Moll frowned. ‘I don’t understand. There’s only one door – the one we just stepped through. If we go back out, we’ll just be trapped in the room we came from! Bruce can’t have escaped this way . . .’
‘There must be another door,’ Siddy replied. ‘We just have to find it.’
There was something about the room that made Moll want to tiptoe and whisper and, as she made her way towards the cabinets, her shoulders rose. Behind the glass were dozens of wooden cases and each one was filled with the same thing: dead moths. Their delicate brown wings had been splayed and fixed with pins and beneath them wiry legs poked out.
Siddy recoiled. ‘Those white circles ringed with black on the wings – they look just like eyes . . .’
Moll nodded. She couldn’t help feeling that, although they were alone in the study, someone or something was watching them. She looked around at the walls and frowned. ‘The wallpaper,’ she said slowly, ‘it’s a giant map.’
Sure enough, the whole room was pasted with sepia rivers, forests, seas and moors. Moll walked over to the wall and ran a hand across a large patch of what looked like woodland. ‘It’s – it’s Tanglefern Forest!’ she cried, and a longing to be tucked inside her wagon in the clearing swept through her.
Siddy stood next to her and peered closer. ‘There are rips in the map . . . Look here – in the forest – great slashes across the parchment where our camp should be.’
‘And here,’ Moll said. ‘Out on the heath above the sea – it’s the same thing, as if the map has been hacked at with a knife.’ A coldness settled at the back of Moll’s neck as an image slipped into her mind. ‘Orbrot’s nails,’ she said slowly. ‘Maybe she ripped the map apart.’
Gryff’s ears flattened to his head and Frank sank lower inside Siddy’s pocket.
Moll followed the map around the room, back towards the door, with Siddy close behind her. There was no sign of another door, but on the wallpaper map there were rips right through Little Hollows, the cave they’d hidden in down by the sea, and great chunks had been shredded by Inchgrundle, the seaside village where they’d gone to look for the second amulet.
‘The map’s only torn in the places the Shadowmasks and their dark magic attacked us,’ Moll said.
Siddy clutched Moll’s arm. ‘The thresholds! They sound like paper tearing when they open! Maybe Orbrot has been controlling the thresholds from here. Ripping the map with her nails, in the exact places she wanted her darkness to pour in from the Underworld.’
Moll stopped short in front of the door they had come through because hanging from the back of it was a portrait of a girl with black hair and bright green eyes.
‘It’s me,’ she whispered and her insides churned as she took in the slashes that marred the face of the portrait. The eyes had been scratched out, the hair was ripped to shreds and deep marks punctured the neck. Gryff rubbed his body against Moll’s knees.
‘I think we know how Orbrot got inside your mind, Moll,’ Siddy said. ‘Like the maps, she only needed to scratch this painting for her dark magic to slip in.’
They continued to follow the map round the other side of the room as it moved on to show the Clattering Gorge and the North Door. A slit ran right through the middle of the trees just beyond the North Door, marking the spot where the witches had attacked them. And then Moll and Siddy stopped where the moorland met the coast and a scattering of islands jutted out into the sea.
‘The Lost Isles,’ Moll whispered. ‘That’s where we are now . . .’
The silence swelled around the room and Moll’s heart quickened. There was a slash right through a small island joined to the mainland by a humpback bridge. Gryff’s tail sank low to the ground, a growl grew in his throat, and then the map burst open at the tear and dozens of thin, wiry legs clawed their way into the study.
Gryff leapt in front of Moll as dozens of creatures hurtled out of the map, a frenzy of flapping wings and furred bodies. The wildcat thrashed with his paws and, as Moll and Siddy struggled backwards, they realised what the animals were.
‘Moths!’ Siddy cried. ‘Gigantic moths!’
The creatures were the size of eagles and, though their wings beat against Moll and Siddy with a restless whirring, they were not lined with blades, as the owls’ wings had been up on the cliffs, and the moths had no razored teeth or claws. Moll flung her arms up and forced them back, then she reached for her bow and tossed Siddy her catapult.
A moth dropped down on to the floor in front of him, its feathery antennae quivering. It flexed its wings and lowered them slowly, almost like an invitation, and Siddy’s gaze fastened on to the white circles ringed with black. The pattern glared up at him – a cold, slate eye – and, as Siddy looked upon it, he screamed.
