I sat with my back to the bough of one of the trees and drew my knees up to my chest, resting my chin upon them and watching Emerson as he slept. The mysterious bag he had brought with him and had kept so close was hidden beneath his cloak, his arm tucked around it, but there was no disguising the bulk of its contents. I wondered what it might be that was so secret.
‘No chance of finding out while he’s clinging to it like a squirrel with an acorn,’ I thought to myself.
I looked away and tried to think of something else, staring up at the eastern sky as the morning star peeped out from the inky blackness. An hour or two passed in this way before the sky above the horizon gradually turned pale and rosy. The birds in the hedgerows began to chirp to one another as dawn sprung suddenly into the sky.
Emerson stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘I’ll go and find some water,’ I muttered, gathering up the water skins we had brought with us.
Beyond the copse, the land sloped gently downwards to clumps of ferns and water mint. I guessed there must be a stream or spring nearby. Following the slope of the ground, I soon came across a tiny stream tinkling over its pebbled bed. I filled the skins and splashed my face and head in its water before making my way back.
The sun had risen by the time I returned. Tabatha, Eliza and Jack were awake and toasting slices of stale bread in the remains of the fire for breakfast. Within half an hour we had eaten and were ready to leave.
‘We should reach Paimpont by this afternoon,’ said Emerson as we set off at a brisk pace. ‘We must turn the horses away when we come to the forest edge. The paths through its depths are too narrow to pass through on horseback.’
The morning was already growing fine and warm, and the horses sweated freely as we rode. We didn’t pass any other travellers on the road, but here and there we spotted the remains of ruined castles or the stone monuments of the ancient people of Brittany, now reduced to little more than a place to shelter from the sun for grazing sheep. Emerson pointed them out as we passed them by and told us of the people who had built them long before the days of the kings and queens of France. I listened with interest but said nothing. I thought of my first day in the Gatehouse as I sat in the library with Emerson while he told me the history of the Guild of Gatekeepers and the legendary dragonskin. I felt a pang of sadness. I could have learned a lot from him.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, we stopped for lunch and a brief rest at the roadside before continuing. The road now passed through fields of crops and cattle, and the farmsteads we had missed while riding through the open countryside gradually returned.
As we rounded a turn in the road a toll gate, with a squat stone-built house beside it, passed into view. Beyond it lay a fair-sized town dissected by a crossroad. We slowed the horses to a walk, and the toll collector stepped out of his house and set himself squarely before the door with his arms folded in front of him. We stopped when we reached the gate, and Emerson nodded a greeting to the man as he held out a few silver coins in payment. The man looked from Emerson’s outstretched hand to his face then called out to two other men who appeared from round the back of the toll house. They each carried a rifle. With them was a boy a little older than me. He pointed to us and said something to the men in French.
‘What did he say?’ asked Eliza anxiously.
‘Get down from the horses,’ said Emerson. ‘He says we are the thieves who stole them from his master.’
Eliza, Jack and I dismounted at once, but Tabatha remained in the saddle and reached for her pistol. The two men cocked their rifles.
‘Hold your fire!’ said Emerson, putting his hand on Tabatha’s. ‘There is no point resisting. We must do as they say.’
I watched in dismay as the boy led the horses away, and the two men with rifles and the toll collector snatched Tabatha’s pistol out of her hand and bundled us through the gate towards an imposing building in the town square, which I guessed must be the court house. Inside, every seat was filled and spectators peered down from the balcony above. It was clear that we were expected.
‘Don’t say a word. Leave this to me,’ hissed Emerson as we were lined up before the judge- an old man with a severe face who peered over his spectacles at us from behind the bench.
One of the men with rifles stepped forward and addressed the judge. I heard the word ‘English’, but beyond that I couldn’t guess what was said. The judge looked at us each in turn and asked something. Emerson replied, and the judge nodded.
‘He asked if we understand French. I said you do not, so he gives permission for me to translate what is said for you,’ said Emerson.
