Into the Woods

by Lyn Gardner

  Storm leaned against the door-frame, thinking hard. What was he up to? Was he helping her this time? Or was he telling more lies? There was something as odd about Kit’s behaviour as there was about his beautiful mismatched eyes: it was as if the good and the bad in his nature were in constant struggle with each other. Could he be trusted? Believing that he really had come as a messenger from Aurora was a risky strategy, but she had no choice but to do so. She couldn’t risk it not being true.

  Whirling, Storm ran into the library, delved into the dressing-up box and pulled out a long red hooded cloak. She put it on and took a good look at herself in the mirror. With the cowl shadowing her face she barely recognized herself, and she was sure it was a good enough disguise to get her through Piper’s Town unnoticed. Satisfied, she hurried to her room to get some ingredients and several timing switches from her old wooden firework box. Then, with barely a backward glance, she flew down the driveway and headed for town.

  Back at the house Desdemona shooed the kittens outside and Tabitha nosed the front door shut before leaping out of an open first-floor window to join them. For a moment it seemed as if the whole building shuddered and sighed before settling back into a deep sleep.

  Storm slipped like a wraith through the shadows of Piper’s Town. Chilly fingers of fog crept up the narrow cobbled streets from the oily river below and curled around her head like the wispy branches of trees in a wood. It was bitterly cold. The fog wrapped its clammy arms around her as she moved silently down Shroud Alley, across Butchery Lane, past Angel Court, where the squat derelict houses leaned against each other like drunken dwarves, and into Cripplefields. A wolf howled nearby. Storm shivered, gathering the hooded red cloak around her more tightly, and set off quickly through a dense forest of streets into DeVille’s Gap, passing through Bedlam Yard into Bleeding Heart Mews and cutting down Drowned Man’s Alley. She hesitated for a moment, sensing that somebody was following her. She listened hard, but could hear nothing except the icy, melancholic howl of a wolf, somewhere to the east.

  She walked down Black Crow Passage into Cutpurse Alley, eyes peeled for anything that might leap out of the shadows and catch her unawares. As she moved, she thought she caught the sound of something moving too. She stopped suddenly. Whoever was following her stopped too, but not quickly enough. In the hush, Storm heard the shift of a foot on the cobbles. She hurried onwards in the velvet darkness of Crooked Lane, and it was with some relief that she caught the spicy whiff of cinnamon and toffee mixed with ginger and cranberries that indicated that she was close to the Ginger House. She sniffed the air. The smell was much less pungent than when she’d last been there, as if a vestige just lingered in the air. She turned the corner and the orphanage with its spunsugar towers stood in front of her. After everything that had happened at the Ginger House, the thought of entering the orphanage again was repugnant to her. But it had to be done. Storm took a deep breath, opened the gate in the picket fence, walked up the Ginger House steps and knocked on the door.

  After a few moments, the door opened a crack and a dishevelled-looking Bee Bumble peered out.

  ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ she snapped suspiciously.

  ‘I’ve come about the advertisement,’ said Storm, keeping the hood covering her face and holding out a tattered piece of paper that she had torn down from a wall. It read:

  ‘It says experienced,’ said Bee Bumble sourly. ‘You don’t look nearly big enough to have the level of expertise required.’

  ‘My name is Jill and I am a very experienced firework maker,’ said Storm, and from out of her pocket she produced several firecrackers and flung them onto the cobbles; with a crack and a bang, several glittering silver and blue dragons chased each other down the street. She pulled out two sparklers, handed one to Bee Bumble, lit them both and the air was filled with huge fizzing golden, green and crimson sparks that formed themselves into intricate patterns, including the national flags of several minor countries.

  ‘I can make them into everlasting sparklers, if required,’ said Storm with a little bow.

  ‘Well, Jill, you look far too small and underfed to be able to do anything properly, but you seem to know your stuff,’ said Bee Bumble grudgingly. ‘You had better come in.’ Storm followed her into the hall of the Ginger House. There was no sign of any children.

  ‘Didn’t this place use to be an orphanage?’ Storm asked with exaggerated casualness.

  There was a little pause.

