Pip and the Twilight Seekers (12 page)

“Dis way, Misser Jarvis.”

It pushed open the keep door and they moved on. The little fellow peered into the carriage as they passed. He held his lantern aloft as he gazed inside.

“Why you don’t got nuffink in der, Misser Jarvis?”

Pip pretended he hadn’t heard the gatekeeper and carried on moving.

“Jus you tells Bodkin when you’s ready to come out, Misser Jarvis, sir,” said the strange little man, and he handed over his burning torch to what he thought was the city warden.

“Anyfink else you wants, Misser Jarvis, you jus calls Bodkin.”

“Bodkin!” exclaimed Toad quietly beneath his cloak. “Strange name for a … whatever it was!”

“Shhh,” urged Frankie.

In they went, the carriage rolling slowly over the undulations of the root-bound earth, and as they passed into the cave the faces of small children began to show around them. They scattered into the corners like rabbits frightened by the sight of foxes. Whenever Jarvis returned, they knew they should hide. Most of them had felt the tip of his shiny hook at some point and some had scars to prove it. He would not hesitate to lash out if he felt the need.

They pulled the cloak away and revealed themselves. “It’s all right, it’s me, Toad from the tavern.”

“And Pip,” said Pip.

“And Frankie Duprie, from the bakery.”

“Mister Jarvis isn’t here. He’s locked up in the city prison. We came in disguise. The woodsfolk thought we were him,” explained Toad in a loud whisper. “We come to get you out. We need you.”

To begin with there was no response, but then slowly the children emerged from their holes. First their faces appeared, the lantern light reflecting in their pupils. Then their bedraggled figures materialized, their clothes tattered and worn and their bodies bony and wasted.

“They’ll be hungry. I never thought to bring food,” said Pip.

“I’ve got bread,” said Frankie, taking a parcel from her apron pocket, “I’ve always got bread. You should know that.” She smiled and then she handed it among the children. They pinched it from her and scuttled back as if still frightened.

Pip held the lantern to them so that Toad might know some of their faces. There were some he knew and some he didn’t. Young McCreedy, the Brice boy, the Carraway twins. Mrs. Malvern’s daughters. They must have been here for some time. They looked different—older, definitely, and taller. He counted the children. There were twelve. It would be a squeeze to get them in the carriage and they would have to endure the onlookers peering in. It would look suspicious, taking children out from the keep!

“I have an idea,” said Pip. “It could work.”

“Not again!” said Frankie. She could not help but despair at the boys’ wild ideas. So far they had already cajoled her into far more than she would have liked to have been involved in.

But within minutes they were bundling the children into the confines of the black pumpkin. There were seats on either side. No use of course, but they lifted up to reveal neat little cubby holes. Pip had remembered the way that Toad had described the carriage after taking his first journey. Two either side would hide four of them. If three had the strength to cling on they could fit side by side beneath the carriage, holding on to the axle. Three could lie in the floor space, and two more in the footwell with the surplus of the cloak draped over them. That was twelve, plus the three disguised as Jarvis made fifteen children in total.

It was worth a try. And after all, there was little choice.

After much shuffling and squeezing into small spaces, the crew of children were ready to make their journey. Like a crew of hidden pirates they were about to set sail secretly aboard their black ship. The pumpkin turned itself around in the squat space of the forest keep. Pip could feel the carriage struggling with its newly acquired weight. It strained itself to make the turn, the horse braying as she found herself pulling much harder, the roof scraping against the earthen ceiling. But they would, all of them, soon be glad to be out of the forest prison.

Pip rapped on the door and waited. Bodkin’s pointy little head showed itself, yellowy eyes squinted through the barred window of the door, and then he disappeared again. They waited a moment longer until they heard the chink of keys and the turn of the lock in its barrel. Then the door opened with a distinct creak and light spilled inward from the torchlit labyrinth of tunnels ahead.

Pip pulled on the reins and grunted his best impression of Jarvis’s grumbling tones, handing the flaming torch back to the strange figure of Bodkin.

