by Lyn Gardner
Into the Woods
At that moment a she-wolf slunk from behind a tree. For a split second Storm looked at the wolf and the wolf looked at Storm. Storm thought Danger and the wolf thought Dinner. Then the wolf looked at Storm’s sisters and thought Pudding.
That was the beast’s fatal mistake, for it was in that instant that Storm yelled for them to climb the nearest tree, while she reached into her pocket and started pelting the wolf with rock cakes. The animal hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to give chase to dessert or stick with the entrée. Then, realizing that she was in danger of losing both courses, she gave a snarl of rage and propelled herself towards Storm’s throat.
for Ros Asquith
Contents
1 The Piper Returns
2 A Beginning and an End
3 The Three Almost Orphans
4 The Boy with the Emerald Eye
5 Into the Woods
6 Danger! Wolves!
7 A House Made from Sweets
8 The Extremely Big Oven
9 A Meeting with Hansel
10 Across the Frozen River
11 The Strangely Silent Village
12 A Game of Bones
13 Dinner at Truelove Cottage
14 A Stroll Up Hell Lane
15 Jelly Babies of Doom
16 The Icy Ice-Field of Certain Death
17 Down a Deep, Dark Hole
18 The Piper Under the Mountain
19 An Impossible Contest, a Trickier Choice
20 Little Red Firework Maker
21 An Unfortunate Pinprick
22 Hunt the Witch! Burn the Witch!
23 An End and a Beginning
The Piper Returns
Storm Eden was forbidden to put a foot outside the high walls that surrounded the park at Eden End. Her older sister, Aurora, had made that quite clear after Storm’s last escapade, which had ended badly, with two lost shoes, one black eye and a bump the size of a robin’s egg on her head. On no account was Storm to leave the park and go into the woods, except in an emergency.
‘What sort of emergency?’ Storm had asked.
‘Only a direst emergency. Nothing less than imminent death,’ Aurora had replied darkly, a dangerous glint in her eye.
So, once upon a time, here and there, now and then, Storm Eden stood disconsolately under an oak tree in the park, looking up at a cloudless sky. It was not yet noon, and the day rolled out endlessly in front of her like a piece of carpet with nothing on it. And if an empty day didn’t count as an emergency, Storm wasn’t sure what did. Aurora had mentioned death, and Storm felt quite certain that she would die of boredom if she didn’t find something fun to do. Surely even her sister would understand that? Or perhaps not. But then, Aurora need never know.
Storm was sure that her sister would either be busy demonstrating her unnatural talent for housework, by rearranging the linen cupboard for the second time that week, or perfecting her recipe for chocolate madeleines in the kitchen. And she was certain nobody else would miss her. Her mother, who hardly seemed to notice Storm’s existence at the best of times, would be having a pre-lunch nap, and her father would be in his study planning an expedition in search of the legendary fourtongued, three-footed, two-headed honey dragon which was reputed to be at least one hundred metres long and have the sunniest disposition of any member of the lizard family.
Storm felt restless and hungry for something, although she didn’t think it was for food. She had a round of cucumber and watercress sandwiches, a hard-boiled brown speckled egg, laid by an unreliable hen called Desdemona, and a flask filled with raspberry juice in her pockets. And she had the whole day before her.
Storm ran across the park to a place where one of the gnarled oak trees nestled close to the high walls, clambered up the trunk with the ease of a monkey, shimmied along the nearest branch that overhung the wall, took a quick glance back towards the ramshackle old house with its winking windows, lopsided chimneys and single turret to check she was unseen, and dropped to the ground on the other side.
Rooks rose from the treetops, their icy cries cutting the stillness. Storm realized she had forgotten her shoes. She shrugged and scrambled to her feet, oblivious to muddied knees and a tear in her skirt. The woods waited: mysterious, watchful and alluring. The whisper and rustle of branches in the wind sounded to Storm as if the trees were calling out to her. She took a few steps into their shadows and the thorns of a briar latched onto her arm, like sharp grasping fingers, urging her onwards into the enticing darkness of the forest.
