Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (49 page)

“We cleaned it out real tidy,” the chief boasted. “Gnawed and licked every last bit, every shred, ’cept the beard, thought it looked prettier with it left on – and we was full from the wolves.”

“It’s exquisite,” she declared. “Give it to me – I must have it.”

The chief signalled to the bearers to bring it closer.

“Might a low-born bogworm such as me dare ask what you want with such a totem?”

She arched her brows. “What do you want with a swan?”

“Ah, that’s easy answered. We’re going to eat it alive, Your Highness. There’s no braveness in our hearts you see, so if we eat the savagest critter in the land, we’re sure to get some. We was hoping the unicorn would’ve helped there, but it were too late by the time we found it. A maiden had tamed the fight clear out of the beast – and it were dead o’ course. The King Swan is a different kettle of rhubarb! Ho – we’ll be a-feared of no one, once we’ve gorged. Then we’ll make some heads ache and see about some grievances!”

Jill stooped and took hold of the stick, shaking off the Runtlemen whose hands had stuck to it with the cold. She lifted the unicorn’s skull level with her face and ran her hand down the horn.

“This,” she told the chief, amused to share her black secret with one such as he, “is a key. With it, I shall be able to pass through the enchanted fence of Malinda. No one with malign intent may enter there, but the virtue of this will guide me through. The dweller of the Forbidden Tower
has tasked me with delivering unto her the Fairy Godmother’s wand –and this night she shall have it.”

The chief scratched his nose. “We never meddles with Malinda,” he said. “Nor even dare look on her cottage. Strong magick she got.”

The girl laughed. “Not after I steal it from her,” she said. “Besides, you and your sordid mob will have the courage of a thousand knights by then. Come, feast on the swan, eat your fill – I never liked it.”

She stepped aside and the Runtlemen surged at the sled, swarming up the runners and clambering over the ropes. The swan hissed at them, but could not move. Thousands of tiny, gore-hungry hands tore at the silver feathers and half as many little mouths prepared to feed.

Jill unhitched the sled from her sleigh. Those creatures were disgusting. Once she had delivered the wand, she would return and really would loose the hounds. They made her skin itch.

At that moment, three voices came bawling from the trees, where the track forked left. Jill spun around and saw a large girl and two boys belt towards the clearing, brandishing sticks and hollering bloodthirsty yells. The skin of one was almost as dark as her sables. It astounded her and she wasted precious moments staring. Then she jumped into the seat, but before she could crack the whip and command the hounds, the mysterious boy had stormed up and was reaching in.

“This is a sleighjacking, princess!” he declared, wrenching the skull from her.

“No!” she cried. “Who dares assault me? I’ll have you drawn and quartered for this!”

Maggie and Spencer had charged at the small sled and were swiping their sticks through the Runtlemen, whacking them off the stricken swan. The squealing host retreated before those formidable, battering weapons and they leaped from the bird’s back, clutching handfuls of downy feathers. Yammering, they bolted into the trees, shaking their fists at being cheated of their prize and swearing vengeance on humankind. One day they would be as ferocious as lions; one day they would strike and lay
waste the works of man and everything he held dear. Maggie darted after them and they fled, screaming.

The Jill of Spades was incensed. Tearing off her gauntlets, she jumped from the seat and ran to the hounds, unbuckling the harnesses and ripping the muzzles from their jaws.

“Get them!” she commanded, dragging two of the great dogs around and pointing at the three strange bandits. “Go – attack – kill!”

The hounds bounded away. Spencer staggered back at the sight of them and the stick fell from Maggie’s hands. The hungry dogs ran, swift as the wind, and their baying boomed through the forest. Their dark mistress grinned wickedly.

But Lee had not been idle. He still had the wire-cutters Mrs Benedict had given him in his pocket. They were brand-new and the blades were sharp. One by one he snipped through the restraining ropes and set the King Swan free.

“I hope you know whose side I’m on,” the boy told it as the final cord was cut.

The bird’s head reared like a cobra over the back of the sleigh. It hissed far more rancorously and the hounds slithered to a halt. The great wings shook and unfurled to an immense span and the dogs whimpered. The bird’s flaming eyes burned terror into them and they kicked up a snowstorm as they wheeled about and ran, yelping – with their tails clamped between their legs.

