the bars.
Then the hounds stalked up close, their teeth like rows of broken glass, and Moll and Alfie cowered in the middle of the cage, their eyes glazed with fear.
‘Ignore the hounds,’ Alfie had said after they’d eaten the porridge Brunt had thrust in, ‘and sleep as much as you can today; you’ll need your strength to get past the vapours later.’
But Alfie couldn’t know what waited for Moll in the darkness of her dreams. The rattle and the drum prised their way in, beating inside her mind. And, when
Moll awoke to the late afternoon sunshine searching for cracks through the withered trees, Skull was there, standing in the cage with them. His mask was absolutely still, his fingers laced beneath his chin. They hadn’t heard or seen him unlock the cage; it was as if he’d slipped in like a shadow.
Moll shuffled backwards, pressing herself against the far end of the cage, next to Alfie. She could see Skull’s pupils, and they were looking right at her. His feet were bare, cracked, beneath his dark robes and around his neck hung a fanged necklace. Moll knew the fangs, recognised their shape: adder fangs loaded with poison. She looked up at the grey eyes peering out from the sockets of the mask.
It’s only a mask; it’s only a mask . . . she said to herself.
‘So you’re the child from the Bone Murmur, the one who walks with the beast.’ Skull’s voice was a rasp, like a snake rattling deep within his throat. ‘The one standing in my way.’
Moll clenched her teeth and leapt up, but Skull lunged forward and pinned her against the cage by her shoulders. Alfie shifted further away, his head bent low. Skull’s eyes, lashless and pale, bored into Moll. She squirmed but the witch doctor only tightened his grasp.
‘So who are you?’ The eyes blinked once. ‘You’re a Pecksniff, your eyes say so – and we’ve got your talisman: MP.’ He paused. ‘What’s your full name, child?’
Moll shook her head. ‘My – my name’s my own business, Sk-Skull.’
The mask hung before her, centimetres from her face. Then Skull seized her neck, holding it in an icy grip. ‘Give up your name.’
Moll kept her lips tightly shut.
Raising his hand, Skull brought it down hard across Moll’s cheek. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t wince. He hit her again, harder this time, across the back of her head. And Alfie watched from the side of the cage, noticing that Moll didn’t even move her hands to defend herself.
Skull stood back, a column of black. ‘We’re bringing you into the clearing soon because there’s someone keen to see you – someone who’s been searching the Deepwood for you just out of our reach.’
Moll’s heart thumped.
A dark tongue flickered behind the bone teeth of Skull’s mask. ‘You’ll call your wildcat close for us – Brunt’ll see to that – and, once we’ve got you both, your pathetic Bone Murmur will be broken and a new power will emerge.’
Moll tucked Gryff’s name into the deepest pocket of her mind, safe with her own. ‘The wildcat isn’t tame; he won’t come when I call. It doesn’t work like that.’
‘Oh, he’ll come when he sees what Brunt’s got planned for you.’
Moll shook her head. ‘Oak’ll find the amulets before you lay a finger on me or my wildcat. You’ll see.’
At the mention of the amulets, Skull’s body stiffened. ‘So you know about the amulets, do you?’ His voice was sharp like a thorn’s prick. And then he laughed. ‘And Oak’s got you thinking you’re actually going to find them? Some tiny girl succeeding where all of your ancestors failed and your own pathetic parents couldn’t see it through . . .?’
Moll’s fists were pumped with fury and she pushed forward. ‘You leave my parents out of this! You don’t know what you’re talking about. And whatever you might’ve done to them I’ll get you for it.’
But Skull’s eyes had glassed over; he wasn’t even listening. He was looking at Moll, carefully, quietly. He grabbed her chin in an iron claw and drew a deep breath in, as if he was drinking in Moll’s fear. ‘You know something – something about the amulets. I can feel it.’
‘Only that we’re going to find them before you get your hands on my wildcat!’
‘You’re lying to me; I can smell it.’
Skull slammed Moll’s shoulder back against the cage. It clanged and she groaned as the impact shuddered through her. But now she knew that Skull cared about the amulets; they mattered to him as well.
‘Wait.’ Alfie stood up, his voice low and guarded, and Moll was suddenly glad that he was there. ‘She’s not telling the truth.’
Moll’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at Alfie in disbelief and then a sinking feeling slid over her skin.
Skull released the pressure on Moll’s shoulder and turned to Alfie. ‘Well?’
Moll bit her lip. What was she thinking trusting a boy in Skull’s gang? He’d probably been put in with her just to trick her into giving up information.
Alfie met Skull’s glare with unreadable eyes. ‘Her father left her a bone reading, a clue to the whereabouts of the amulets.’
Moll closed her eyes, willing Alfie’s words to disappear. What had she done? She cursed under her breath and kicked the cage.
‘Where is this bone reading?’ Skull asked, clasping his hands.
Only then did Alfie look at Moll. ‘In Oak’s camp. He still has it. But she told me what it said. Stupid girl thought I was someone to be trusted – a way out of the Deepwood.’