Moll spun round and her face drained of colour. Siddy’s whole body had stiffened mid-stride, as if someone had frozen him to the spot.
‘Don’t look at the wings!’ he yelled.
There was a crunching sound and Moll watched in horror as Siddy’s feet turned grey, followed by his legs, the little ferret in his pocket, his torso—
‘No!’ Moll shouted, rushing towards him.
—and his face. Moll’s palms met with Siddy’s hands only they were no longer warm and soft and beating with life. They were cold, and hard like marble. She stumbled backwards and clutched at her mouth.
Siddy had been turned to stone.
She knelt by Gryff, her eyes clamped shut, as more and more moths spilled through the map. ‘Don’t look at the eyes on the wings, they’ll—’
A moth shunted into her side and knocked her over. Moll kept her eyes squeezed shut, but Gryff’s instinct to fight and protect outweighed all else and he leapt towards the creature. The moth flicked a wing down over Gryff’s head and instantly Moll’s eyes sprang open – she could sense that something was wrong. And, as the moth fluttered upwards, Moll felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Before her was another statue: of a wildcat frozen mid-pounce.
The blood roared in Moll’s ears, but she struggled to her feet and raised her bow. This was a fight worth having and she was going to give it to them. Forcing her eyes away from the creatures’ wings, Moll released arrow after arrow into the throng. The Oracle Spirits rushed out – her aim was keen and strong once again – dragging the moths down into heaps of broken wings. But, for every moth she killed, another appeared through the threshold.
Eyes fixed to the ground, Moll rushed towards the wall and raised her hands to the rip. But palms weren’t enough to hold the dark magic back and the furious wings beat on through. The din throbbed and Moll raised an arm over her eyes to shield them from the insects, then an idea came to her. What if she destroyed the map itself? Maybe that would not only stop the moths but also put an end to all the dark creatures pouring in from the Underworld. And what better way to destroy paper than fire . . .
Eyes closed and arms lashing, she felt her way back towards the door, yanked a torch free from its bracket, then staggered back into the study. The heat from the torch beat at her skin, but she surged on, forcing a way through the moths and feeling for the walls.
Gasping for breath, she set her flame against the part of the map where the moths were scrabbling in. A second later, there was a great WHOOSH as the fire ripped up through the threshold, crisping it to shreds, but Moll didn’t stand and watch. Prising her eyes open, she raised her bow to bring down the moths that had already clawed their way through. Again and again Moll pulled back on the string and, though the moths were fewer, the fire was rippling around the walls now, enclosing her and the stone statues in a den of raging flames.
Moll placed a hand on Siddy’s shoulder. ‘Come back!’ she pleaded. ‘Please come back to me, Sid!’
She turned away and fired her bow into another moth and then another until there was just one insect left. The moth circled the room and glided low, presenting its cursed wings before Moll. She felt her eyes drawn to the patterns, then she blinked hard, raised her arrow and fired.
The final moth crumpled to the ground and Moll rushed over to Gryff.
‘Come on!’ she cried. ‘Come back to me!’
As the flames leapt around the room, racing up the curtains and hauling them down, cracks appeared in the stone statue, spreading outwards like veins.
‘Yes,’ Moll breathed. ‘Yes.’
Had killing the last moth put an end to Orbrot’s curse? The stone began to break apart and great chunks crumbled from the wildcat’s body. First his head shook free, then his front limbs wrenched out of the casing and the rest of the stone crunched to the floor. Moll whipped round to see a network of cracks splitting down the stone around Siddy and then his head and arms burst out as the statue shattered. But there was no time for an embrace. The fire was tearing through the room and Moll was looking beyond Siddy now, to the glass cabinets behind Orbrot’s desk. She squinted into the flames, then she grabbed Siddy by the arm and urged Gryff on.
‘This way! I think there’s a door – between the cabinets – it must have been blocked by a layer of cobwebs before, but the smoke and the flames have stripped that away!’