It was then that she remembered a story Aurora was fond of telling – a story which she claimed was completely true and had happened in these very same woods. It was about a woodcutter’s daughter, who many centuries ago had disobeyed her mother’s orders, strayed off the path in the woods and been eaten by a wolf. Aurora always concluded the story by wagging her finger at Storm and saying, ‘So heed my words, stay close to home where you are safe, and don’t wander into the woods.’ Storm would listen and then retort, ‘Well, if I met a wolf, I’d gobble him up in a single gulp. Wolves don’t scare me,’ and Aurora would shake her head mournfully at her sister’s boldness and reply, ‘You’ll come to a bad end, Storm Eden. Just like the woodcutter’s daughter.’
Storm turned her back reluctantly on the forest and, skirting the very edge, set off through a copse of saplings. After a couple of miles she hit a small lane, down which a hay wagon was rumbling noisily. Hurrying after it, she hitched herself a lift on the back and made herself a nest in the spiky grass that smelled of earth and molasses, next to two dozen jars of lavender honey and three churns of milk. Lying back in contentment, she scoffed a sandwich, and soon the jolting of the moving vehicle, the heat and the drowsy hum of bees in the hedgerows sent her to sleep. She didn’t know how long she dozed, but she woke with a start to the sound of surprised voices.
‘Look ‘ere, ‘Arry, you’ve got a skulker in the back taking you for a free ride. You oughta demand payment from the little minx.’
Still befuddled by sleep, Storm saw rough, hairy arms coming towards her. Struggling this way and that, so she was slippery as an eel, she slithered from their grasp, and scooted across the cobbled street and through the market stalls beyond, upsetting a display of cheese, and sending a barrel of wormy apples tumbling over. She heard angry shouts and curses behind her, but she didn’t stop. She bolted away from the market square, skidded past the rusty railings of a derelict church, dashed through its graveyard, thick with nettles, and crossed the waste ground beyond. Soon she was lost in a maze of narrow streets with unwelcoming names such as Damnation Alley, Desolation Lane and Rat Trap Wynd. The streets were edged with identical houses with mean little windows and doors like pinched mouths.
Storm ran through Bleeding Heart Mews and into Drowned Man’s Alley and found herself by a dark, oily river. Fog curled around her. Exhausted, she collapsed on a low wall behind a lidless dustbin and leaped up again in fright as two huge rats, the size of small dogs, emerged from the bin, eyed her defiantly and then streaked off. Storm’s throat felt as if it was on fire and her head was muzzy. She heard a distant clock strike three. She was surprised that it was only mid-afternoon – it seemed much later. Here in the town there was no sign of the sun that shone so brightly on Eden End. Instead, the air was heavy with soot from the belching factories, and the street lamps, already lit despite the early hour, were blotches in the smog that ate up the sky.
Storm finally realized where she was: Piper’s Town. She had been here once before with Aurora and her father. He had been in search of supplies for one of his expeditions and had taken them to a dark little shop in Angel Court, just off Butchery Lane. Storm remembered studying one of the old maps displayed on its walls, her grubby finger followin
g the winding road that straggled southwest from the mountains and Eden End until it rested over the smudge that was the town. Until then, Storm had thought her home was the centre of the universe, but the map showed it as a tiny dot compared with the town, the sea that lay further to the south, and those immense mountains.
Just thinking about the mountains made Storm tingly. Aurora had told her about them during a geography lesson that had been uncharacteristically thrilling. (Aurora’s geography teaching seldom extended beyond the imports and exports of dull, faraway countries of which Storm had never heard.) Apparently the mountains were mysterious and savage places – full of terrible dangers – which all sensible people avoided. Storm had decided these must be the same sensible people who would obey Aurora’s exhortations not to stray outside Eden End. But, as far as she was concerned, danger equalled excitement, and Aurora’s warnings only made Storm more determined to visit the mountains one day.