The King Swan glided from the sled, ran along the ground and lifted into the air, flying straight for the girl who had tormented and brought it here. The other four hounds yowled and flattened themselves into the snow as it swept low over their heads. The Jill of Spades uttered a horrified wail and raced into the trees, pursued by a wrathful, avenging, silver-winged angel.

Lee gripped the unicorn skull tightly.

“We’ve wasted enough time here,” he said sharply. “I know where we are now. I been this way before once. There’s a little cut-off just down that
way. Malinda’s cottage ain’t far. Let’s go rob, or scam, or tie the old lady to a chair if we have to. That damn wand is mine tonight.”

L
EE CHECKED HIS
watch. Back in the camp, it was half eight, long after curfew. He was amazed their unconscious selves hadn’t been kicked, or worse, by now. If this was down to Alasdair then he owed that boy a huge apology – if they ever made it back.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s incredibly convenient to have got here just when that deal was going on?” Maggie asked. “I mean, here we are wanting to do the exact same as the Jill of Spades and now we’ve got the one thing that’ll help us do it. Isn’t that a bit… well, unlikely? Shouldn’t we be worried?”

“That always happens in fantasy,” Spencer told her. “It’s one of the tropes. The hero always finds a magic plot device that’ll turn out really handy later. That’s why Westerns are better.”

“I’m not a hero,” Lee said darkly. “I just wanna kill someone – and this is gonna help.”

This time they kept to the track. It curved around in a long arc, where the trees grew more densely than anywhere else in Hunter’s Chase. The topmost branches met, high above their heads, forming a natural tunnel. If it hadn’t been winter, and without the sparkling whiteness of the surrounding snow, this part of the forest would be eerily dark.

“Isn’t Malinda supposed to be one of the few goodies in the book?” Maggie muttered, looking around uneasily. “It’s a bit doomy gloomy. She should sell up and move.”

“Evil things are always prowling round her cottage,” Spencer explained. “Her goodness is a magnet for them, and the witch has lots of her spies watching. That’s why Malinda needs the magic fence to keep them at bay.”

“I used to be a cake magnet,” the girl said. “That was a lot easier.”

Lee gave them a stern look that told them to be quiet. Maggie’s instinctive stress response was to crack feeble jokes, but this really wasn’t the time for it and certainly not the place.

The path made a sharp turn and they stood stock-still when they beheld what lay beyond. There, in a glade, only a short distance away – was the home of Malinda.

It was every child’s ideal of a cosy country cottage. Built of mellow stone, crystals and curious objects hung in every mullioned and leaded window, which were bordered by pretty shutters with hearts, spades, diamonds and clubs cut into them. A single climbing rose, bearing blooms of different colours, including blue, grew round the arched door and the thatch was pleasingly untidy and in need of renewal. Another window, hung with gold lace, peeped out of the centre and a straw owl at one corner of the roof seemed to regard with disapproval the two straw hares dancing at the other. From the quaintly painted pot, at the top of the one stout chimney, pink smoke climbed leisurely into the sky.

No trace or breath of winter touched that dwelling. Within the white picket fence that ran all around the impossibly twee cottage and its well-tended garden, not a fleck of snow had fallen. Early autumn still lingered
there; even the light that bathed the stonework and shone in the windows was soft and romantic and considerably warmer than anywhere else in Mooncaster that day.

Outside the fence, the snow was deep and startling footprints had been made in it by prowling fiends. But someone, perhaps daring children or maybe even Malinda herself, had built a jolly-looking snowman, with coal eyes and twig arms raised in friendly welcome.

“I could so live there,” Maggie breathed.

“We got company,” Lee whispered. “Over there.”

He indicated with his eyes and they glanced to the right of the path. In the distance, through the trees, something was moving. It was a tall figure, three times their height and clothed from head to toe in flowing grey, spectral robes. They couldn’t tell what manner of creature it was. All they could see of it were six clawed, bony fingers sticking out of each long sleeve. A pointed hood concealed the face and its movements were oddly stiff and jerky.

