by Kate Forsyth
‘Smelled something in the wind?’ Quinn replied. ‘That was probably you.’
‘Quinn, stop it, please,’ Tom pleaded. ‘No-one will listen to me … the wild man said I had to warn the lord.’ He made an abrupt move, as if about to charge over and accost the lord himself, and Quinn caught his arm, not wanting him to get into trouble.
‘Well, the Grand Teller has told him now,’ she answered. ‘We can only hope he listened to her.’
But the Lord of Wolfhaven Castle sat with his bearded chin sunk into his hands, staring at the bonfire as if recalling long ago midsummers, much brighter and merrier than this one.
7
MIDNIGHT SHIFT
‘Well, I cannot see any sign of danger coming,’ Tom said, looking out from the castle battlements. To the west, the ocean was transformed into a golden mantle by the setting sun. To the east, twilight was sinking over the forest, and the trees were silhouetted black against the fading sky. ‘Unless it’s that Spry kid, poking and prying into every corner of the castle. I’ve caught him in half-a-dozen places he shouldn’t be.’
‘Jack Spry is still just finding his way around,’ Quinn answered. ‘He’s had a hard life, I think. Perhaps he’s had to learn to check out each new place he’s in, to be sure he has an escape route.’
‘He asks a lot of questions too,’ Tom said. ‘He’s been following me around, pestering me to know everything there is to know about the castle. Why does he do that?’
‘You ask a lot of questions too,’ Quinn grinned. Her wild black curls blew away from her face. ‘Smell that wind. I wonder where it has been and what it has seen.’
‘The wind can’t see anything.’
She looked at him sideways. ‘How do you know?’
‘It has no eyes,’ Tom answered impatiently.
‘Do you need eyes to see, and do you need ears to hear?’
‘I think being apprenticed to the witch has been very bad for you,’ Tom replied.
Quinn only smiled.
‘I need to get back to the kitchen else Mam will be after me.’ Tom sighed. ‘Come on, Fergus.’ The wolfhound stood up, stretching and yawning, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth.
Quinn ruffled the wolfhound’s ears. ‘All right, I’ll stand guard now, but you need to be back before midnight.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘No, you must come back in time. It’s the night of the Dark Moon and the Grand Teller needs my help in the rituals.’
‘I’m sure she can manage to carry her own bag of rocks,’ Tom replied, and dodged Quinn’s swift punch. ‘All right! I get the message. I’ll be back by midnight.’
Tom waved goodbye and ran down the steps, taking them two at a time.
‘Bring me back something to eat,’ Quinn called after him.
When Tom came back at midnight, with some bread and cheese for Quinn, it was to find a fog creeping in from the north. It swirled down from the mountains, shrouding the roofs of the town.
‘It’s strange,’ Quinn said, rubbing her bare arms. ‘It’s turned so cold.’
Tom had brought up a blanket to sit on, and he tossed it to her. She wrapped it around her, and stood staring to the north. Nothing could be seen of the stars now, only pale drifts of mist.
‘What is the Dark One that goes over the earth, swallows water and wood but is afraid of the wind?’ she asked, so low that Tom could hardly hear her.
‘What? What’s the answer?’ Tom demanded.
Quinn swirled one hand in the air, raising a tiny breeze which caused the mist to eddy and swirl.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Now I get it. You mean the mist.’
‘He got it! Is old muttonhead growing some brains at last?’ Quinn mocked.
The castle bells began to toll the midnight hour. The sound was strangely muffled. ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Quinn, eating the last of her bread. ‘Arwen will be looking for me.’
‘I’m not sure there’s any point standing guard in the fog,’ Tom said. ‘Besides, it’s been three weeks already and I’m sick of keeping watch half the night. Mam’s cross with me for practically falling asleep with my head in my stew.’
‘The Grand Teller is unhappy with me too,’ Quinn answered. ‘She keeps asking me where I’m slipping off to all the time.’
‘Maybe the wild man’s warning was hogwash,’ Tom said. After three weeks, it was hard to remember the urgency of the wild man’s words and the firm grip of his fingers. Tom could only think how tired he was after days of trying to keep watch as well as do all his chores … while nothing unusual happened. He thought longingly of his soft, warm bed by the fire in the kitchen.