  ‘It did,’ said Bee Bumble tightly. ‘But some claimed that there were security problems and it was closed down. Quite unnecessarily, in my view.’

  ‘What happened to the children?’ asked Storm.

  ‘Oh, they were all sent on elsewhere,’ said Mrs Bumble evasively, and she pushed open the diningroom door. The tables had all disappeared. Only a dusting of icing sugar clung to the toffee walls. Suddenly Bee Bumble’s manner changed. Her sour face was replaced by a sweet one; her hard voice became soft and wheedling.

  ‘Oh, my little Snuffy Bottom, we have an applicant for the job of firework maker for Dr DeWilde’s wedding.’

  Alderman Snufflebottom was lying sleepily on an old chaise longue. He gave a cursory glance at Storm, who kept her face well-hidden under the red hood. ‘She’s just a child. She won’t have the experience.’

  ‘I know she looks small, my little Snuffy Bottom,’ gushed Bee, and she popped a cheese straw into the alderman’s mouth, ‘but I’ve seen what she can do. And it’s not as if we’ve been inundated with applicants, is it? The last one had an allergy to gunpowder and sneezed all over it, making it too damp to light. The one before that was terrified of loud bangs and the first applicant was an out-of-work fireman. Entirely unsuitable. Come on, my little Snuffy Bottom, let’s give her a try. If Dr DeWilde is pleased, perhaps I’ll get my sugar supplies restored and then I’ll be able to make Snuffy Bottom’s favourite chocolate-chip cheesecake.’

  Alderman Snufflebottom yawned sleepily as she fed him another cheese straw. Storm wondered if Bee Bumble was using her special potion on him.

  ‘Oh all right, my sugar honey bumble,’ said Alderman Snufflebottom. ‘I can’t resist you. Have it your own way, my little sugar dumpling. Show her the supplies and let her get to work.’

  Bee Bumble turned to Storm and poked her with a bony finger. ‘You’ve got the job, Jill. Now make sure you do it properly, or it will be the worse for you. Dr DeWilde’s got a terrible temper and if anything goes wrong at his precious wedding, he will be a very angry man. He will be so angry he will roast you alive.’ Her eyes had a faraway look and she licked her lips. Storm shuddered under the cloak.

  ‘Come this way to the kitchen,’ Bee commanded. ‘I won’t be needing it tonight. Cooking is not so satisfying without a good supply of sugar. Savouries have their place in a cook’s repertoire, but it’s gateaux and mousses and charlotte russes that make people saucer-eyed. It’s granulated happiness they want, and it’s granulated happiness that Bee Bumble does best. You’ll find everything you need to make the fireworks in the kitchen: gunpowder, fuses, timers. It’s all there.’

  An Unfortunate Pinprick

  It was close to dusk. Storm moved through the owl-light towards the market square. She could hear the crowds cheering and chanting, ‘Long live Dr DeWilde!’ Something about the intensity of their chants chilled her. She knew that they were people who could not be reasoned with. They had been mesmerized by the magic pipe.

  When she reached the square, Storm found it packed with hundreds of revellers and thousands of flickering candles. Scarlet and gold bunting waved in the wind, and phalanxes of fireworks stood ready to be ignited. Storm had worked unceasingly all the previous night and during the day that followed, creating a firework display that she hoped would take the town’s breath away. She had spent hours setting up timing devices that would ensure that the fireworks exploded with split-second precision.

  In the centre of the square a large wooden platform had been constructed. The dais was
covered in ivory silk and scattered with white rose petals. The smell of candle-wax mingled with their heavy scent. A canopy over the dais was secured by poles garlanded with red and white roses. A long red carpet, flanked by rows of Catherine wheels, ran from the edge of the dais and down through the middle of the square.

  Storm looked at the town clock. It was almost five-thirty and she had finally decided to keep her appointment with Kit. All day she had been at war with herself. Her own plan, crazy though it was, might be enough to save Aurora and Any. Why put herself at risk, when there was a chance that she could pull off the rescue alone? If the boy’s message was a trap, then her rescue attempt would be over before it had begun. And yet, she desperately wanted to believe the boy had really been sent by Aurora to ask Storm to save her. It was her reason for living. And so meeting him was a risk she had to take. Besides, if the boy proved stalwart, then another pair of hands would be very helpful indeed. She was worried that the timing mechanisms on some of the fireworks might fail, and that the element of surprise that her plan required would be lost.

