by Lyn Gardner
The sky had turned a dark purple and the wind had grown spiteful, trying to sting the cheeks of the people who were again gathering in the square. The crowd was inflamed with excitement, and small children had been hoisted onto their fathers’ shoulders, so that they would get a better view of the witch as she was burned. A low murmur of excitement passed around the crowd as bundles of kindling were added to the base of a hastily erected pyre.
A cheer went up as Dr DeWilde appeared on the dais. He acknowledged the throng with a little bow, and then nodded towards Aurora and Any, who were huddled within a circle of slavering wolves. The train of Aurora’s wedding dress, now rather crumpled and dirty, was pooled at her feet like a puddle of spilled milk.
A roar went up from the people at the farther reaches of the square and it carried like a wave towards the centre. A cart rumbled across the cobbles with Storm shivering inside. She was deathly pale. Her lips were forming the words ‘together and for ever’ over and over and her fingers were busy trying to finish the as yet uncompleted arm of the nettle shirt. The crowd jostled and jeered as the cart passed by. ‘Witch! Witch!’ they hissed. Storm ignored them and continued to sew desperately, wishing she had Aurora’s speed and expertise. Then the cart came to a halt and she was grabbed roughly by either arm and pulled towards the pyre. Lifted atop the high pile of wood and kindling, Storm was thrust against a stake and bound at the feet and the waist. Somehow she managed to keep hold of the nettle shirt, and her needles clicked in a furious frenzy as she completed the last few stitches.
‘Witch! Witch! Burn the witch!’ taunted the crowd, their faces deformed with hostility.‘Kill the witch!’
As Dr DeWilde stalked toward the pyre he looked long and hard into Storm’s eyes. She read the pure hatred that was written there. It was as if the two of them were the only people left in the world, locked in a silent battle as the crowd roared around them. The doctor willed Storm to break the gaze and look away, but she didn’t flinch.
The crowd screamed again. Dr DeWilde raised a hand to quieten them. Hush fell. The world seemed to stop turning. With a vicious little smile, Bee Bumble handed him a brushwood torch and a lighted taper. Dr DeWilde smiled and lit the torch. It burst into flames and the crowd roared their approval.
‘Burn the witch!’ they screamed again. Dr DeWilde gave another little bow, as if he was a mere servant doing the crowd’s bidding. The crowd held its breath as he walked with a swagger towards the pyre. A full moon slipped suddenly from behind a dark cloud and cold, harsh light spilled over the square, a witness to the scene of a crime.
Dr DeWilde raised the flaming brushwood torch above his head; then, with an exaggerated gesture, he dropped it into the kindling around the pyre. There was a crackle and snap as flame licked dry wood. A tongue of fire curled into the air. An aromatic wisp of smoke wafted into the crowd. They gave a huge whoop of delight and, as they did so, Storm – horribly aware of a sudden warmth close to her toes – tossed the nettle shirt over the shoulders of her enemy.
For a second Dr DeWilde was still, then he reared up like a wild animal.
Whether it was a trick of the light or a reality, nobody could be entirely sure – and for years later some people would claim one thing and others another – but silhouetted against the flame of the burning pyre was the image of a wolf. The crowd took a collective breath. There was a tiny silence, but for the pop and spit of burning wood. Then Any’s clear, confident voice carried across the square.
‘That’s not a man. It’s a wolf.’
‘That’s not a man. It’s a wolf,’ said another child carried aloft on his father’s shoulders. Other children took up the cry, ‘Not a man, a wolf !’ The adults looked at each other and then they began whispering. ‘The children are right. They speak the truth. That isn’t a man, it’s a wolf.’
The whisper carried across the square and quickly it became a shout and the shout became a chant. ‘Not a man, a wolf !’