‘What about the tell-stones?’ urged Quinn. ‘And the Grand Teller’s vision?’
‘Maybe they’re warnings of things in coming years,’ Tom said. ‘It could be a long way off, and we’re wearing ourselves out in the meantime. Perhaps we’re better off getting some sleep so that we’re alert and ready for anything that comes.’
If it ever does … he thought to himself.
Quinn stared into the darkness. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered slowly. ‘I don’t like this fog. It … it feels wrong. It smells wrong.’
Then Fergus growled deep in his throat. ‘What is it, boy?’ Tom asked. The wolfhound’s growl deepened into a snarl. He put both paws up onto the battlement, sniffing the wind. Then he barked a warning.
Tom looked all around, but it was pitch-black and impossible to see a thing.
A distant rattle and creak made him spin and look down into the inner ward. A gust of wind carried a strange smell, like marsh gas, and swirled the mist away.
He saw a dark, hooded figure dragging open the war gate. It was so heavy that the figure had to heave and drag it with all of their strength. An immense black key jutted from the keyhole.
As soon as the gate was open, strange, dark, bony things crept through. Tom leant forward, watching in horror. Quinn gasped and gripped the battlement beside him. The figures scuttled across the courtyard, slithered through doorways and leapt up steps. They were thin and bent, like long-legged insects, with empty eye-sockets. Each carried a spear in one hand, and was preceded by a swirl of dank-smelling mist. The only sound was the soft slap of their bare feet on the stone.
Quickly, cries of alarm and shouts of terror broke out. Castle guards ran to grapple with the invaders, who fought silently, stabbing with their spears. Still more of them came through the mist, rank after rank after rank of them, eyeless and fleshless and noiseless. It was eerie and frightening. Then, knights on great horses rode in through the open gateway, helmets pulled down over their faces. Even the horses’ faces and bodies were covered with armour, while their hooves were ghostly quiet. The helmet of the leader had two upcurving boar tusks.
‘Who are they?’ Quinn cried. ‘Look, there are hundreds of them!’
‘Come on!’ Tom cried. ‘We have to sound the alarm!’
Tom ran along the battlements, shouting out at the top of his voice. ‘Beware, beware! Wake up! Invaders in the castle! Wake up!’ Fergus loped beside him, barking. Quinn ran the other way, shouting too. But their voices were lost in the mist.
Tom raced for the Bell Tower. He reached through an archway, and seized hold of the bell-ropes, yanking on them with all his strength. The bells rang out. Tom kept pulling at the ropes until his arms ached so fiercely he could not pull anymore. Then Quinn was beside him again, taking over. The cacophony of the bells filled Tom’s head, making his senses swim. His palms stung fiercely. At last, panting, Quinn had to stop too.
‘The Grand Teller, I have to warn the Grand Teller!’ she cried.
‘Mam!’
Both ran as fast as they could along the battlements, the wolfhound swift at their heels. They reached the Lady’s Tower and half-fell down the steps into the keep. As they ran along the corridor, they saw a swirl of dank mist, and smelt again that strange marshy scent. Then they heard a girl’s scream.
‘Lady Elanor!’ Tom cried.
&nb
sp; Tom and Quinn ran to her room. Elanor was backed up against the panelling, wildly swinging a poker. She was dressed only in a chemise, her golden-brown hair tied in a long plait, her feet bare. Facing her was a crowd of the terrifying silent creatures. They seemed to be made of ancient leather wrapped tightly over bone. They looked at Tom with their empty eye-sockets, nostrils flaring. They caught his scent and leapt towards him, raking the air with their nails.
Fergus leapt past Tom with a snarl. He knocked down one of the leathery creatures, which then sought to stab him with its spear. Fergus seized it in his jaws and pulled. The two had a tug-of-war, until suddenly the leather-man let go, falling backwards.
Meanwhile, Tom managed to grab a jug of flowers from the table and hurl it at another. It hit the target in the face then crashed to the floor, giving Tom and Quinn time to rush across to where Elanor stood, waving the poker about.
‘Quick, through the secret door,’ Tom gasped. ‘Where is the key?’