But that was an adventure that would have to wait. Right now, Storm was a very long way from home, and she supposed that she had better start the journey back. If only she hadn’t slept for so long on the hay-cart! She decided to turn back towards the market square, hoping she’d be able to hitch another ride. If not, well, she had two legs and she would just have to walk – even if that meant arriving back at Eden End long past bedtime and getting scolded by Aurora. Her sister would probably punish her with housework and double spelling for the rest of the week. Storm pulled a face. She could already hear Aurora’s reply to her apology for being so late. ‘I don’t like it when you’re sorry, Storm Eden. You’ve always done more than you’re sorry for.’ Then, like so many times before, she would probably make Storm turn out her pockets and give up her treasures, which might include
a file for sawing through prison bars and, on one infamous occasion, a field mouse with a damaged leg which, despite its injury, had jumped onto the kitchen floor, making Aurora scream and leap onto a chair.
Storm was still grinning at that memory when a coal-black hearse drawn by four dark horses, their heads encircled by inky plumes of feathers, careered round a corner and almost knocked her over. Scrambling out of the way, Storm stared after the sinister vehicle, wondering what a hearse was doing travelling at such speed. But as it passed through the square up ahead, none of the stallholders appeared to be concerned. It had begun to drizzle and they were far too busy packing up their wares to gawp at hearses, or help young girls in need of lifts. Storm looked about hopefully, but all she saw was several plump rats feeding on the scraps under the stalls, and underfed urchins throwing stones at them.
Storm wasn’t interested in rats or small murderous boys, and was just about to head for the long road back to Eden End when she heard a bell and a crier calling, and spotted a tide of people walking towards an ancient wood-beamed building that she guessed was the town hall. Officials in scarlet uniforms that had long seen better days were pushing the crowd aside to make way for the aldermen. Curious to find out what was going on, Storm joined the throng as they pushed their way up narrow stairs and into a gallery that overlooked the meeting chamber. Crouching down, she squirmed her way through several pairs of legs until she had a good view of the chamber below. A thin, beautiful boy with the most extraordinary eyes – one warm emerald, the other ice-blue – patted the bench beside him and squeezed up to make room for her.
‘Sit with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after you.’
‘I can look after myself very well, thank you,’ said Storm firmly, and she leaned over the gallery and pointedly ignored him.
The panelled meeting chamber was packed. The gallery was buzzing, but the aldermen were sunk in gloomy silence. After a few moments, Alderman Snufflebottom, a burly, selfimportant man with a handlebar moustache, who Storm thought bore a close resemblance to a hairy plumped-up raisin, knocked on the table with his gavel and cleared his throat.
‘Gentlemen, you are all aware of the reasons for this emergency sitting of the council. The situation is grave, very grave. If we do not act quickly we will have nothing left to save. Despite our best efforts, we have been overrun. The grain store has been ravaged, food supplies are already short, and if the winter is long and hard again, many people will starve. We may wish that we had other options, but we have no choice, gentlemen, no choice at all. We are outnumbered and overwhelmed. We must bring in outside help to deal with the problem without delay.’
The members of the town council looked at each other uneasily and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. At that moment, as if on cue, several huge rats ran across the council chamber floor, leaped onto the table without any sign of fear and began chewing the pencil and order papers of the council secretary. Alderman Snufflebottom surveyed the rats, an expression on his face that Storm found hard to place. Then she realized when she had last seen that look – it was on the face of Tabitha, her favourite of the many wild cats which made Eden End their home, on the day the mother cat had succeeded in pushing over the milk churn so that she and her kittens could help themselves to its creamy contents. Yes, thought Storm, the expression on Alderman Snufflebottom’s face was one of pure satisfaction.
‘We will vote, gentleman, please, without delay. Everyone in favour please raise their hands.’
‘Wait.’
All eyes turned to the public gallery. The crowd parted to reveal a tall, pale young woman. She moved to the front of the gallery and spoke calmly, her penetrating silvergrey eyes fixed on the councillors.
‘Do none of you remember what happened last time we invited an exterminator into our midst? Is memory so short? Have we learned nothing from the past?’
The members of the council looked uncomfortably at each other. They remembered all too well.