  Storm slipped through the crowd, heading for the south side of the square. Wolves were patrolling everywhere. They had encircled the crier’s tower to ensure that nobody could enter by the small wooden door at its base, and they were swarming round the wedding dais.

  Edging to the back of the crowd, Storm caught sight of the boy, lurking in the shadows near a group of street cleaners who were working frantically to make the cobbled square shine. She looked carefully around. Kit seemed to be alone.

  Squaring her shoulders, Storm walked purposefully towards him, but with her body tensed, ready to turn and fly. She could see the boy’s face quite clearly now: a white mask with those odd-coloured eyes burning brightly. He raised a hand slightly, in what she took as a gesture of acknowledgement, but then she saw that his look was fixed, almost desperate. She hesitated and at that moment Kit yelled, ‘It’s a trap, Storm. Run!’ Immediately, the street cleaners downed their tools and began hurtling towards her and the boy. They were not cleaners at all, but Dr DeWilde’s spies in disguise!

  For a moment, shock prevented Storm’s legs from working and she was almost taken. But just as the hands of the lead man reached for her, Kit leaped forward and sent him flying with an agile kick. Then he spun and bowled into the others, giving Storm a chance to speed away into the crowd. She heard shouts of protest as the attackers began pushing through the people behind her. But she quickly gained ground, slipping between the revellers and racing off into the crooked winding lanes beyond the square. Down Desolation Lane she went, into Hangman Gate, down Damnation Alley and then through DeVille’s Gap into Rat Trap Wynd.

  Breathless, she slumped behind a small wall, hardly daring to breathe as her pursuers thundered by, their shouts and cries disappearing into the distance. What a fool she had been to trust the boy! Why did he always offer hope with one hand, only to snatch it away with the other? And how stupid she had been to believe that Aurora had really forgiven her and asked for her help. Of course Aurora wouldn’t want anything more to do with her. Storm buried her head in her hands.

  As the distant clock struck the quarter hour, she rose wearily and retraced her steps. Kit was waiting for her in Damnation Alley, his beautiful face bruised, one eye a pool of misery. Fixing her gaze on a distant point, she marched right past him as if he simply didn’t exist. The boy, his face a mask of pure despair, ran after her, his movement reflected in the eyes of a silvergrey hare that looked on from the shadows.

  ‘Storm,’ he called urgently.‘Forgive me. I didn’t want to betray you. Dr DeWilde made me. I wanted to warn you, but I couldn’t. He has spies everywhere.’ Storm, her eyes fixed ahead, just kept on walking.

  ‘Please, please,’ Kit begged, running after her. ‘I want to help you and Aurora. I … I love your sister.’

  Storm stopped and looked at him with contempt. ‘Help?’ she spat. ‘You want to help me! All you’ve ever done is deceive me. You almost got me captured and killed! And you tried to make me believe that Aurora deserted me on Piper’s Peak. You’re contemptible!’ she hissed. ‘You can’t be trusted. You’re a betrayer.’

  ‘Yes,’ whispered the boy miserably.‘I am a betrayer. And I know what it feels like – just as you do.’

  Storm glared at him. Fury welled in her stomach and spread into every nerve-ending.

  ‘I’m nothing like you,’ she whispered. ‘I had no choice. I thought I was doing the right thing. But you! You have a choice, but you are just a coward who betrays out of fear of what will happen if you disobey Dr DeWilde.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said the boy sadly. ‘I don’t have any courage. I don’t have the strength to resist him. But neither do you. You let him make you choose between your sisters – and because you let him, you lost both of them.’

  Storm stared at him, white-faced. He was right. She was no better than he was! And she hated him even more for voicing this terrible truth. She hated him more than she had ever hated anyone in her life. She wanted to hurt him; she wanted him to shrivel up inside and feel as bad as she did. She took a step closer to him, raised her trembling hand and slapped him hard across the cheek. ‘My sister would never love someone like you,’ she said, her voice cold and harsh. ‘When I tell her what you are really like, she will despise you as much as I despise you. She will hate you for for ever and a day.’