‘What is happening?’ cried Eliza.
‘Silencieux!’ barked the judge. ‘Michel.’
The boy stepped forward, and the judge asked him a question.
‘He asked Michel if the horses we were riding are the ones stolen from his master yesterday afternoon,’ said Emerson.
‘Oui, monsieur,’ Michel replied.
The judge pointed to us and asked another question.
‘He asks if we are the individuals who stole the horses from his master.’
Michel nodded and pointed first to Emerson and then to Tabatha as he replied.
‘He says I knocked on his master’s door and enquired about purchasing five horses from him. He says when his master refused, Tabatha threatened him with her gun and stole the horses. He says he rode across country through the night to overtake us and have us apprehended at the toll gate.’
When Emerson had finished speaking the judge asked him a question, to which Emerson made a lengthy reply.
‘Emerson is pleading our case,’ whispered Tabatha. ‘He says we paid Michel’s master twice what the horses are worth in silver.’
I glanced at her in surprise, unaware that she understood French, but said nothing. The judge looked unimpressed with Emerson’s testimony and questioned him further.
‘He asks if it is customary in England to take horses without the consent of the owner,’ said Tabatha.
‘Non, monsieur,’ Emerson replied.
The judge frowned and continued his questioning.
‘He asks what the purpose of our journey is and what brings us to France,’ Tabatha continued.
At that Emerson paused, and his tone changed as he spoke in a commanding voice. Tabatha’s face turned pale.
‘What is he saying?’ I whispered to her.
‘Hush!’ she replied.
Suddenly, the sky outside the windows grew dark as though a candle in a windowless room had been snuffed out, and the sun, which had blazed brightly since the morning, disappeared as the town was plunged into night-time darkness. Even the doves in the dovecotes stopped singing. Every pair of eyes in the courtroom turned to the window and watched in astonishment as the moon slid across the path of the sun. In the balcony above a woman shrieked, and cries of ‘Jésus aie pitié!’ filled the court.
The judge stared at Emerson and fumbled for the wooden cross that hung about his neck. ‘Sortez!’ he cried, waving his arm towards the door.
‘Follow me,’ said Emerson, striding out of the courtroom before the terrified faces of the townsfolk. I hesitated, but Tabatha grabbed me by the arm and dragged me with her, stopping to retrieve her pistol on the way. Outside, the horses stood together tethered to a post, chomping the grassy verge at the roadside.
‘Hurry, we must leave this place while we have chance,’ said Emerson, untethering the horses.
‘What did you do?’ cried Eliza as we leapt into the saddles.
Emerson smiled. ‘I did nothing. If you had consulted Clement Atwood’s moon chart before we left, you would have known that a solar eclipse was to take place today. I simply let our friends back there believe that I am rather more powerful and dangerous than they thought.’
Tabatha laughed. I had to concede it was a clever ploy.
After a few minutes, the sun had returned to the sky and shone as bright as before, but
we were long gone by then. I wondered if the townsfolk had stopped trembling yet.
We galloped along, only slowing as the road gradually became more difficult and the trees on either side grew denser. At last the road stopped altogether, replaced by a track cutting through the clumps of oak and beech trees before us: the edge of an immense and imposing forest.
Chapter 26
‘Behold the Forest of Paimpont,’ said Emerson as we gazed into the shadows beneath the tightly-clustered trees. ‘Now we must turn the horses away.’
We dismounted, and with a slap to the flank sent them galloping back the way we had come.
‘How long will it take to reach the tourney glade?’ asked Tabatha.
‘’Tis two full days’ journey south of this point,’ Emerson replied. ‘We cannot hope to reach it before the day after tomorrow. Paimpont is perilous to journey through by night, the more so the deeper one goes into the forest. We will have to make camp when night falls.’
‘The day after tomorrow is midsummer’s day- the day Mabson is to attack,’ said Tabatha.
