The Dreamsnatcher (12 page)

‘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.

M
oll’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.

M
oll 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?’

‘Tucked inside one of the oaks I was hiding behind when Gobbler and me came for you at your camp. Didn’t think much of it until I saw the bones inside your talisman.’

Alfie unrolled the leather while Moll scowled beside him. The inside was covered with black words and each one had been burned into the leather. Moll tensed. This was something that belonged to
her
and Alfie had no right to it. She swiped for it but Alfie held it close.

‘Read it to me,’ he said sternly.

Moll glared at him, then looked down at the burnt lettering. She was silent for a few seconds, and then, very quietly, she said, ‘You can tell a lot about a person from their
handwriting.’

‘Load of old squiggles to me,’ Alfie muttered.

Moll shook her head. ‘Mooshie says writing’s like a clue to what a person’s like. Big bends in the g, f, j and q mean a person’s greedy; small loops in the a, d, e and o
mean a person’s tight-fisted . . .’ She was fighting for time, trying her best to read the words in her head while blabbing away to Alfie.

Alfie shoved her in the back. ‘Just get on and read it, will you?’

Moll arched her eyebrows. Just a little longer. ‘Those wispy dashes across the t and f there mean this person’s clever-thinking.’

‘Look,’ Alfie growled, ‘we’ve got to read this and get out of here. We don’t have time for this.’

Moll’s mind was racing. Suppose this was a message only
she
was meant to see? But she
needed
Alfie; he was her only way out and for now she had to trust him. She took a deep
breath. ‘It’s a poem,’ she said slowly. Then she started to read aloud:

Moll scanned the words again. The dew, the hill, the maiden. It was all there, just as her pa’s bone reading had said. And this maiden, whoever she was, was calling for
‘the child to appear’. It had to be about her.

Alfie looked at Moll, wide-eyed. ‘This maiden’s living out in a hovel on the heath, among the heather and the gorse! And that child is you. She’s waiting for
you
,
isn’t she? She left a poem that links with your bone reading so as you’d find it and seek her out!’

Moll’s face paled. She had to tell Alfie. ‘Hard-Times Bob, one of the Elders in our camp, used to tell us stories about a maiden out on the heath who gnawed on children’s
bones.’

Alfie smirked. ‘And you believed him!’

Moll was silent for a second, then she waved her hand airily. ‘Course not,’ she scoffed. ‘I kept telling my pal, Siddy, that there was no such person.’ But shivers were
crawling down Moll’s back now. The poem and the bone reading were telling her to walk straight into the hands of the maiden she’d grown up fearing. Moll thought of Siddy and wished he
was with her; he’d have said something to chase away the fear. She thought of him struggling against his ropes by the river. Surely the camp would have found him by now?

Alfie looked back at the roll of leather. ‘You think this maiden knows where the amulets are hidden?’ he asked.

Moll tried to pull herself together. ‘Perhaps.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never been out to the heath. How far is it?’

‘South from here for about two miles. It’s just past the edge of the Deepwood.’

Moll squinted at the poem, then she blinked several times. She peered closer. She could have
sworn
that some of the letters looked different somehow – just for a second – as
if perhaps there was another message hidden inside the poem. She frowned at the leather, but the poem stared blankly back, every letter just the same as before.

Alfie hadn’t noticed and he turned to Moll. ‘Who in their right mind would live in a hovel out on the heath?’

A bone-chewing psychopath, that’s who
, Moll thought. But she said nothing.

Alfie shrugged. ‘I suppose it doesn’t really matter who this maiden is. We’ve just got to trust the poem and follow it.’

Moll was silent for several seconds. ‘What if it’s a trap?’

‘But there are the bones I found in your talisman:
Dew Hill Maiden
. Who read them? Because it’s all there in your poem.’

Moll shifted her weight. ‘My pa. He was the Guardian of the Oracle Bones.’ Her jaw stiffened. ‘Along with my ma before Skull killed them.’