The moon, her job well done, slipped back behind a cloud, and in the blink of an eye Dr DeWilde stood in manly shape before the crowd. But the damage was done. He took out the pipe and held it to his lips. It was no good. The noise of the crowd, a mixture of derision and anger, was so great that its tune was swallowed up. A look of fury flickered across his face. It quickly turned to uncertainty and then to fear as he realized the extent of the feeling against him and understood that now the townsfolk had seen the wolf within, they would no longer accept his iron rule. He threw back his head and howled, a sound of such desolation that a shiver ran around the crowd and every person present felt as if they had been touched by a sudden deep sadness. Wolves began to gather at the edge of the square, silent and watching. Dr DeWilde leaped from the dais and the crowd parted and started pelting him with stones as he loped and limped across the square towards the wolves. Then he fled the square, blood pouring from his head – a man running wild in the midst of the pack.
Aurora and Any raced to untie their sister and Storm immediately leaped down in pursuit of the doctor.
‘Where are you going?’ yelled Any, grabbing her leg.
‘Let me go, Any,’ she cried. ‘I have to catch him!’
‘But why?’ gasped Aurora. ‘He won’t be back. I reckon that is the last Piper’s Town will see of him for a very long while.’
Storm shook her head. ‘He’s still got the pipe. And as long as he has it, the slaves at Piper’s Peak can never be free. Nobody’s safe. I’ve got to get it back and destroy it.’
‘But he’ll be deep in the forest by now,’ her sister protested.
‘No, he won’t,’ said Storm confidently. ‘He’s hurt. He’ll have gone to the Ginger House to lick his wounds. It’s the closest thing to a home he has in Piper’s Town.’
‘Then we’ll all go after him together,’ said Aurora, her chin jutting determinedly.
‘No,’ said Storm. ‘This is between him and me. Just the two of us.’ And she raced away across the square.
The Ginger House reared up in front of Storm, its spunsugar spires rising into the clear sky. The moon bathed the gardens in a milky light, illuminating a hundred wolves in formation, like soldiers silently standing guard. More of the beasts lined the pathway up to the front door.
Storm took a deep breath. The wolves stared at her, unblinking. They watched every step she took towards the Ginger House with an intensity that made it hard to put one foot in front of the next. She sensed that if she showed the slightest sign of fear or weakness, they would pounce. Yet, even more curiously, she sensed a respect from them, as if they recognized something wild deep inside her that made her as recklessly brave and completely untameable as they were. She knew she must keep calm at all costs.
She carefully opened the gate in the picket fence and started up the path towards the front door. The wolves’ eyes glowed red and yellow like the embers of a dying fire but Storm forced herself to look squarely at each animal as she passed. Each time she did so, the wolf would lie down with its chin between its paws in a gesture that suggested submission.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Storm reached the front door. She lifted the knocker and let it fall. The sound echoed around the building. Then from the highest tower she heard a mournful cry that sounded half human and half wolf. She felt a million muscles in a hundred wolf bodies tense, ready to spring, but she didn’t flinch and she did not look back.
Her legs quivering, Storm pushed at the door. It opened and she stepped through, conscious of the eyes of the beasts watching her every move, but not of the gaze of the silvergrey hare that looked on from beneath a gooseberry bush.
The smell of ginger and cinnamon and toffee in the Ginger House was gone. Instead there was an odour of something truffly, of musky fur, ripe sweat and fear. In the half darkness Storm started slowly up the stairs. At the landing, she stopped, listened, and then pressed on to the tower bedroom that she had once shared with Aurora and Any. At the threshold, she paused, before pushing open the door.
Dr DeW
ilde was no longer the commanding figure he had been. He was crouched in a corner, dirty, hair matted, with a trickle of blood across his scarred cheek. His clothes were ragged and rent where the angry crowd had torn at them.
He eyed Storm with a yellow glare. Storm eyed him back.
‘I’ve come for the pipe,’ she said boldly.
His mouth twisted in something like a grimace.
‘I knew you would.’
Storm held out her hand.
He made a sound between a snarl and a growl. ‘You’ll have to win it off me.’
‘I know,’ said Storm quietly.
He laughed derisively. ‘A child against a fully grown man? A girl against a wolf ! ’ He sniggered.
