The Night Gardener (36 page)

ip watched his sister disappear behind the green door, the two thugs right behind her. The door swung shut with a violent slam. He didn’t know why she was showing those men the tree room, but he could tell from her face that she had a plan—it was the same look she got when telling a story.

“Did she mean those things?” Penny said. “About not caring for us?”

“My sister cares more than you’ll ever know.” Kip smiled at her, trying to ignore the pain shooting up his left side. When the men had tied him up, they had been especially rough on his leg. “We just have to trust her.”

Master Windsor had managed to move next to his wife and was now holding her hand, whispering things in a calming tone. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “Because the moment those two learn about that tree—what it does—there’ll be nothing to stop them from killing us all.”

Kip looked at the quickly darkening sky outside. “Even if they don’t, when the Night Gardener gets here, we’ll all be done for.”

“What do you think they’re all doing up there?” Alistair said, adjusting his weight. “Why is it so quiet?”

Kip stared at the closed door. “I don’t know. Maybe the tree’s not workin’ because there’s three of ’em inside—”

He was cut off by the sound of screams.

Kip could not tell at first if they were screams of pain or joy. Then the door burst open, and the fat one appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching little sheets of white paper. “Promissory notes!” he shouted, raining them down over the banister. “Hundreds of ’em!” He jabbed a finger in Master Windsor’s direction. “Broke indeed, you old cad!” He gave a whoop of joy and ran back into the room.

“What’s promissory notes?” Kip said.

Alistair stared at the papers scattered across the floor. “It’s money.” He peered at the nearest crumpled sheet. “A
lot
of money.”

“I want to see.” Penny scooted herself toward one of the fallen slips of paper—

“Don’t touch it, either of you!” The command came from Master Windsor. “We’re done taking things from the tree.”

Kip listened to the men whooping and laughing like children inside the room. Whatever his sister was planning, she had better do it fast.

The two men appeared on the stairs, arms overflowing with more money. They were nearly skipping as they raced outside, a trail of notes in their wake.

Kip watched through the open front door as they stuffed the notes into the cart and ran back into the foyer, breathless with exhilaration. The fat one grabbed an overturned trunk and emptied its contents on the floor. “Last one upstairs is a rotten egg!” They thundered up the staircase, pushing and shoving to get to the room first.

Kip watched the tall one taking the stairs three at a time. A smile crept across his face. “Molly, you little sneak.”

“I don’t see how this is funny,” Master Windsor said.

“Then you weren’t lookin’ close enough.” Kip nodded toward the room. “His knife was missin’.”

olly wrapped her fingers around the handle of the stolen knife, pressing the blade up against her ropes. She knew she would have to act carefully. The rope was thick, and she could only make the smallest sawing motions without being detected. Fig and Stubbs ran around her, raking heaps of paper out of the knothole, to fill a trunk they had brought from downstairs.

“Is that the last of it?” Fig said when the knothole had been emptied.

“Can’t see the bottom.” Stubbs reached an arm into the hole, plumbing its depths. “I reckon there might be more down in there, but I can’t reach …”

Molly ignored them, concentrating on cutting the rope. Even with a weapon, she knew she couldn’t overpower the men. But if she could just get to the hall with her hands free, she might be able to lock them inside the room—giving her enough time to free everyone and make a run for the main road.

Fig clapped his hands together. “I got an idea!” He said this with the excitement of someone for whom an
idea
was a very rare thing. “I’ll be right back.” He ran out the door and thumped downstairs.

Stubbs, meanwhile, busied himself with collecting stray notes from the floor. What couldn’t fit inside the trunk, he stuffed into his own pockets. “Soon as we’ve gotten the last scraps outta this here tree, we’ll be off,” he said by way of conversation. “Though not before puttin’ old Windsor and the rest out to pasture.”

Molly felt her heart lurch. “You … you’re gonna kill ’em?”

He shrugged. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. We wouldn’t want anyone telling tales about our … good fortune.” He shoved a fistful of notes into the waist of his trousers. “I know we promised to take you with us, pet, but I’m afraid the plans have changed. No room for a third person on the cart, you understand.”

The door swung open. “Look what I found in the stables!” It was Fig, and he was holding something in both hands.

Molly’s entire body went cold. “What’s that?” she said.

“What’s it look like? An axe!” He hefted the blade in his hand. “We can hack open the hole and crawl right inside!”

