The Dreamsnatcher

by Abi Elphinstone

  What if he was tricking her so that he could pass on information to Skull? But she’d seen the hatred in his eyes at the mention of the witch doctor. If Alfie was keeping secrets from her, Moll got the feeling it was about why he wanted those amulets so badly. She held out her hands and looked Alfie in the eye – the best thing to do when you’re telling a lie. ‘Deal,’ she replied evenly.

  Alfie shook her hand. ‘Deal.’

  Moll looked down at the rope which bound her. ‘Untie me. Please.’

  Alfie held out another lit match. ‘Hold this.’

  Moll flinched with annoyance that she’d have to cooperate with the very person who’d kidnapped her from the Ancientwood in the first place.

  ‘Please,’ Alfie mumbled.

  Reluctantly, Moll took the match and Alfie drew a penknife from his rusted tin. Moll stiffened; so he was armed.

  ‘I’m only untying you because we need to work together.’ He sawed his knife through the rope, then glanced quickly at the grate covering the pit’s opening. ‘If they come down, grab the rope and wind it round your hands; I don’t want any questions from them.’

  Moll looked at his split lip and nodded. She reached over for the flask, took a big swig of water, then tore off a lump of stale bread and chewed it hard. The match faded but, when Alfie lit another, Moll saw that his eyes were shining and the pocket of his shorts no longer bulged. He was holding something – a roll of leather. A night breeze sifted in through the grate and Moll could almost hear it slipping inside the roll in tiny whispers. Her initials stared back at her in black. But they hadn’t been written in ink; they’d been burned on.

  Alfie held out the roll of leather in front of Moll. Her mouth widened and her heart fluttered as she traced the words with her finger:

  FOR MP.

  FROM THE MAIDEN

  Noises from above swallowed their whispers: the creaking of unoiled wheels; the crack of a whip; the grumble of voices. A cart was drawing near.

  Moll’s heart leapt. Oak? Had he come for her?

  Alfie snatched back the leather, put a finger to his lips and blew out the match. A crow’s caw-caw scratched the surface of the night and then the cart pulled close, rumbling and snapping over twigs and leaves as it moved. A cob snorted, then there came a scrabbling of feet, a scratching of claws and a low growl. Chains clanked against the sides of the cart. Whatever was inside was trying to escape.

  ‘Skull! Gobbler! We’ve got them!’

  Moll’s heart sank. Surely Oak and his camp could break past the shadows guarding Skull’s camp. They were only shadows after all – and she’d managed to get through, though deep down Moll suspected that may have had something to do with the power of the Dream Snatch. A feeling began to gnaw at her mind and, however hard she tried to force it away, it crawled back. Perhaps there was a reason no one from the camp had come for her. Perhaps it was easier for them all if she was finally out of the way. She dug her nails into her palms.

  ‘It’s the boys come back from the village,’ Alfie whispered.

  From the far side of the clearing, wagon doors clattered open and footsteps hurried across.

  Alfie tugged Moll beneath the opening.

  ‘Listen and watch if your eyes can fight the dark,’ he hissed. ‘They’ve been talking about bringing something to the camp and we’ve got to find out what it is because no one’s been telling me anything of late.’

  ‘Why does it matter what Skull’s bringing in?’

  ‘Because I reckon we’ve got to get past whatever it is.’

  Moll swallowed.

  ‘Let’s see them, boys,’ Gobbler rasped.

  ‘You’re going to like what you see. We wouldn’t even sit out back with them, they’re that fierce.’

  ‘That’s Brunt,’ Alfie’s voice whispered in the dark.. ‘Keep out of his way. He’s worse than the other two. Almost as bad as Gobbler and Skull.’

  There was a scuffling of feet from above. A cob brayed and stamped its feet, then a whip cracked down and the cob was still. But something was moving – and it was moving fast. Loud thuds hammered against the sides of the cart, followed once again by deep, rumbling growls. Whatever the boys had bought, there was more than one of them.

  There was a laugh but it was brittle, as if it might have been made from glass. ‘Very good,’ Skull replied.

  ‘The trader who sold them said they were made in hell!’ It was Brunt’s voice again, gruff and low.

  Moll’s lip was trembling. She bit it down. ‘What’ve they got stuffed away in that cart?’