“Keep movin’,” he said.

They tried not to look at it and hurried on, towards the cottage, but Spencer couldn’t help turning round. The grey figure was keeping pace with them. The next time he looked, it had moved closer.

Then Maggie spotted two more, through the trees on the left. Their long strides bore them quickly over the snowy ground. When they raised their arms to clatter and rip their claws through the branches, they were just blackened bones.

The teenagers ran and the towering spectres let out shrill screeches as they broke from the trees and gave chase into the glade. They moved with frightening speed and their claws came reaching.

Maggie felt them catch and pull at her T-shirt and she ran faster than she ever had. Spencer still had his stick and he brandished it desperately. One swing of a skeletal hand knocked it from his grasp and sent it flying. Lee held the unicorn skull at arm’s length, hoping it would ward the attackers off, but it had no effect.

The snow grew deeper quickly and running became difficult. Maggie could barely drag her feet through it. Then a hand punched her in the back and she fell. Spencer stopped and tried to help. Another shove sent him diving into the snow next to her. Two of the grey figures stomped closer and stood over them menacingly, whilst the other went after Lee.

Lee heard the cries of the others, but he wouldn’t stop. He had to go on. He had to get to that cottage. Only the death of Jangler and those Punchinellos mattered to him. Maggie and Spencer shouldn’t even be here. He’d told them to go back to the camp. They weren’t his responsibility. He always looked after number one. They knew the risks.

“No, they didn’t!” his conscience shouted at him. Even he didn’t know the risks here. Besides,
she
would have gone back to help them.

Snarling, he spun around on one foot. The third spectral figure came rushing up and its claws seized him by the throat. Lee was forced to his knees then thrust on to his back. Insidious, snaky laughter issued from the darkness within the pointed hood and the figure stooped over him.

“That will do!” a scolding voice rang out abruptly. “Fie on you! Shame!”

The grey figures reared up and stared across at the cottage. They hissed in annoyance and their hands made bony fists. Lee heard someone clapping in irritation.

“Shoo!” the voice said as though reprimanding naughty children. “I know who you are. You don’t affright me. Just what are you supposed to be? It’s the most guileless tomfoolery I’ve seen in many a mumming season. Now be off with you!”

Lee craned his head back and saw a sight that made his heart leap.

A brisk, elderly woman, in a pink and gold gown, gathered a spangled shawl about her shoulders and stepped through the garden gate. The silver walking stick she leaned upon to wade through the snow was tipped by an amber star.

The tall figures wavered uncertainly. The one standing over Lee took a hesitant step backwards and started chattering unhappily to itself.

The boy bared his teeth and kicked out with brute force. His feet struck one of the spectre’s legs. To his astonishment, it snapped. The figure warbled in dismay and tottered unsteadily before the robe fell away and Lee gaped at what was revealed.

The tall, sinister figure was a contraption made from wood. The legs were stilts and the claws were attached to long sticks, operated via strings by a small creature with a wobbly white head and yellow eyes.

Jub, the Bogey Boy, looked shamefaced and embarrassed to have been discovered. He gave the arms a final, feeble wave and tried to hiss and sound frightening, but it was no use. Looking down at Lee, he grinned sheepishly, showing all his babylike teeth. Then he dropped the false arms and hopped from the one remaining leg. The snow reached up to his nose, but he scampered away from the approaching old woman, burrowing a trench towards the trees.

The other two figures knew the game was up and they were striding as fast as their stilts could take them, until the one at the back tripped and went crashing into the other and they both collapsed in a bundle of splintering sticks and flapping volumes of grey cloth.

Slapping one another and cussing, only the tops of their heads were visible above the snow as they scurried after Jub.

Lee uttered some cusses of his own.

“Such silliness,” the old woman tutted. “What did they think they were doing? Oh, but look at you, poor dear. You must be frozen to the marrow in such inadequate attire. Why, the village boys wear more when they swim in the millpond in June!”

She leaned over to offer Lee a mittened hand, but he got up without her assistance.

Spencer and Maggie were still shaking their heads at the wreckage of the Bogey Boys’ costumes.