Molly watched as he stomped toward the tree, axe raised over his head. “N-n-no! Listen to me!” she cried. “You canna hurt the tree! If you hurt the tree—”

Whack!

The axe head sank deep into the wood surrounding the knothole.
Fig jerked the blade free. Black sap ran down the trunk, as thick as molasses.

Molly heard a low wind rising over the grounds. The whole house creaked as the air slid through cracks in the walls. “You have to stop—
now
!” she said. “You don’t know what you’re doin’!”

“Oh, don’t I?” Fig raised the axe over his head and brought it down again—

This time the axe did not strike the wood.

Instead, it was stopped just above the tree by a pale, thin hand.

A hand connected to an arm clothed in tattered black rags.

An arm stretching out from deep inside the tree.

Fig let go of the handle. The axe remained where it was, held in place by the spectral hand.

“Wh-wh-what is it?” Stubbs said, inching behind Fig.

“Somethin’ wicked,” Molly said. She sawed furiously at the final strands of rope—almost free.

Wind howled through the room, dragging crumpled notes into the air. Fig and Stubbs were now holding each other. “Maybe we should run,” said Stubbs.

Fig nodded. “Maybe so.”

But neither man ran. They were transfixed by the thing before them, unable to move, unable to look away.

They watched as a second hand gripped the rim of the knothole. Slowly, impossibly, the Night Gardener pulled his winding torso out of the tree—and unfolded himself until he was standing before them.
He teetered for a moment, as if remembering how to stand. A thick smear of black liquid ran down the side of his neck. He studied the axe still clutched in his hand, still dripping with sap.

Molly did not need to stay and see what would happen. The moment she felt her knife break through the final strands of her rope, she was on her feet. She scrambled out the door, grabbing the handle.

“No, wait!” Stubbs cried, running after her.

Molly slammed the door in his face. She broke the key off in the lock. The man pounded against the other side of the door. “Open up! Open up!” A burst of wind shook the door. She heard a violent crash and then screaming. Molly raced down the staircase, knife in hand, the cries ringing out behind her.

“Molly!” Penny shouted.

Molly reached the bottom of the stairs, nearly tumbling over herself, “I told you she’d come!” Kip said as Molly cut him loose.

Another violent gust of wind shook the house, and Molly thought she heard something heavy hit the floor. “That door canna hold long. We have to run. He’ll be after us next.”

Kip massaged his freed wrists. “I have an idea. Stay here and help the family. I can slow him down long enough for everyone else to get away.” He gripped the wall behind him, trying and failing to stand. “I ain’t much good at runnin’ right now … I may need help.”

“I’ll help you,” said a quiet voice behind them.

Molly and Kip turned to see Alistair. “You?” she said, unable to hide her surprise.

The Windsors were all looking at Alistair now, but Alistair kept his eyes on Kip. “It’s my fault you’ve got no crutch.” He lowered his head. “It’s only right that I go with you.”

Constance sat up, clutching her husband’s hands to her breast. “Bertie, you can’t let him. Tell him he can’t go …”

The house shook again. Molly heard one final, bloody scream, and then the room upstairs went silent.

Fig and Stubbs were gone.

Molly ran to Alistair’s side and cut the ropes around his ankles and hands. “You dinna have to do this,” she said.

“I know.” He stood tall. “But I want to.” He went to Kip and threaded one arm under Kip’s shoulder.

There was another burst of wind, and the green door flew off its hinges, crashing down the stairs and landing in front of the family.

Bertrand gasped, clutching his wife’s hand. “It’s him …”

“The night man,” Penny whispered.

The whole family watched in horror as the Gardener stepped into the hall. He stood at the top of the stairs, the axe still in his hand. His cloak was slick with something wet and dark. Molly did not think it was sap.

Alistair backed toward the open front door, Kip supported by his shoulder. “You said he doesn’t like it when you hurt the tree?” Alistair said.

“Aye,” Molly answered.

Alistair grabbed hold of a thick branch growing through the wall
beside him. “Then he’ll hate this.” He pulled down on the branch with his full weight. The limb snapped, breaking away from the wall.

The Gardener flinched, dropping the axe. He howled in pain, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Catch as catch can!” Alistair cried as he and Kip disappeared out the front door.

ip staggered down the gravel drive, his arm over Alistair’s shoulder, trying to keep apace. “We need to draw him to the woods on the far side of the island,” he said. “We’ll be safe there.” He knew a place where the tree’s roots had not yet grown—a place where the Night Gardener couldn’t reach them. They only had to get there alive.