  But Alfie didn’t have time to hazard a guess because there were more footsteps now – and they were coming towards the pit. Alfie threw the rope to Moll who wrapped it round her wrists and huddled into the shadows.

  A light approached, then a shrivelled hand holding a lantern, and a second later, Gobbler’s face appeared above the grate. But he wasn’t alone. He was joined by a white mask and it gleamed in the light of the lantern like porcelain.

  Moll tensed. There were no eyebrows, no eyelashes, no lips showing beneath the wooden mask. It was as if Skull’s features had been scraped from him and only the mask remained. And though the mask showed one expression – a grim smile shot through with jagged bones as teeth – Moll could sense a mouth beneath the surface, brooding with dark pleasure.

  ‘Send Brunt in,’ he muttered.

  A line of cold sweat prickled down Moll’s spine, but she looked the mask in the eyes and spat on to the ground. She couldn’t let Skull know she was afraid.

  ‘Oak’ll come for me!’ she hissed, but her voice was shaking. ‘We aren’t going to give in this easy.’

  But the mask had already disappeared.

  In its place was another face and it swamped Gobbler’s in shadow: a bull neck with folds of gristly skin bunching at the back; a face spiderwebbed with scars, like a pane of shattered glass; a cruel, flattened nose between two mangled ears. Brunt rubbed his hands together; they were strong hands, the type that might bend iron. He looked at Alfie.

  ‘Rip a piece off her dress, Alfie, then bring it up,’ he snarled.

  ‘And then will you let me out?’

  Brunt cracked his knuckles and glowered down. ‘Pass it up – and quick about it.’

  Alfie was silent for a second, his eyes burning. Then he knelt close by Moll and tore her dress. He scrambled up the soil steps and passed the scrap through the grate.

  Brunt shot his hand through the bars and seized Alfie by the collar. ‘You better start being more sly with cobs and little girls, young man, or things aren’t going to work out nice for you. No more mess-ups. Understand?’

  Alfie mumbled something under his breath and Brunt flung him back down the steps.

  ‘We need that wildcat of yours, girl,’ Brunt grunted at Moll. ‘And when the light’s up you’re going to show us where to find him.’

  Moll sunk her body deeper into the pit, leaving only her voice behind. ‘I won’t ever give him up.’

  Brunt raised a clenched fist. ‘Oh, you’ll give him up all right – along with your name. And if you don’t talk we’ll force it out of you. That’s a promise. And I’m not one for breaking promises.’

  The chains clanked against the cart again; Brunt and Gobbler sloped away.

  ‘They’ll track anyone I want?’ Skull’s voice twisted together with the snarls from the cart.

  Brunt laughed. ‘They’re baying for blood; they’ll trace anything. That girl down there isn’t going nowhere, Skull.’

  ‘Give them the scrap of her dress then,’ Skull hissed. ‘I want them to learn her scent so she never gets away.’

  For a split second, there was silence. And then a cacophony of noise: pounding feet, desperate scratching, snarling bites. It sounded as though the animals were tearing the scrap of clothing to shreds. And then it came. It was low at first, low and braying, but then it rose – louder and more chilling – and suddenly the night air was filled with the blood-curdling howls of Skull’s hounds.


  Moll’s body tingled with fear, but she shook herself and scowled in Alfie’s direction. ‘You gave him a scrap from my dress! How’s that going to help us escape then?’

  ‘Shut up and trust me,’ Alfie growled back.

  Moll seethed silently, her dark hair wild around her face like a lion’s mane.

  ‘Look, all I’m saying is that we have to use cunning to get us out of this. We have to go along with them – make them think we’re helpless – then take a chance and run.’

  But Moll wasn’t listening. She was scrambling over the bones and feeling her way up the steps, craning her neck towards the opening. It wasn’t just the hounds howling above them now. There were other noises too. Voices. And Moll would recognise those voices anywhere.

  ‘It’s Oak,’ she whispered. ‘He’s come for me!’

  Alfie leant back against the wall of the pit and shook his head.

  Up above, the voices became words – so comforting and strong that Moll felt she could almost touch them. Oak sounded some way away, but he was shouting.

  ‘Give her up, Skull! You’ve no right to take her!’

  ‘I’m here, Oak! Here!’ Moll yelled through the bars of the grate.