  With that, Storm turned and fled, so she did not see the agony on the boy’s face. It was not the crimson mark left by her hand that hurt Kit so unbearably, but her words and the certain knowledge that now Aurora could never ever love him and that he would be doomed to be Dr DeWilde’s creature for ever. The pain was too intense for him to bear; it radiated in tight bands across his chest so he could hardly breathe.

  Kit sank to his knees, and as he did so there was a crack like breaking glass, and the boy’s heart broke in two and the sliver of ice at its centre melted. He began to sob, and his tears washed the blue splinter of ice right out of his eye and down his cheek. In a twinkling, the blue faded from the iris and the green crept back in again, so that he had two perfectly matched, perfectly beautiful emerald eyes. But still he could not stop sobbing. Not even when the silvergrey hare hopped silently towards him and rubbed against his knee.

  After a few moments, Kit became aware that he was being held by a gentle woman with serious silvergrey eyes. ‘It’s all right, Kit,’ she was saying gently, over and over. ‘Just cry. A heart is not a proper heart until it has been broken, and the same applies to spells. The enchantment is broken and you are free at last.’

  The boy looked up at her and his eyes – as dark green as the deepest sea – danced and sparkled as one.

  Fury drove Storm on as she ran back towards the Ginger House. The boy’s words stung her and had goaded her into action. Well, she would show him. And she would show her sisters. She would save Aurora and Any, even if they hadn’t asked to be saved, and she would do it all on her own. If she was successful, perhaps Aurora and Any would forgive her for her betrayal at Piper’s Peak. Perhaps they would all be together again, and Storm would no longer have to lug her loneliness and guilt around with her like a heavy suitcase. A look of determination on her face, Storm ran faster. It was time to put her plan into action.

  Bee and the alderman had already left for the wedding ceremony when she reached the orphanage and she was able to slip into the vast kitchen unseen. She shifted the empty sugar barrel, picked up the lamp and the rope, slipped through the trapdoor and made her way along the dank, musty tunnel. As she passed under the market square Storm could hear the roar of the crowd overhead.

  She opened the trapdoor in the floor of the crier’s tower, and ran up the stairs, emerging onto the platform with its stone surround and supports that rose to a thatched roof. She stayed crouched down low so her head could not be glimpsed over the stone parapet and scanned the roof supports for a place to secure her rope. Above the crowd’s noise, she could just hear the chime of the clock in the
meat market. It was exactly six.

  A band struck up and the crowd gave a huge roar. Storm guessed this marked the arrival of the bride and groom. She calculated that everyone’s attention would be on them and so risked popping her head cautiously above the parapet. She watched as Dr DeWilde handed Aurora out of a magnificent carriage drawn by gold-and scarlet-plumed horses. Aurora looked as beautiful as the first flush of a pale dawn but she was quite as white as her dress. The only colour came from her hair, which was studded with hairpins and topped with rubies so that it looked as if her head was splashed with drops of precious blood. The wickedly sharp points of the pins gleamed white gold in the candlelight. With Dr DeWilde holding her arm firmly, Aurora walked down the red carpet as if in a dream from which she hoped to very soon awaken. Behind her, staggering under the weight of Aurora’s heavy train, tottered Any. She was dressed all in crimson and her face was one vast scowl. She looked like a very disgruntled dwarf. Storm smiled. That’s my Any, she thought.

  The bride and groom made their way up the steps of the canopied dais towards Alderman Snufflebottom, who was looking very pleased with himself, and Bee Bumble, who was dressed unbecomingly in sugar-pink with a matching hat decorated with crystallized fruits. Then the archbishop stepped forward, the crowd fell silent and the wedding service began. Storm waited nervously. If her plan was to have the smallest chance of success then her timing had to be perfect.

  The archbishop droned on. On the dais Aurora swayed as if about to pass out. Her skin gleamed like alabaster in the glow of the candles. The pins in her hair sparkled viciously every time she moved her head. The archbishop was talking about the importance of marriage, clearly oblivious to the fact that Aurora was being married against her will.