‘I am aware,’ replied Emerson. ‘We can only trust to good fortune and hope that we reach the tournament before he does. Come, we haven’t time to waste with discussion. We must press on.’
Before us, the track plunged deep into the forest, becoming gradually more overgrown with ferns and brambles the further we walked until it very nearly disappeared. The trees crowded together, and what little light escaped through their canopy was dim and gloomy. The overall impression was unwelcoming, even hostile.
‘Is this the path George and the others would have taken?’ asked Eliza, looking about uneasily.
‘Yes,’ replied Emerson. ‘There are few paths through the forest, and this is the only one which draws close to the glade.’
‘What is it about Paimpont that makes it so dangerous?’ Eliza asked.
‘Things in the forest are not always as they seem,’ Emerson replied. ‘I have heard that the trees themselves are possessed by spirits; some benign, others not. I don’t know the truth of it, but the forest demands the respect of all those who pass through. You would be wise to keep that in mind at all times.’
Aside from the general unwelcoming feeling about the forest, I was struck by how silent it was. A few wood pigeons cooed sporadically while we were still at the very edge, but soon they ceased altogether. The only sounds beyond the tramp of our feet, which sounded deafeningly loud to my ears, was the furtive rustle of the forest creatures we heard but never saw and the unsettling rustle of the tree branches which seemed to move even in the absence of any breeze.
Emerson walked in front, followed by Eliza and me, then Jack and Tabatha. Once again, I felt Jack’s eyes upon me as I walked, and I longed to switch places with Tabatha, but each of us seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement that speech be kept to an absolute minimum. A heaviness hung in the air and weighed down upon us. Eliza was the first to speak of it, but Emerson would say only that the forest was ancient even by the Guild’s reckoning, and that things dangerous and far more powerful than humans dwelt there. What those things were, he would not say.
We walked on, the path climbing steeply and skirting round jagged rock ledges and immense boulders that had started to appear. The lack of light made identifying the time of day frustratingly difficult. We may have walked for two hours or many more before Eliza suddenly let out a yelp and tugged at Emerson’s sleeve.
‘Over there,’ she hissed, pointing through the trees to a wolf of immense size with fur as black as ink. Around its neck, a single band of silver was clasped like a torc. Its eyes locked upon me, and at once I was struck by their beauty and sadness. I had seen the yellow eyes of wolves before, but these were more human than beast, the eyes of a creature not so very different from me.
‘Hush, ‘tis one of the Wolf Tribe of Paimpont,’ said Emerson. ‘It is not concerned with us.’
The wolf regarded us with its steady penetrating gaze for a few moments before quickly disappearing behind a rocky incline. Peggy and Bandit growled, but neither seemed inclined to chase after it.
‘It wore a silver collar.’ whispered Eliza. ‘Are they tame?’
‘No,’ Emerson replied. ‘They are not animals in the sense we understand. Their consciousness is greater than that of other beasts- more akin to that of humans. Legend has it that they were humans in the beginning but abandoned society, either by choice or misfortune, and took to living among the wolf packs of the forest. What the truth of their origins is, I cannot say, but ‘tis said that in centuries past they possessed the ability to speak with humans and traded with them for silver, for they prized it above all things, believing it enabled them to harness the powers of the moon, which they worship. They were once numerous and fearless and would attack livestock and sometimes even the people of the villages on the edges of Paimpont, and so they were hunted- almost to extinction. They retreated to the depths of the forest, and the people of the villages moved their settlements further from its edge, calling it a haunted place and shunning it. But the Wolf Tribe lives on, though their numbers have dwindled and they have lost the ability to communicate with humans. Some say they still understand our speech, but they are wary of us, as you have seen.’
I squinted into the gloom, hoping to catch another glimpse of the wolf, but it had already disappeared into the thickness of trees that clustered together where the path did not extend. I suddenly felt a pang of shame for intruding upon the land of the majestic creature, hunted and wild, which little by little had been forced further and further into the shadows of the forest by men. Yet at the same time, I thought how emancipating it must be to escape the world and concern myself only with the life of the forest. It seemed a welcome alternative to the burdens I carried.