“How gullible are we?” the girl asked. “We’ll be scared of glove puppets and cut-outs next.”

“You must all come inside and warm yourselves by my hearth,” the
old woman called. “I insist.”

Maggie and Spencer stared at her with keen interest and came trudging up. “You invitin’ us in?” Lee asked, giving the suddenly redundant unicorn skull a disappointed glance.

Malinda smiled. She had the sort of face and demeanour that won friends and inspired confidence. Her eyes were the palest blue and framed by fine webs of wrinkles. Her cheeks were like October apples and her hair could have been spun sugar. Lee knew Charm would have loved her instantly.

“But of course,” she replied. “I dare say you’d like something to warm you. ’Tis a most unforgiving chill out here this day.”

“As long as it’s not soup,” Maggie said.

Malinda gave a silvery laugh. “No,” she replied. “But there are pikelets to toast and smother with butter and preserves, and a cheery herbal infusion to lift your spirits. I’m sure those mischievous Bogey Boys made their harassing antics most convincing and alarmed you most dreadfully.”

Her eyes fell on the skull and her mouth twitched with amusement.

“What are you doing with that smelly old thing?” she asked. “It’s not true what they say about it, you know. I don’t know who started that nonsensical rumour, probably the Jockey – it smacks of his oafish drollery.”

The mild reprimand made Lee feel almost as foolish as the Bogey Boys had. Using the skull as a magical key seemed ridiculous now and he lowered it self-consciously.

Malinda led them towards her gate and Maggie noticed the stumps poking out the back of her bodice. They were bound in clean bandages, but spots of blood still seeped through. The wings would never heal completely and she would never be free of the pain of that vicious assault on her.

As they drew near to the fence, the retired Fairy Godmother halted and an impatient frown puckered her forehead. She looked crossly at the
jolly snowman and set her toe tapping.

“You may as well go with the others,” she told it tersely. “There’s no point you hanging around here now. I don’t know why you stayed this long.”

Maggie wondered if the snowman was alive. Was it going to wiggle that carrot nose and wave the twiggy arms before walking away, singing a song? She would believe anything of this place now.

Nothing happened.

“Be off with you!” Malinda said. “Or do you want me to lose my temper?”

She lifted the wand and a faint glimmer flickered in the amber star.

With that, the coals dropped off the snowman’s face, disclosing a pair of real yellow eyes behind. The ginger lashes blinked and a disgruntled voice mumbled inside the head.

“It’s no use moaning about it,” Malinda said. “And you’ve most certainly gone and caught a most shocking cold and stored up no end of sorrow for your joints. If you get lumbago like mine, you’ll rue this folly.”

The snowman gave a judder. One of the twigs fell out and the coal buttons popped off. Then the head split apart, exposing that of the fourth Bogey Boy.

Rott scowled at them petulantly. Then he elbowed his way out of the body and hurried after the other servants of Haxxentrot, into the trees.

“They’ll be back later,” she sighed in resignation. “Disguised as something else. I don’t know why they do it. They’ve never fooled me yet and never learn anything of value to tell that unhappy wretch in the tower.”

Moving to the gate, she swung it open and ushered the teenagers inside. The leap in temperature was instantly noticeable, especially to Spencer, whose spectacles steamed up the moment he stepped through.

The garden was everything they expected. Topiary animals had been clipped into the bushes and herbs grew either side of a stone path. Lupins and ox-eye daisies hugged the walls, buttercups splashed the lawn with
gold and the air was warm and fragrant. There was even a real wishing well and an inquisitive frog studied them from the bucket as they walked by.

“You’ve got a lovely house,” Maggie said.

“Oh, do you like it?” Malinda asked, greatly pleased. “Some people, who ought to have better things to do in my opinion, think I should live in a place made entirely of gingerbread, with barley-sugar twists either side of the door. Can you imagine how impractical that would be? Every bird, mouse and squirrel, from here to the Northern Marches, would be flocking to literally eat me out of hearth and home. And then the first drop of rain and it’s a soggy disaster!”

When they reached the front door, hanging above the brass knocker a primitive calico cat doll, with painted eyes and wearing an embroidered smock, greeted them.