Alderman Snufflebottom peered at the young woman.‘Netta Truelove, isn’t it? I understand your concerns, my dear, we all do,’ he began patronizingly. ‘But I assure you there is nothing else to be done. Do you want to go hungry when winter comes? Do you want babies to have their faces gnawed by rats? There have already been stories – mere rumours, of course, nothing confirmed – of tragic incidents in the poorer parts of town. Rats have also been sighted in some of the outlying villages. And of course’ – he gave a smug little laugh – ‘we have no intention of defaulting on the payment this time around. Have no fear, my dear, we will employ the exterminator for this one job, we will pay him the rate for the job, and then he will go and leave our little town in peace. I assure you, we will make quite certain of that.’
A ripple of applause passed around the gallery, but the boy next to Storm almost imperceptibly shook his head.
‘How can you be so sure?’ began the young woman gravely, her steely eyes sparkling with passion.‘You all know the legends about the piper’s return as well as I do. Invite the dirty to do your dirty work for you and you risk—’
But a gesture from Alderman Snufflebottom had sent two scarlet-clad officials to Netta Truelove’s side. They glared at her menacingly.
The young woman sat down shaking her head, squeezing onto the small bench next to Storm, so that Storm was squashed up against the boy with the curious mismatched eyes. Storm smiled shyly at Netta and she returned the smile.
‘Now, gentlemen, all those in favour …’ The councillors looked miserably at each other and then reluctantly they all raised their hands. Alderman Snufflebottom smiled another smug smile. ‘Unanimous, I believe.’ He turned to the council secretary, who was unsuccessfully attempting to rescue his last remaining papers from the ravenous rats.
‘Ask Dr DeWilde, the exterminator, to step this way.’
The council secretary hurried across the chamber and pulled on the heavy oak doors. They swung slowly open, and as they did so a shaft of dazzling sunlight burst through the sooty sky, hit the high chamber window and created a pool of brightness like a spotlight in a theatre. Illuminated in it was a tall, thin, undeniably commanding man, with a livid scar running down his smooth left cheek. The man’s cold, glittering eyes flicked ar
ound the room from beneath hooded lids and no one could meet his devouring gaze.
His face, thought Storm, would have been handsome but it was marred by the cruelty that lurked behind his eyes and the malice that played around his lips. Even so, he had a brooding presence and power and, like everyone else in the chamber, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
He was flanked by six slavering wolves.
There was an audible gasp from the public gallery and Storm felt a stab of fear in her stomach at the sight of the mean, muscled animals that she’d only previously seen in picture books.
There was a flash of lightning followed by an ominous roll of thunder. The man clicked his fingers and the wolves leaped forward – their jaws snapping closed around several of the rats. The council members broke into murmurs of apprehension. Someone screamed, and a woman at the back of the gallery fainted. The tall thin man cracked a mirthless smile and gave a high whistle. The wolves bounded back to his feet and lay there panting, crunching what was left of the rats between their massive jaws. The sound of teeth on bone could be heard quite clearly. A dribble of crimson blood ran down the chin of one wolf. Some of the council members shuddered and averted their gaze. A child in the crowd began to whimper.
‘Ah, Dr DeWilde,’ said Alderman Snufflebottom nervously, with a little fawning bow. ‘Do come in.’
Dr DeWilde swept in, ignoring the alderman’s outstretched hand, and strode forcefully into the centre of the chamber as if he owned it. Apart from a pied waistcoat in shades of blood, he was dressed sombrely in black, as if just returning from a funeral or shortly expecting to be summoned to one. Under his arm he carried an elegant black cane. The crowd watched, completely rapt, as if mesmerized by his presence.
There was another flash of lightning. Up in the public gallery there was a commotion as Netta Truelove stood up. Dr DeWilde looked upwards and, for a split second, his piercing glance met Storm’s. She felt as if his eyes were boring into her, as if he recognized her and was trying to see right inside her soul. She gave an involuntary little shiver, and with an effort dragged her eyes from his hypnotic gaze.