Above the treetops, evening was giving way to night, but the only indication we had was the dusk beneath the trees becoming more profound. To my surprise, the forest by night was not pitch black as I had expected; an eerie greenish glow seemed to emanate from the trees themselves, lighting it under a night-long twilight.
‘The forest sleeps by day and awakens at sundown,’ said Emerson when Eliza questioned him about it. ‘We shall stop here. We can’t go any further until morning. I’m afraid we must sleep where we stand, for it is perilous to stray from the path by night. And we must keep a fire burning to ward off unfriendly eyes.’
We had reached a spot where the path broadened a little as it cut through a cluster of enormous oak trees. I set down my pack and busied myself collecting twigs and fallen branches with which to build a fire. Soon we had a lively crackle burning.
‘I will take the first watch,’ said Emerson when had eaten our supper.
None of us raised any objection, being too weary to think of anything more than shutting our eyes. We spread our cloaks on the ground and lay down at once to sleep. My eyes flickered as I fought to stay awake long enough to see what Emerson did, for no sooner had the rest of us laid down, he fumbled about with his mysterious bundle and pulled something from the bag, turning his back to us so that whatever it was was concealed from view. Sleep must have overcome me after that because I woke to Tabatha shaking me gently.
‘It’s your watch,’ she whispered.
I sat up and blinked a few times until my eyes adjusted to the gloom. The sleeping figures of Emerson, Eliza and Jack lay close by, and the fire was still burning heartily. Tabatha wrapped herself in her cloak and settled down to sleep without waiting for a reply. I wondered what time of night it was. The sky was invisible high above the impenetrable forest canopy, and day would be well underway in the world outside before its light reached into the dim depths of Paimpont.
I settled myself against the immense bough of one of the oaks surrounding the path and wondered how I might guess when my watch was up. Somewhere close by an owl hooted, and bats flitted overhead, grazing past my ears. I guessed from her breathing that Tabatha was already asleep.
As I fought back the urge to go back
to sleep, the thought of Emerson’s mysterious bundle crept into my mind, and the desire to know what it contained gripped me suddenly. Without a second thought, I crept towards him and looked down at his sleeping form. His breathing was slow and even, and his right arm held the leather bag close. It sank at the bottom as though weighed down by something heavy, and at the top it bulged open slightly revealing the corner of a heavy book. I leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe, and lifted it gently from the bag. Something heavy clunked as the book brushed against it. I paused, then peered into the open bag. There, underneath the book, was a beautifully carved music box, the little silver key with which to wind it poking out of the back. An owl hooted overhead, startling me, and I let the bag fall shut.
The murky light of the forest was too dim to read by, but as I flicked through the book’s pages I could see enough to know that they were not written in English. And they were old, the ink faded and the vellum yellowed from the passage of time so that the illustrations, which may once have been vibrant and beautiful, were barely visible now. Despite this, I thought I could just make out the image of a man with arms outstretched and his mouth open, as though he was speaking or chanting, standing over another man who lay on the ground. I couldn’t be sure if he was dead or asleep.
Emerson stirred and mumbled in his sleep. I froze in panic, but he did not wake. I snapped the book shut and slipped it back into the bag as quickly as I dared then crept back to my spot by the oak tree, thoughts firing one after the other in my mind.
Chapter 27
‘Tom! Tom! Wake up! You’ve slept through your watch.’
I was awake in a second and found I had fallen asleep slumped against the oak tree. The forest was still lit only by its own dim light, but that was no indication of the time of day or night. Tabatha stood over me, Eliza still lay asleep a few feet away, but Emerson and Jack were nowhere to be seen. I jumped to my feet, confused over how I could have succumbed to sleep without noticing it stealing up on me.
The Puppeteer: Book II of The Guild of Gatekeepers Page 12