They sprinted towards the cabinets and, sure enough, tendrils of cobwebs hung down either side of an old wooden door. They yanked it open, then ran up a spiral staircase which led them out to the castle ramparts. The night sky folded around them, cool and crisp and full of stars. But the fire Moll had started was already spreading, shaking great shadows out across the gravel.
‘We need to find a way down!’ Moll cried, following the ramparts round.
Siddy shook his head. ‘But I don’t understand – how did you stop the moths and free us from being statues?’
Moll’s eyes were bright against the night. ‘I set fire to the castle.’
The ramparts bent left along the wall that faced the mainland and they hurried down it.
‘The fire was you?’ Siddy cried and from his hand Frank rolled two little eyes. ‘Not another enchantment?’
Moll shook her head. ‘No. That was all me.’ Her eyes skittered around the ramparts. ‘It was the best plan I had . . .’
Siddy groaned. ‘Why—’
His words were cut short as he stumbled into Moll and Gryff who had stopped suddenly where the ramparts turned left again, back towards the sea.
There, huddled in the corner, was Bruce. And he was holding their golden feather.
‘You!’ Moll snarled. ‘We ought to kill you.’
She raised her bow and Siddy pushed Frank down into his pocket as he drew out Moll’s catapult, but Gryff slunk past them both and stood before the shaking boy – and something about the wildcat’s look made Moll regret her words. Since seeing her hopes and dreams locked away by Orbrot, a new fight had stirred inside her – one that made her even hungrier to avenge her parents and her friends and set all this right – but Moll could read Gryff well and she knew the message in his eyes.
Forgive, he was saying. Forgive.
‘I didn’t clean or feel your heather,’ Bruce said. He winced at his words, then punched a fist into the wall beside him.
Moll glanced at Siddy. ‘I think he’s allergic to words.’
Siddy nodded. ‘I figured as much when I heard him crying in the dungeons.’
‘I was trying to say that I didn’t MEAN to STEAL your FEATHER,’ Bruce mumbled. ‘It was Orbrot. She made me.’
Moll drew herself up tall. ‘We’ve set fire to the castle and you’ve got a matter of minutes before the whole place goes up in flames. So, tell us why I shouldn’t stick an arrow in your miserable body right now.’
Moll wasn’t sure whether that was the level of compassion Gryff had been hoping for, but she was still cross that Bruce had tricked her so it would have to do for now.
At the sound of the roaring flames below, Bruce’s words tumbled out. ‘Orbrot stole something from me and she told me the only way I could get it back was if I brought you into the castle and stole your golden feather.’ He glanced at Siddy. ‘The only reason I was cruel to you was because I was trying to groove myself – PROVE MYSELF – to Orbrot.’
The fire raged on inside the castle and a chunk of stonework where they’d climbed up on to the ramparts fell away with a deafening crash.
‘Speak faster, Bruce,’ Moll spat. ‘We need you to get us out of here before we’re burned to a crisp, but we have to know whether we can trust you first.’
Bruce wailed. ‘I’m not a boy at all!’
Moll nodded. ‘No, you’re not. You’re a pathetic little coward.’
Bruce shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. I’m not a boy. I’m a selkie.’
Siddy frowned and Frank’s whiskers twitched.
Bruce turned his woollen hat over in his hands. ‘I’m a selkie trapped in human form by Orbrot! Oh, the hopelessness of things . . .’ He stumbled to his feet and sniffed, then took a deep breath and Moll realised that he was thinking through his words as best he could. ‘Selkies are seals who can shed their skin on land to become human for a few hours,’ he said slowly.
Moll’s gaze travelled over Bruce’s large black eyes and his near-white hair. If you squinted hard enough, she realised, and tried not to think about the overcoat and the scarf, Bruce did look a little like a seal pup.
‘One full moon last year I shed my sealskin to see what it would feel like to be a toy – a BOY, I mean,’ Bruce said. ‘But Orbrot stole it. And without my sealskin I can’t change back. I can’t hunt for fish or dive into the neeps – DEEPS – to find my family. I’m trapped as a boy with words I can’t even use right and forced to obey the person who stole my skin.’ He held up the golden feather and handed it to Moll. ‘I thought if I rolled in the heather,’ he shook his head, ‘STOLE THE FEATHER for Orbrot then she might give me back my sealskin.’