“Fankin you kindly, Misser Jarvis, sir. Master Bodkin at your service,” he said all at once, and then he made a small bow and grinned with pointed teeth.

They moved on quickly, eager to escape interrogation. Still there were creatures meandering about the labyrinth beyond the keep. Pip kept his head down. Only moments to go before they were free and making their way through the frozen trees and undergrowth. At this moment he longed for the freedom of the forest. Where before it had seemed like a foreboding place, now it smelled of freedom. If they got that far, they would feel as if they had made their escape.

The carriage was winding upward. The return was uphill and it felt like a struggle. Pip urged the horse onward but he could see the sweat forming on her back and the steam clouding around her nostrils as she pulled ahead. The wheels were slipping in the dirt but eventually a grip was regained and they were off again.

“Come on, old girl,” he whispered to her as they went. For a short while it leveled out and she could take a breath or two. Pip had no idea how the children were coping. It was the ones beneath the axle that were the biggest worry. If they couldn’t hold on, they would fall into the path of the carriage and be seen.

Bodkin was still poised at the door to the keep. He had turned the lock and placed the key back on his belt. But something was bothering him a great deal. He was scratching his head and trying to work something out and no matter how he tried to reason with the problem in his head, it definitely made no sense. “No sense at all,” he said to himself.

Again, creatures clambered around the walls as the carriage passed. Leering into the space and searching with their yellowy eyes through the portholes. Something climbed right on to the top of the roof as they went. Pip tried not to look around but Toad was pulling on his legs and whispering to him to take a look at what made the clatter. Inside the children tried to remain calm but the scraping sound of claws on the roof brought great concern. If it decided to climb inside they would have problems.

“What is it?” whispered Frankie. “I can’t see.”

“Dunno,” said Toad. “Tell you in a minute when it climbs on top of us.”

“Stop it!” said Frankie. Up ahead, the tunnel ceiling came closer to the carriage roof and the thing attached itself to a wall space to clear the narrowing gap. Its claws dug into the woody roots that wormed their way down and the creature rested itself in a small hole. Pip wiped the sweat from his brow and braced himself for another climb.

Still, Bodkin was troubled. “Erm … umm … no … hmmmmm!” He scratched his pointy head and closed one eye. He stared upward, as if perhaps the answer floated around over his head, but no, he still couldn’t see it. “Hmmmmmm … erm … no. Bodkin still muddled!”

The Malvern girls and the Brice boy were now hanging on desperately. All the strength was being sapped from their arms as they gripped the rear axle and kept their feet hoisted on to the front. Pip had told them that as soon as they cleared the labyrinth and emerged into the woods, they could take a moment to stop and then they could climb inside the carriage. But for the moment, they must suffer.

Edgar McCreedy lay curled up inside the cubby hole beneath the rear seat. One of the Carraway twins squeezed in alongside him. Edgar shook with fright. Soon he would be back with his parents but he had promised himself he would not open his eyes again until he heard his mother’s voice.

Toad sneaked a look from his position under the cloak and passed word to Frankie, who was unable to see. “Nearly there. I can see the torchlight at the undergate. Fingers crossed.”

Only Fenris guarded the exit. He wandered across in front of the carriage and, using his long snout, he sniffed nosily at its base, raising a growl as he came. The smell of children had become a familiar scent upon it but still it made him bare his teeth. Pip pushed past, urging the carriage wheels onward as the wolf stepped back.

They were clear. The view of the snow-covered ground was a welcome sight, signaling their escape. A refreshing brisk wind whirled around them. Pip carried on and waited until the light from the undergate had disappeared and then he stopped to let the others climb inside. The discomfort of the footwell and the pain they had endured while attached to the axle was replaced by the relative ease and comfort of the hard seats in the carriage.

They looked from the rounded portholes in the doors as they rumbled over the roots and through the snowy forest. Light from the city was beginning to show itself as a vague orangey glow through the silhouetted skeletons of the winter trees.

Home was in sight.

Roach was watching Bodkin scratching his head and quizzing himself over something. He fiddled with the keys at his waist and was staring upward with a twisted expression fixed on his face.