Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (48 page)

Maggie blew into her cupped hands. “Don’t apologise,” she said. “It’s amazing. But we’re not exactly dressed for it. We’re only in T-shirts. I’ll turn purple in a minute.”

“I gotta get you back to the camp soon as. We’ll just be lyin’ on the floor there and can’t wake up. That is way too dangerous. No tellin’ what could happen to us in that state.”

“I saw other kids fainting,” Spencer said. “They’re in the same boat.”

“Difference is, they’ll come round. We won’t, long as we’re here. Gimme your hands. We’re goin’ back.”

“Hang on!” Spencer argued. “This is perfect, don’t you see? You were going to have to come here tonight anyway. We can be your posse!”

“You is kidding me.”

“The three of us together stand a better chance of finding Malinda’s cottage and stealing her wand than you on your own.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped. “We’re doing what?” she cried.

“No way!” Lee told them. “You have not the smallest clue what this place is like! It’s a fairyland war zone here. I don’t even trust these trees!”

“The trees can talk?” Maggie asked. “That’s bloody fabulous!” She ran over to the nearest and knocked on it. A hammock of snow dropped down on her head and she squealed, jiggling up and down to shake it out of her T-shirt.

“I’ve not seen them talk,” Lee admitted. “But all sorts of weirdness lives in them, and under them, an’ if you keep foolin’ around like that, you ain’t gonna last long.”

“Sorry,” she said contritely. “I’m just so gobsmacked to be here. It’s real – it’s actually real! And it’s gorgeous!”

“Visitin’ time is over,” he said decisively. “Grab my hands. I’ll come back after eight o’clock on my own, properly geared up, and find that thing.”

Spencer refused and folded his arms.

“Them Big Noses could be putting your sorry ass on a fire right now, for all you know!” Lee said crossly. “Cos they is more than capable of that, and worse – or do you need reminding what they just did? Do you, really?”

“Alasdair is there,” Spencer replied. “He won’t let them. He’ll look after us.”

“Ya think?”

“Yes – I trust him, and you should too. It’s time you did. I’ve seen his face each time he’s excluded. I know what that feels like, even before
Dancing Jax
. Whatever he did and said, Alasdair’s really sorry for it.”

“That changes nuthin’! He can’t stop those…”

He spun around suddenly. There had been a noise – music. It was nearby.

Lee hissed at them to crouch down. They peered over the snow-covered roots and caught their steaming breath in their hands.

The wood was on a gentle slope. A little way down there was a gap between the ice-draped trees, forming a winding path through the forest. Figures were travelling along it and Maggie clamped her lips together to stop herself exclaiming with delight.

It was a procession of woodland folk: animals and strange creatures who dwelt in the forest. Leading the way, the beautiful almond hind carried the three gnome miners on her back. They were brothers who tapped for moon pearls and wish stones beneath the earth. For once they were not bickering amongst themselves but playing instruments – a flute, a drum and a hurdy-gurdy. After them marched a badger on a long silver leash, held by a thin character in a plum-coloured gown and stovepipe hat, decked with matching ribbons. A pair of weasels followed then a group of squirrels, stoats, foxes and rabbits and several wild cats. All of those animals were walking on their hind legs, clutching twigs of evergreen in their front paws, which they waved about in time to the gnomes’ midwinter song.

Maggie was mesmerised. It was the most enchanting, yet bizarre spectacle she had ever witnessed. Outlandish creatures went parading by. Some were odd, stunted people with long, beak-like noses along which icicles were forming or robins hopped; others could barely be seen beneath oversized hats or were muffled in scarves or beards. A small, whiskery, barrel-shaped woman rode on a wild pig that was garlanded with scarlet berries. Amidst all this, a very solemn-looking twig imp in a russet cloak strode up and down carrying a staff, topped by a golden sun symbol, keeping them all in line and reminding the animals not to devour each other on this special day.

Tramping on all fours at the rear of the column was an enormous bear, whose shaggy fur was a rich shade of cinnamon. Nobody dared ride on its back. It turned its snout towards the place where Lee and the others were hidden and sniffed the cold, sharp air. Its wild, amber eyes glinted. Then it tossed its head and continued on its way.