  There were a few laughs and guffaws from directly above the entrance.

  Oak was still shouting: ‘I’ve got all my men here, Skull! We’ve come to take her back!’

  Moll clapped a hand over her mouth as she thought of Skull’s words: We need her full name to work the curse when the time comes. ‘Oak, no! Don’t say my name. Keep my name safe!’ she cried.

  ‘Up on to the cobs, boys. Then set the hounds on them,’ Skull’s voice spat from above. ‘Let’s see what they can do.’

  Moll cowered beneath the bars as the chains clanked against the cart sides, then fell to the ground. The death-like cries of the hounds wailed through the Deepwood and she listened in horror as Gobbler, Skull and his boys’ cobs rode out of the clearing with them. Moll pushed against the bars of the grate, shouldering into it and pummelling it with her feet. She could hear Oak, urging his men away. And then—

  ‘Argh!’ One of Oak’s men was crying out in pain. Moll’s mind raced. Was that Jesse, Siddy’s pa?

  The hooves faded into the distance until once again there was a wall of silence.

  Anger rushed through Moll, burning up her veins, pounding in her head. She hurried down the steps and stood upright in the middle of the pit as tall as she could. And then she screamed. She screamed for Oak and Mooshie, for Siddy and Gryff, for her parents, for everyone she knew. She screamed and screamed until her eyes became saucers and she was blue in the face. The last of the scream wriggled out of her, bursting from her mouth, leaving her gasping for breath.

  And then there was silence.

  ‘Afeared now?’ Alfie asked.

  Moll spat. ‘No. I had a scream stuck inside of me – practically bursting through my skin, it was – so I got it out.’

  But Moll was scared. She was terrified. And her palms were tickling with sweat. Alfie lit another match and glared at Moll. She held his gaze, recognising the challenge, her face a mixture of intense concentration and absolute fury.

  Alfie squinted at her. ‘What you doing now?’

  ‘Rummaging through my mind for a plan.’

  Alfie scoffed, then turned away.

  ‘What will happen to Oak and everyone?’ Moll muttered. ‘What will the hounds do to them?’

  Alfie shrugged. ‘Oak rides fast; I’ve seen him in the forest before.’

  Moll blinked back fear. ‘But those hounds – you heard them. They’re monsters; no hounds shriek like that. They—’

  Moll’s words stopped short.

  Something was scratching the soil away beside the grate.

  Moll’s spirits leapt as she made out the green eyes glinting in the darkness. ‘You came for me,’ she gasped, rushing up the steps.

  She gripped the metals bars of the grate tight and Gryff brushed his head against her hands. Again his touch – so warm and strong. Alfie watched, wide-eyed, from the bottom of the pit.

  Earth sprayed up behind the wildcat as his claws raked through the soil, burrowing closer and closer to Moll. He drew back, panting hard, his chest heaving. Alfie tensed. The animal was wild; it might slip into the pit and attack. He shuffled backwards. But Moll was smiling. There was a hole, and it was big enough for her to crawl through.

  ‘You won’t get past Skull’s clearing,’ Alfie muttered uneasily as he realised the hole wasn’t big enough for him.

  ‘Try me.’

  Alfie held the roll of leather into the light of his match. ‘Don’t you want to find the amulets?’

  Forces far bigger than Moll could understand tugged hard inside her. She looked from the leather to Alfie and then up to Gryff. She lunged at Alfie, but he drew out his knife.

  ‘Stay and I’ll give you the roll of leather,’ he growled. ‘You won’t escape Skull without my help.’

  Moll’s eyes grew dark, then she turned and scrambled up out of the hole.

  Alfie watched in surprise. Who was this girl who charged headlong into danger, again and again and again? ‘You’ll be back,’ he called. ‘You’ve no idea what’s out there!’

  Moll found herself grabbing Gryff and clutching him tight, then they ran across the clearing and into the trees.

  She hadn’t gone more than a few steps before she felt them, squeezing out of the crippled trees like vapours of the night. Moll hadn’t been imagining them when they’d crossed the river. These shadows were real. They floated towards Moll and Gryff, faceless and black, moaning like funnelled wind.