Moll tucked the feather into her quiver. She knew what it felt like to be dragged into dark magic when you wanted nothing to do with it. ‘Shadowmasks don’t do deals, Bruce. They just take. Orbrot wanted a slave to do her dirty work for her – to trick and steal and lie.’ She glanced nervously over the ramparts, then at Siddy. ‘We need to get out of here, and we need to use this feather to find an amulet one hundred years deep. That’s the only way to stop this dark magic.’
Bruce’s eyes lit up. ‘I have been one hundred years asleep – DEEP! Us selkies know every bit of the Lost Isles.’ He paused. ‘We’ll need a boat and—’
Siddy leant forward eagerly. ‘You know where we can find the amulet?’
Bruce jumped as a window below them exploded and great billows of smoke belched upwards, blotting out the stars. ‘I think so, but Orbrot said the Shadowmasks’ purse – I mean, CURSE – would kill me if I told my secrets to the child and the beast from the Bone Murmur.’
Moll’s face fell. ‘So you can’t tell us where to look?’
‘Not yet, but the witch doctor’s power over me will fade if I take my true form. Help me find my sealskin and I can take you one hundred years deep.’
Siddy turned to Moll. ‘How do we know for sure that we can trust him? So far, he’s helped keep me prisoner and tricked you into battling with a witch doctor.’
Moll nodded. ‘I don’t know, Sid. But we’ve not got much of a choice . . . he’s our only way of escaping from this castle and of finding the amulet.’
Siddy wrung his hands. ‘What’s our other option?’
Moll shrugged. ‘Get burnt.’
‘What’s your plan, Bruce?’ Siddy asked. ‘How do we get out of here?’
Bruce pointed right and beckoned them to follow. The group hurried down the ramparts, their faces glowing from the fire coursing through the castle, until they came to a large wooden contraption. It had a triangular frame and pivoting on top of it was a long, wooden beam. On one end a weight had been attached and on the other there was a sling.
‘That’s how we escape,’ Bruce said.
Siddy cleared his throat. ‘I think you’ve got your words muddled again.’
Bruce shook his head. ‘It’s a trebuchet – like
a giant catapult. Normally it fires flaming cannonballs, but,’ Bruce glanced from Siddy to Moll to Gryff, ‘tonight it’s going to fire a bus, I mean, US.’
Moll shuddered as Bruce jumped up, grabbed the sling and brought it down level with the group. ‘Who’s going first?’
Frank shot out of Siddy’s pocket and began dancing inside the sling.
Moll raised an eyebrow. ‘At least this pet is braver than Hermit . . .’
Smoke bulged from the sides of the castle, pouring out where windows had once been and painting the night sky grey. Siddy crouched in the sling of the trebuchet, one hand gripping Moll’s catapult, the other wrapped round Frank.
‘See that tiny island? About fifty metres out and left from Greystone?’ Bruce said.
‘To the right of Greystone?’ Siddy asked. ‘The rocky outcrop?’
Bruce smacked his head with his hand. ‘Yes, to the right. It’s called the Rock of Solitude. Swim for that.’
Siddy glanced at Moll. ‘This is even worse than the train jump.’
But, before Moll could reply, Bruce leapt up on to the weight attached to the other side of the wooden beam. It sank with him and the sling containing Siddy and Frank rose a few metres, then the beam see-sawed for a moment and Moll cottoned on. She jumped on to the weighted side with Bruce and it crashed down on to the ramparts while the other end shot up, flinging Siddy and Frank into the air. Moll watched, aghast, as Siddy soared off the castle ramparts, arms flailing, legs scrabbling, before plunging into the sea some way short of the Rock of Solitude.
He surfaced, clutching Frank and the catapult. ‘I’m alive!’ he cried. ‘I’m alive!’
But Siddy’s voice was almost completely drowned by the sound of crumbling stone. The ramparts to the side of them juddered and a large block fell away from the corner, crashing down into the water.
‘Go now!’ Siddy roared. ‘Before it’s too late!’
Bruce scrambled into the sling with Moll who reached out to grab Gryff. But the wildcat shied away and Moll glanced back at Bruce.
The Night Spinner Page 15