When the music faded in the distance, Maggie’s eyebrows lifted as far as they could go.

“Wow!” was all she could say.

“Shh!” Lee whispered. “It ain’t over yet.”

There was a rustling in the trees beside the path. The snow was shaken free and the ivy that grew around the trunks ripped itself clear. It slithered to the ground. Then the evergreen vines moved like serpents and twined and twisted themselves together, forming a rough human shape. Then there came a leathery, swishing, crackling sound and a stocky being made entirely of holly branches strode on to the pathway. It stood before the graceful ivy form and bowed low. The Ivy Girl gave an answering curtsy and raised a leafy hand. The Holly Boy took it and together they went waltzing through the forest.

“Er… none of that,” Spencer remarked in a stunned monotone, “was in the book.”

“Whole heaps of stuff goes on here what ain’t in them pages,” Lee informed him.

“No wonder you got addicted to this place,” Maggie breathed. “I just seen it with my own eyes and I don’t believe it.”

“Still want to go mug a fairy godmother?”

Maggie looked at Spencer and they nodded in unison.

“If the guards were going to do something to us, back at the camp,” she said, “we’d have felt it by now, wouldn’t we?”

“And it’s got to be done,” Spencer added.

Lee didn’t feel like arguing any more.

“It’s your funeral,” he said.

They picked themselves up and stamped their feet to get the blood circulating again.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Maggie asked, rubbing her hands. “Is this where she lives?”

“Like I know one wood from another!” Lee answered impatiently. “There’s lots of woods in this mad place. Could be any one of ’em.”

“But there’s only one Cinnamon Bear,” Spencer said. “And it lives in Hunter’s Chase, same as Malinda. Come on, how many times have you read that flipping thing? Didn’t any of it sink in?”

“And that,” said Lee, “is why the geeks shall inherit the earth.”

They felt the best way to go would be to head left, travelling parallel to the path, but not walking along it, in case they encountered other peculiar creatures. As they journeyed, Lee told them to look out for fallen branches or stout sticks, something they could use as a weapon in case something unexpected leaped out at them.

“I wish an unexpected hot-water bottle, an extra-large fleece and a Tibetan hat would jump out at me,” Maggie muttered, scanning the snowy surroundings. “I can’t feel my ears.”

Apart from the cold, this place was a constant indulgence for her other senses. The scents of the forest were keen and captivating. She could smell the pines growing higher up the hill, the tantalising rumour of sweet woodsmoke from a distant chimney – even the glossy leaves of the evergreen. It was so intoxicating she began to imagine she could smell the
snow in the clouds moving over the golden sky.

Then there were the sounds. The crisp crunching of their footsteps, the soft flopping of snow out of trees, a slushy stream trickling thick and slow, the light scudding of solitary birds, the furtive foraging of unseen wild animals, hidden under white canopies, the tinkle of sleigh bells…

“What’s that?” she murmured.

Lee had already halted and pulled them behind a tree. A little way ahead, the path joined a second wider track and the junction was in a clearing. The ringing grew louder. The teenagers held their breaths and waited. Then, at last, the sleigh came into view.

The body was carved from a single piece of oak, painted jet-black. The high, pointed prow was shaped like the head of a horned demon whose wings swept back, forming a frame around the seat. Six raven-black, muzzled hounds drew it and the occupant was swaddled in heavy sables, its head hidden in a hood and hands in leather gauntlets.

“I don’t know this from the book either,” Spencer whispered.

“It’s not Father Christmas,” Maggie assured him.

They watched as the rider alighted. It turned right and left, as if searching for something. Then it strode past the panting hounds and called out.

“Where are you? Get out here, you craven rats. Show your ugly faces. How dare you keep me waiting?”

Lee looked at the others in surprise. That was a girl’s voice.

“She doesn’t mean us, does she?” Spencer asked.

Lee didn’t think so.

“Cease skulking this instant or I’ll loose my hounds and they’ll hunt every last one of you. I always keep them hungry – they run faster with an appetite. Their jaws will shovel you up and they’ll crunch your puny bones.”