Elanor darted across to where her clothes were folded over a chair, her golden slippers laid out neatly below. She grabbed them and pulled the key out of the pocket of her dress, tossing it to Tom. Fergus was rolling on the floor with another of the leathery creatures, snarling and biting and clawing. Quinn was holding off the rest with the poker, using it a lot more forcefully than Elanor had. Tom unlocked the secret door and Elanor scrambled through, her dress and shoes in her arms. Tom and Quinn were quick to follow, then Tom whistled the wolfhound. Fergus leapt through the tiny door and Tom slammed it shut and locked it seconds before the leather-men reached it. They heard the nerve-shredding scrape of nails against the wood, and turned and ran. Down the narrow spiral steps they hurtled, crashing into the walls in the darkness.
Somewhere above them, Tom heard the crack and splinter of breaking wood, and then the swift slap, slap, slap of leathery feet.
‘Run!’ he cried.
8
THE
TUSKED KNIGHT
Tom led the way down the stairs at breakneck speed and raced into the kitchen, Fergus and the two girls at his heels.
Mistress Pippin was fighting off leather-men with a frying pan. ‘Take that, you monster, take that!’ she cried. ‘And that!’
As one leather-man crumpled to the floor, another two advanced. Slowly the cook was being forced back towards the fireplace. Fury swelled through Tom. He leapt forward, wrenched a copper pan from a hook, and began wielding it fiercely. Thwack, crack! Another leather-man toppled to the floor, and then another. Fergus leapt on the back of one, forcing it to the ground, while Quinn took up a basket of apples and began pelting them. Thud, thump, splat! Then one apple, thrown rather wildly, fell into the ashes of the fire and sent up a great burst of sparks. The leather-men reeled back. Tom was able to knock out one, then another, with his pan. Quinn felled one with her basket, while Mistress Pippin took care of the rest with her frying pan.
They lay twisted on the ground, all bones and leather and hair, looking like something a giant owl spat up. Tom and Quinn gingerly seized the leather-men’s stiff, contorted arms and dragged them out the door, locking and bolting it behind them.
‘Tom,’ his mother cried, dropping the frying pan and holding her arms wide.
‘Mam!’
They hugged each other close. Wiping away tears, Mistress Pippin pulled herself away. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe! Quinn, dear girl, you too.’ She then saw Elanor, white-faced and frightened, and bobbed a surprised curtsey. ‘My lady, are you hurt? What on earth are you doing down here in the kitchen?’
‘They … I …’ Elanor stammered.
‘Those leather-men were trying to take her,’ Tom said. ‘Mam, what are we to do? They’re everywhere!’
‘You need to get away from here as fast as you can,’ his mother answered. She plucked a knapsack from a hook by the door and began hurling things into it—a frying pan, a pot, a wooden spoon, a round cheese in red wax, apples, a bag of dried peas, a hank of air-dried bacon and a tinderbox. Quinn hurried to help her, while Elanor quickly pulled on her green gown and golden slippers. Tom filled a waterskin from the water-barrel, and grabbed some small pork pies from a plate on the table and threw them in the knapsack.
‘Quick, Tom, look in the larder, behind the barrel of brine.’ As Mistress Pippin spoke, she took her own brown woolly shawl and wrapped it around Elanor’s shoulders. Elanor huddled into it gratefully.
Tom did as he was told and found a longbow and a quiver of grey-fletched arrows, with a tightly rolled grey cloak tied to it.
‘The bow belonged to your father when he was a boy. I’ve been saving it for you. You must go to him, he will help us,’ Mistress Pippin said, hurriedly shoving a small pouch of coins into the knapsack.
‘My father?’ Tom was flabbergasted. ‘But where?’
‘Look for him in the forest where the wolves howl.’ Mistress Pippin took her wedding ring off and thrust it in Tom’s hand. He knew it well. Made of fine gold, it was in the shape of two hands holding a heart. ‘Wear it, keep it safe. He’ll know it when he sees it.’
‘But Mam … my father … I don’t even know his name,’ said Tom, sliding the ring on his middle finger.
‘He’s called Hunter. That’s what he was, you know. He was the Lord’s Wolf-Catcher once … a long time ago. But … you must get away.’ As she spoke, Mistress Pippin was hurriedly filling another knapsack for Quinn to carry.
‘But Mam, what does he look like? Where will I find him?’
