Pip and the Wood Witch Curse (6 page)

BOOK: Pip and the Wood Witch Curse
11.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

He handed the scope to Toad and watched him push his chubby face into the viewer.

“Why do they call you Toad?” asked Pip.

“Father says if the wood witches ever caught me, that’s what they’d turn me into,” Toad explained. He looked round at Pip and laughed.

Pip couldn’t find it in him to find it amusing just yet. He was still growing used to the idea that the forest creatures existed at all and that he would have to hide for as long as he was here. It felt like a pointless existence.

“Did Father tell you about the Dupries?” asked Toad, who was now wearing a serious expression.

“No.”

“Jean Duprie is a friend of my father, a baker in the city. He used to supply us with bread. His house was turned over by the authorities in the night and two of their children were discovered. The house was boarded up and now the children and their parents are held captive.”

“What will happen to them?” asked Pip.

“Prison,” said Toad. “Concealing children is the worst of crimes here. Children encourage wood creatures into the city. It makes the place unsafe, so they are held in the city prisons until they are older. But they have no right to do that to a family. They are as bad as the beasts in the woods. But there’s more to tell you,” he continued.

Pip waited, not wanting to bump him off his stride. “Go on,” he urged.

“My father knows Jean Duprie very well, well enough to know that he had three children, not two. We fear that his youngest daughter is somewhere in the city, hiding alone. She will not survive for long on her own. We must find her, Pip, without Father knowing that we are leaving the tavern. I need your help.”

It grew cold again and flurries of snow drifted down at intervals. But excitement boiled in the freezing depths of the woods. Word was passing quickly, from beak to lip, from lip to snout. There had been no sign of a child for such a long time that the sighting had stirred the forest dwellers into a frenzy. So much so that the Stone Circle was called.

In the very heart of the forest sat the ancient remains of a building. Here and there crumbling archways still stood. Moss and lichen lay thick beneath the snow, and thorns and long tendrils pulled at the stonework, almost as if dragging it back into the earth below.

And right here, in the center of the ruin, was the home of the Stone Circle. As the old saying went:

Whosoever comes to the circle must bring rock or stone and place it in the ground. A full circle of stones represents the strength of union in the forest.

Cloudy wisps of frosted fog swirled and drifted around the clearing. The first arrival held a rock in both hands. She kissed it for good luck and placed it in the soft snow. Another followed and for a moment they stood alone in the darkness watching the moonlight. Then the others came. The small yellow eyes of the wolves pricked through the black curtain of night. The crows followed, descending from above, dusting the snow from the higher branches as they came. Then witches, scratching their way down the trunks from their high perches and emerging from the hollows on all fours like scrabbling insects.

Something padded through the snow. Rolling and rumbling followed, and torchlight sang through the mist. First a black mare, then the pumpkin carriage, then down from his perch stepped the man with the hooked hand and the wolfskin cloak. He entered the circle and took a small pebble from his pocket with his good hand. He polished it against his filthy cloak and placed it down neatly.

A bark demon was clamped on to the back of the pumpkin with its cloak trailing over the wheels. It climbed down, grabbing the torch as it came, crawling awkwardly, bent double. On two legs and one hand it passed across the clearing with the flame held over its head.

A wood witch followed. She wore a skull cap and was wrapped in so much rag and old cloth that only her sunken eyes could be seen. She dragged a small two-wheeled cart whose tracks gave away her winding path from the densest part of the forest.

She pulled a pile of kindling wood from the cart and placed it neatly in the middle of the circle, using the torch to light the fire. For a while there was no sound except the crack and spit of blistering twigs and branches.

Roach came last to the circle. He was long and loose-limbed like Jarvis, but their similarities ended there. He had a second pair of arms positioned under the first so that he appeared not unlike an upright insect. The hands of the second pair swung below his knees and almost reached the forest floor. His long forehead and sharp chin made him frightening for sure, but he was somehow awkward. He used a stick to walk, yet he was swift and skillful in his movement, lightning fast.

He was accompanied by Fenris, leader of the wolf pack. Fenris ambled up to his side and Roach stroked the nape of his neck gently. The wolf’s eyes glowed like fireflies, catching the reflection from the yellow moon. Roach took his stone out from his top pocket, passing it from an upper arm to a lower arm so that he could place it without bending his knees.

Hogwick leaned forward, resting on her stick with both hands.

“Creatures of the forest, I bring news. In these last few days my companion Silas has discovered signs of children. Fresh signs. Trails in the snow. We came close to catching a youngster,” she claimed, dressing up her tale, “but harsh weather impeded the hunt. Once again Silas brings hope to the Spindlewood. It is too long since we captured one, but the young still move through the city. Persistence will bring triumph. Use your companions well, they are your eyes and ears.”

All of them looked at Silas. Many of the birds stirred with jealousy, and the wolves were determined to succeed in the search for young life.

“There is at least one child that we know of. The Duprie house has been turned over, but one young girl escaped into the city when the authorities failed to find her. Silas brought this news also,” she announced proudly.

Jarvis raised one eyebrow at Esther, perched on his shoulder. She ruffled her feathers and ignored his glare.

“The hunt is on. Go now,” called Hogwick, “and return with good news. We are all waiting.”

A hooded figure appeared at the tavern doorway, shaking his cloak and kicking snow from his boots. He ordered ale with his head held low and was careful to conceal one hand. He asked for food and sat quietly in a fireside corner where a candle had been melted into the grain of the tabletop. A ripple of hush and whisper ran around the tavern and sly looks fell his way.

Pip and Toad watched in secrecy from the cellar stairs. Toad whispered to Pip, “He’s here, the one I told you about. That’s him. Let’s go.” They shrank back into the shadow and crept down the stone steps.

Sam knew it was old Jarvis but there was little he could say or do. He knew he’d be listening for information, hoping the locals might forget themselves and spill a secret here and there when the drinks had gotten the better of them.

In some ways Sam saw it as an opportunity. He was keen to show that everything was as it should be at the tavern. It was plain to see there were no children here!

Jarvis kept an eye on Sam and in return, Sam did the same. In truth, no one trusted Jarvis. He was a traitor. The authorities employed him to seek out children for imprisonment but, disgruntled at his meager wages and fueled by his hatred of the young, he was determined to pass them on to the forest folk. And how did the forest folk pay him? They went in search of what they knew he desired more than anything—money. They raided houses at night, ransacked shops in the dark hours, ambushed market traders if they made their way home late at night. And so things grew worse, all because of Mister Jarvis: the man who had secretly spent so much time double-dealing with the creatures of the forest that he had almost become one himself.

Right now he was keeping warm at the fire. He nursed a tankard of ale and in the flickering shadows he used his hook to spear the food on his plate. Esther stepped out from under his cloak and they whispered under the cracking and spitting of the burning logs.

Unbeknownst to Jarvis and his crow, Pip and Toad were positioned beneath them in the cellar. A hole in the floorboards revealed the underside of Jarvis’s leather boot. They listened carefully.

BOOK: Pip and the Wood Witch Curse
11.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

One of Ours by Willa Cather
A Trade For Good by Bria Daly
Love at High Tide by Christi Barth