Petrified yelps and alarmed chirrups sounded from the trees and snow-covered undergrowth around the clearing. Then tiny figures came creeping out of countless hiding places, stealing forward timorously.

The Jill of Spades cast back the fur hood and her lips curled in derision as she surveyed these base, fearful creatures.

They were the Runtlemen: a scavenging, beggarly tribe that infested Hunter’s Chase like cockroaches. They were no bigger than hedgepigs, and it was believed they interbred with them, for many were covered in spines and had a passion for slugs. Other sickly specimens sprouted tatty feathers and were clawed of foot. Some had rodent-like features. They were dressed in rags, or tufty with fleabitten fur, or were naked under clods of dirt. No one had dealings with the Runtlemen. Time and again they had proven themselves to be the lowest form of walking filth. They were dishonest and sneaky, treacherous and merciless – but only if the victim was weaker than themselves. Because foremost in their character was a profound, inherent cowardice. Without that, the Runtlemen would have been a terror to travellers through the wood and their great numbers would have emboldened them to invade neighbouring farms and dwellings, maybe even to assail the village of Mooncot.

And so the Jill of Spades eyed them with the contempt they deserved. She despised having to traffic with them, but she had no choice. They had something she wanted.

She grimaced at them. The vermin surrounded her and the virgin snow made them appear even dirtier.

“Where is your chief?” she demanded.

One of that pestiferous horde took a hesitant step forward. He leaned on a gnarled staff. There was more nose than face on his wizened head.

“Here am I, Your Highness,” he squeaked, blinking nervously. “We received your message.”

Jill didn’t disguise her revulsion. “Then where is it?” she asked. “Where is the thing you claimed you had in your possession? Would you dare try to deceive me?”

The chief tapped his nose. A speck of dirt fell out.

“We have it, to be sure!” he told her proudly. “Found it lying way yonder, deep in the forest – the snow all around crimsoned with blood
and the frozen corpses of wolves and sundry portions of another beast we weren’t quite sure of.”

The multitude smacked their lips at the memory of that hearty feast.

“Yes, we have what you want. Have no doubts about that, but what of your end of the bargain? We Runtlemen are ever scorned and played false by such as you.”

“Such as I?” she said, highly insulted. “There are no others such as I in this entire Kingdom. Never forget that.”

The chief grovelled apologetically.

“Even so,” he wheedled, “where is that which you were to bring in exchange?”

The Jill of Spades walked back to her sleigh. A smaller sled had been trailed behind it. The bulky object this carried was hidden beneath a large piece of sacking. Jill pulled the cloth away and at once the clearing erupted with thrilled chirps and clicks and yips and caws and the stamping of little feet.

On the sled, trussed in ropes and in great discomfort, was a great silver swan. It was the King Swan, from the moat around the White Castle, and the only creature who dared challenge Mauger, the monstrous Guardian of the Gate. It was said to own the most fearless heart in the whole Realm.

The bird’s head was bound close to its body. Its bright, flame-coloured eyes were open now and ablaze with fury. The sleeping potion she had captured it with had worn off and it strained and pulled on the ropes.

The Runtlemen streamed eagerly towards the sled.

“One moment,” the girl said, standing between it and them. The look on her face was enough to cow their fervour and send them skittering back again. “Where is what you owe me?”

The chief tilted his head and blew a high, skirling note through his nose.

Soon Jill heard the grunts and puffing wheezes of many voices, as fifty more of those squalid forest lice came trudging into the open. But above their heads, the new arrivals were carrying what she was so desperate to
have. With it, she could keep the bargain Haxxentrot had forced upon her, the night of the autumn revel.

The Runtlemen brought into the clearing the skull of an animal. It was larger than any of them and they had attached it to a long stick, which was more like a tree trunk to their eyes.

The Jill of Spades pulled the sables close round her throat and nuzzled into them. This was a glorious moment, for that was no ordinary skull. A long, tapering horn spiralled up between the eye sockets and the remains of a wispy beard still clung to the jaw. It was the skull of a unicorn.