Cold fury rose in Storm’s stomach. Her nostrils flared. She felt as if she had physically doubled in size.
‘Try me,’ she said, smiling.
Suddenly there was a flurry of fur, a flash of red-yellow eyes, and a swipe of claw. Blood spurted across Storm’s cheek. She opened her mouth to scream and the noise that came out was not the high-pitched cry of a frightened child but a roar – the roar of a furious wild animal ready to attack. She was incandescent with rage. She saw the flicker of fear in Dr DeWilde’s eyes at the same time as she saw his fangs coming towards her; she ducked nimbly away so that he lost his balance. He was on his feet immediately, growling at her and pushing her towards the wall. He had her cornered now. He crouched and sprang and she leaped to meet him, in a crunch of chin and muzzle, skin and pelt, bone and bone. They both rolled away, but the doctor was up first, breaking for the door and bounding towards the spiral stairs. Storm flew to the banisters, balanced on the edge for a fraction of a second and then threw herself over, landing on top of him, so they rolled down together a whirling mass of girl and animal, man and child, entwined grey hind legs and pale limbs, white and yellow teeth. He tore away from her again, and bruised and battered though she was, she charged after him like a wild thing, determined that her prey should not escape.
He hurtled down more steps towards the kitchen, a long, lean streak of grey, and slammed the door in her face. She pushed hard against it. He was holding it shut. She kicked the door. It didn’t budge. She stood back for a second and caught her breath. She put her hand on the handle and tried again. The door opened easily.
By now, Storm had had enough experience of walking too casually through doors to know it was a trap. So, cautiously, she pushed it open with her foot. She could see the vast oven, its door wide, bright flames licking at the logs within. Otherwise the room appeared to be empty. The trapdoor that led down to the secret passage was wide open. Storm felt surprised and disappointed: she had expected Dr DeWilde to fight to the death, not run for his life. But then his head popped up from the open hole.
Forgetting her caution, Storm rushed through the door, only to be grabbed from behind. She smelled Bee Bumble’s crystallized-violet breath mixed with a scent of tangy vanilla, orange and lemon rind. She heard the matron’s triumphant ‘Got you!’ heard the door bang and the key turn in the lock and felt the strength ebb out of her body.
Storm held her breath so that she wouldn’t breathe in any more of Bee’s potion-perfume, then elbowed her hard in the ribs. The matron doubled up in pain, hissing, ‘You’ll pay for that, my girl. I’ll roast you to a crisp. I’ll bake you into a pie.’
But before she could reply, the doctor had sprung from the trapdoor and leaped on top of her. Storm whipped out from underneath him and rolled to the far side of the large wooden preparation table. The doctor instantly blocked her escape from one side and Bee Bumble quickly moved to the other, close to the great oven and its gaping fiery mouth.
‘I am coming to get you,’ she threatened, a sly look on her face.
‘So am I,’ leered Dr DeWilde unpleasantly.
‘I’m going to mince you and turn you into sausages and feed you to your sisters,’ Bee added viciously.
Storm was trapped, but she had surprise and lithe suppleness on her side. As the grown-ups stepped in and reached for her, she rolled under the table again and came up the other side. She lurched towards the closed door.
Seeing his quarry escape, Dr DeWilde gave another howl of fury and gave chase. In his haste, he collided with the matron and their limbs became entangled. He tried to push her away, but her bulk prevented him. ‘Get out of my way, you stupid woman,’ he screeched, and gave her an almighty shove. A look of fury and surprise crossed Bee Bumble’s features as she lost her balance and, with a terrible, blood-curdling cry, fell into the roaring flames of the oven and disappeared entirely.
Storm ran to the oven, but the white heat of the inferno drove her back. The fire crackled and hissed and popped loudly. She turned to face Dr DeWilde, her eyes wide and her face chalky with shock. He laughed at the look of pity and horror on her face.