‘In the forest, I told you. And what does he look like?’ Her face softened and she patted Tom’s cheek. ‘You have his eyes, Tomkin.’
Just then, someone began trying to kick down the kitchen door. Everyone jumped. Elanor screamed.
‘Shhh, shh, sweetling, we need to hide you. Into the larder, quick.’ Mistress Pippin raised her frying pan.
‘Into the larder?’ Quinn cried.
‘Yes, yes. There’s a secret way out through there. Climb over those barrels, press the stone at the back, the one with a little hollow … that’s the one.’
Over the sound of the banging at the door, Tom heard a click as a stone in the wall of the larder swung aside. Quinn went through eagerly, and Elanor and Tom followed close behind. Tom whistled softly to Fergus to follow.
‘Mam, hurry,’ Tom said, as the banging at the door grew louder. His mother was just about to follow him when suddenly the kitchen door broke down, and a tall figure in black armour strode through, a sword in his hand. His helmet had boar tusks on it.
Fergus growled, but Tom grabbed his collar and held him back, putting his hand over the dog’s muzzle to keep him quiet. From the shadows of the larder, he could just see more men in armour crowding into the kitchen. At once, Mistress Pippin stood in front of the larder door, her frying pan held high.
‘How dare you burst into my kitchen like that!’ she cried. ‘Have you no manners, you knave?’
‘Where is the little lady?’ the knight growled menacingly.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Mistress Pippin answered. Behind her back, she gestured urgently for Tom to go, but he couldn’t bear to leave her.
The knight strode forward, putting the point of his sword to Mistress Pippin’s throat. ‘Lady Elanor. Where is she?’
Tom jerked forward, but Quinn held him desperately, one small hand covering his mouth. ‘Shhh,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Tucked up, sound asleep in her bed, no doubt, which is where I’d like to be,’ Mistress Pippin answered. ‘Now get that nasty sharp thing out of my face!’
The knight threw back his head and laughed. It sounded weird and horrible booming through the metal of his tusked helmet. Tom saw that his sword had a handle of bone, all carved with strange symbols. The man put the point of his sword to the floor and leant on it, slowly pulling off one gauntlet. He wore a huge red ring on one finger.
‘I don’t want to hurt you. My bog-men have traced her scent here. Tell me where she has gone and we will send you to th
e dungeons with the others. Refuse to tell me and …’ The knight slapped his gauntlet into his bare hand.
‘Bog-men?’ Tom murmured. To his horror, a swarm of them crept forward, sniffing the flagstones.
His mother flapped her hand urgently behind her back. ‘No need to get nasty,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you’re looking for her here. Ladies don’t come down to the kitchen.’
Once more she gestured emphatically behind her back. With a choke in his throat, Tom let Quinn pull him into the passageway. As Quinn dragged the secret door closed, Mistress Pippin whacked the knight hard over the head with her frying pan.
9
BATTLE WITH THE BOG-MEN
Elanor could hardly see a thing. She stumbled forward, almost tripping on her skirts and falling.
Quinn whispered to Tom. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he answered, dashing his arm across his eyes. ‘I just … I just hope they don’t hurt Mam.’
‘She’s so brave,’ Quinn whispered back.
‘She may be small but she’s fierce.’ Tom’s voice cracked.
They hurried down a dark passage, lit only by the occasional slash of light through a crack in the stone. Fergus was running ahead, his nose to the ground. When he turned, looking for Tom, his eyes glowed green. Through the wall came the muffled sounds of battle—clangs, screams and cries—then, horribly close, through a crack in the stone, a sniffling, snuffling sound.
They all ran as quietly as they could in the dimness. The passageway turned sharply, then went up spiral stairs as steep as a ladder. Elanor scrambled up, gasping for breath. She had never run so far or fast in her life.
‘Where does this lead us?’ Quinn whispered, as the steps wound higher and higher into darkness.
‘I have no idea,’ Tom whispered back. ‘But we can’t go back, we must keep going forward.’
They passed a small alcove and Tom suddenly stopped. ‘There’s a door here. Shall we see where it leads?’ Without waiting for an answer, he turned the handle and swung the door open. It creaked. Tom stopped, then, very slowly, eased it open wider. It creaked more loudly. He stepped through, Fergus pushing past him. ‘All’s clear,’ he whispered.