Moll’s heart was fluttering. What was he doing?
Alfie shrugged. ‘I forced it out of her. Turns out I’m better at guarding little girls than you all thought.’
Skull blinked once, very slowly. ‘What did the bone reading say?’
‘SEEK VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Might be nothing as she’s the lying type, but she said it in her sleep too – like it was pressing on her mind.’
Moll couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Alfie’s face looked open and truthful and yet his lie was as thick as they come.
He picked at his nails. ‘She isn’t sure why the blacksmith’s important, but it’s a lead and one you’d best be knowing.’
Moll smirked inwardly. Clever Alfie. The village blacksmith lived in Tipplebury, which was north of the forest, and they needed to head south to get to the heath.
Brunt had appeared by the cage. On seeing him, Skull turned, unlocked the door and stepped out. His cloak twitched with excitement as he clicked the padlock shut.
‘Hoist them up, Brunt; we’ve got a lead on the amulets. When night falls, Gobbler and I’ll be off to the village.’
Brunt’s enormous muscles worked the lever, lifting the cage back into the trees. ‘Waiting for night,’ he smirked. ‘Sounds like you mean business.’
Skull’s mask dipped, a smile perhaps, then he looked up at Alfie. ‘I was thinking of letting you out, but you’re doing well in there with that.’ His eyes shifted inside the mask, drilling into Moll. ‘Let’s get one thing straight: Oak’s given up on you; he isn’t coming back.’ And, with that, he stalked off.
‘Why didn’t you try to defend yourself when Skull hit you?’ Alfie hissed.
Moll glanced at her wrists. ‘Promised you I wouldn’t let them see you’d cut the rope, didn’t I?’
Alfie looked at her for a few seconds, then he shook his head. ‘You’re strange. Most people would’ve tried to shield themselves.’
Moll shrugged. ‘Well, I’m not most people. And anyway it’d be a dull old world if everyone was the same.’ She paused. ‘Thanks. I mean, for the blacksmith stuff.’
Alfie half smiled and, to her surprise, Moll found herself smiling back. They watched Skull and Gobbler lead the hounds down into the pit, hurling slabs of meat inside to appease them.
Alfie turned to Moll. ‘I think I can get us out of here, but you’ve got to trust me,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not going to cross you; I’m not going to give you away.’
And somehow Moll knew that was true. And she did trust him.
‘And you,’ she whispered, plucking at her dress, ‘d’you trust me?’
‘I’m not sure. You left me before . . .’
Moll looked him squarely in the eye; she had to show Alfie she trusted him if this was going to work.
‘It’s Moll,’ she said quietly. ‘My name’s Moll.’
Alfie thought about it, then he nodded. ‘As soon as Skull leaves, I’ll get us out. He needs the darkness as much as we do.’ He reached inside his pocket and drew out a long, thin bone. ‘Rabbit bone – took it from the pit. And lucky for you there i
sn’t a lock I can’t pick.’
Moll grinned.
‘The boys’ll be drinking in the clearing tonight,’ Alfie said. ‘That’s what they do when Skull goes off – that and the beatings, if they’ve drunk for too long . . .’ He looked away. ‘So this is our only chance. If we miss it, Skull will get you out into the clearing and—’
‘—and make me call for Gryff?’ she scoffed. ‘Like he’d answer to a whistle or a call or something stupid like that.’ She froze. She’d let Gryff’s name slip out into the open without a second thought.
Alfie sniffed. ‘Gryff’s a good name for a wildcat.’
Moll looked down at her feet, tears stinging at her eyes. ‘I’m full of cracks,’ she mumbled. ‘None of them letting any light in – all of them dropping secrets out.’ She kicked the cage.
‘I won’t go telling his name.’ Alfie straightened himself up. ‘But don’t let it slip again. They’ve got ways – dark ways – of controlling people and animals when they know their names. You and Gryff need to keep your names safe.’
Moll nodded, shaking the ropes from her wrists.
But Alfie was looking at his feet, avoiding her eyes. ‘If there’s a chance anywhere in all of this – if we get out – I want to get Raven. He shouldn’t be in with Skull’s boys.’
Moll nodded. ‘Can Raven really recognise himself in a mirror?’
Alfie nodded. ‘And he knows good silver when he sees it.’ He lifted up his hands; there were two spiked silver rings on his fingers. ‘Raven’s forever nibbling at my gypsy fighting rings.’
Except you’re no gypsy, Moll thought to herself. But again she kept quiet. That could wait.
For now, they had to escape.
Night fell fast. The flames of the campfire licked the sticks and the logs burned black like glowering eyes. After they’d eaten the watery gruel Brunt had thrust inside the cage, Moll and Alfie watched Skull and Gobbler, armed with pistols and knives, tear from the clearing. And before long, just as Alfie had said, Skull’s boys began to drink around the fire.
The Dreamsnatcher Page 9