  Moll closed her eyes and ran blindly on. But, as her fear swelled, the shadows grew, looming over her like bottomless caves. Moll clenched her fists. The shadows were slipping in between her and Gryff, forcing them apart. She reached out desperate arms, but the shadows grew larger between the two fugitives, driving them further away until Moll could no longer see Gryff and once more he’d vanished into the trees.

  The shadows were all around Moll now and she skidded to a terrified halt. She felt the weight of their darkness pressing down on her chest. And she knew what they wanted. Cool fingers slipped down her throat, plucking at her trembling voice.

  Your name, they moaned. Give us your name.

  Moll doubled over, closing her mind to the shadows. But the darkness inside her was too much and she sank to her knees, alone again – and terrified.

  Moll glared across the cage at Alfie. It was the same one she and Gryff had spotted the night they’d rescued Jinx, only now it was strung up by rope, like some kind of giant metal claw, from the tallest tree in Skull’s clearing – and she and Alfie were locked inside it.

  It was dawn now and light trickled through the trees, shaping the branches into crooked silhouettes. Skull’s boys and the hounds were still gone, and there was no sign of Gryff. But Skull and Gobbler were back, muttering together inside Skull’s black wagon while a pan of sausages cooked over the fire in the middle of the clearing. Moll’s mouth watered.

  ‘First a pit then a cage,’ Alfie spat. ‘Were you this much trouble in your camp?’

  Moll was, so she didn’t bother answering.

  The cage was huge and domed, large enough to stand up in and pace around, and the bones that had previously lined the floor had been hurled into the clearing below. Moll eyed the enormous padlock with disgust. Her throat was dry and, when she swallowed, it felt like the roof of her mouth had been rubbed raw.

  ‘Did they get my name?’ she mumbled. ‘Did I give it up?’

  Alfie shook his head. ‘Somehow you held on to it – even though Skull and Gobbler turned back from the hounds and dragged us up here.’

  Moll thought she could detect a trace of surprise, almost respect, in Alfie’s voice, but he was glowering at her now so it was hard to be sure.

  ‘What – what were those shadow things?’

  ‘Vapours,’ Alfie said. ‘Skull conjures them when he wants to guard his clearing.
He says they’re made from the broken hearts of witches – and they feed on fear.’

  ‘How do you ever get past them when you sneak over to our camp?’

  ‘By being brave.’

  ‘Oh.’ Moll paused. ‘And is that how we’ll get past them then?’

  Alfie nodded. ‘That – and by you listening to me, Blip.’

  Moll frowned. ‘Who’s Blip?’

  ‘You. Means a small mistake – and that’s what you are. It’ll do while I don’t know your name.’ He let his head fall back against the bars. ‘You mucked up, Blip.’

  ‘I got us out of the pit,’ Moll muttered.

  ‘No. You got us into a cage. And I had a way out of the pit, only you didn’t stick around long enough to learn it.’ He looked away. ‘Took me ages, but I tunnelled through the soil with my hands and penknife when Skull locked me down there before. I covered it up though – added the loose soil to the sides of the pit.’

  Moll’s eyes widened.

  Alfie went on. ‘The camp don’t realise the pit’s been changing shape. Not like they spend any time down there . . . Looked just like ordinary soil – only the patch I dug was soft and, once you dragged out the loose stuff, you got to my tunnel.’ He shot Moll a withering look. ‘And it was big enough to crawl through.’

  Moll bit her lip. ‘Must’ve taken ages. How long were you down there?’

  Alfie fiddled with his tattered waistcoat. ‘Long enough. Not that it matters now.’

  Moll wondered about mumbling an apology, then she remembered how much she hated Alfie and looked down at the clearing. Gobbler stalked towards the fire to collect the sausages, then he stole back inside Skull’s wagon.

  Alfie took the roll of leather from his pocket. ‘Now the light’s up we need to read this fast.’

  Again Moll saw her initials burned into the outside of the leather, but what unnerved her most was the wording below: From the Maiden. Again. She turned cold inside. Why were her pa’s bone reading and the leather roll so bent on sending her into the hands of someone who might well be a bone-grinding lunatic? She glanced at the seal on the leather; it was black, like an imprint of the night. Moll steeled herself. She wouldn’t allow fear to snatch back her plan of finding the amulets and avenging her parents. She turned to Alfie, her eyes narrowed. ‘Where d’you find this anyway?’