‘The old hag was always entirely dispensable,’ he panted. ‘Oh dear, dear. Is kind-hearted little Storm upset? Well, don’t waste your pity. The old witch would have made you into toast and eaten you if I’d given her a chance – and if you don’t concede, that’s what I will do too!’ He bared his fangs again.‘Will you finally accept that I have won?’
Storm’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. She was numb with shock at what he’d done to Bee, and even more so because of his total lack of concern. Nobody – not even witchy Bee Bumble – deserved to die so horribly. She was still trying to find her voice when a red-hot log, which had been dislodged when the matron fell, rolled from the oven and crashed to the floor. Sticky with spilled sugar, the floor caught light instantly. Flames licked immediately up to the tablecloth and it too burst into flames.
Fire spread up the walls and raced across the floor at an alarming rate. The doctor made a dash for the trapdoor, but a wall of flame repelled him. Roaring in anger, he came at Storm again, taking a vicious swipe at her shoulder and knocking her away from the door.
The pain and the heat from the fire brought Storm to her senses. As Dr DeWilde yanked the door open, she dodged around him, and fled towards the front door, coughing as her nose and mouth filled with the stench of burning sugar. The doctor was right behind her as she fumbled for the latch.
Then a bag of flour exploded in the kitchen and a ball of flame shot down the hallway towards them. With a cry of wolfish terror, Dr DeWilde leaped away from safety, and raced for the stairs.
For a moment Storm hesitated by the halfopened door. Another step and she would be safe. But the doctor would be trapped. And even after all he’d done, she couldn’t just leave him to burn alive. And he still had the pipe. Spinning round, she sprinted after him.
The pop and crackle of the fire had turned to a roar now and the air was thick with the scent of caramel. Molten toffee poured off the walls. Above them Storm could see the spunsugar towers shift and start to buckle. Every time a spot of burning sugar fell onto the floor another flame sprang up. She heard and felt an ominous rumble and realized at once what it was. The vast oven was about to explode!
Dr DeWilde pelted into one of the bedrooms overlooking the front lawn and she raced after him. ‘We’ve got to get out!’ she yelled. ‘The oven’s going to blow up and the whole building will explode with it. We must leave now.’
The doctor backed away from her, red-eyed and wild. He bared his teeth ferociously. There was another rumble, as if the bowels of the building were in terrible pain. A shower of sparks fell past the window where he stood trembling. Storm took another step towards him and put out a hand. ‘We must leave or die,’ she gasped.
He snarled and backed further away, but with a look of intense fear as he saw flames lick up the walls of the bedroom.
‘Take my hand,’ she urged him, one final time. But her enemy shrank further against the wall, growling and spitting. Then, from the depths of the building, came a sound like rising thunder and she knew she could wait no longer. Storm turned and bolted down the fiery staircase and out through the front door into the cool night air. The wolves had long gone, terri
fied by the fire and the building that blazed against the night sky, sending a red glow across the horizon.
Storm stood on the lawn, gasping for breath, beneath the window where Dr DeWilde stood. Suddenly she heard the shattering of the window pane above. Looking up, she saw Dr DeWilde, his mouth open in a howl of despair and completely surrounded by flames. Something fell to the ground at her feet. It was the pipe. She bent to pick it up, then looked back at Dr DeWilde. Their eyes met, and for a second she thought she saw him nod his head in submission and raise his hand as if in salute, a tiny gesture of au revoir. Then there was an almighty explosion, and gouts of flame burst from all the windows of the Ginger House.
Storm felt herself being dragged backwards by someone as the spunsugar towers started to teeter and collapse and the building began to fold in on itself in a great inferno of sparks and explosions. Then she heard a voice say softly,‘You’ve done it, Storm Eden. You’ve done what had to be done. Your mother would have been so proud of you.’
Storm looked up into a pair of gentle silvergrey eyes and realized that the voice belonged to Netta. She sank back into her arms. Then she heard the sound of running feet and the concerned voices of her sisters. She looked up to see Aurora’s worried face and Any’s beaming smile.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Aurora anxiously.
