The Dreamsnatcher (18 page)

Skull spat. ‘I told you to hold the hounds back. We need to get the boy to speak.’

Gobbler lowered his voice. ‘He won’t be speaking for some time, Skull . . .’

Skull’s lifeless eyes blinked once. The lantern the boy was cradling shivered and went out.

‘I don’t care what state he’s in. Until we have the girl, Alfie’s the only one who has the answers we need,’ Skull replied.

‘But he’s a stubborn one – with a will of iron,’ one of the boys ventured.

The rain slid down Skull’s mask in snaking lines. ‘Then beat his cob. Beat it in front of him. That’ll get him to speak.’

All around them the night was a black abyss, filled with the sounds of rain.

At the other end of the clearing, set back within the trees, there was a choked whimper. Breath ripped out of Alfie’s body, dragging him back into consciousness. Shooting
pains burned through his legs, pounding upwards into his body. He tugged against the ropes that bound him to the tree, but they held him fast. Alfie winced. Even his hands, now throbbing at the
wrists, had been bound behind his back.

What had happened? Mellantha, the bone reading, Moll, and then the hounds . . . They had been pounding through the undergrowth towards them – a terror of teeth and claws. Then Moll had
disappeared. Oak had come for her and she had escaped and left him for dead.

He flinched as he straightened himself up. The tree he had been tied to jutted into his back, grating on his spine. Again shooting pains coursed through his body. His shorts had been shredded
around the knees and his skin torn by cuts and scratches. Grimacing, he rolled his ankle over. Two rows of teeth marks were gouged into his flesh, rupturing his leg into a mangled wound.

A spasm gripped his body and Alfie retched. Fighting back the tears, he bit down on his lip. A gust of wind rustled the dead leaves and tugged his ripped shirt open. Bloodied scratches marred
his chest. Still the rain beat on. Alfie wanted to cry out into it, but the pain swallowed his strength.

From the trees nearby, Alfie heard Raven whinny. And this time the boy couldn’t fight the tears. They fell from his eyes freely until sobs shook his body. Raven stepped forward, as far as
his tethering rope would allow. He craned his neck towards Alfie, breathing gently through his nostrils. But, however far he stretched, he couldn’t reach the boy.

And that’s when it came to Alfie: a small tatter of hope. He looked at Raven through misted eyes.

‘You’re after my rings,’ he said to his cob in a cracked voice. ‘My – my rings . . .’

Each word wrung his body with pain. But now he had a plan. Though it might take hours, there was a chance he could cut his way free of the rope with the spikes on his gypsy fighting rings. He
looked at the clearing with desperate eyes.
Where would they go? And on a night like this?
He shook the thought from his mind. That could wait; the most important thing was escaping
Skull’s clutches once and for all.

Hours drifted by and still the boys remained with Skull and Gobbler in the clearing. Their voices twisted through the rain to Alfie – strange words loaded with terror: they were planning
to summon something. He strained to hear what they were saying – something about a Soul Splinter to use on Moll and her wildcat. Alfie stiffened; the word was somehow familiar, as if
he’d heard it many years before. He shook his head, turning back to the ropes. Facing his past was a task for another night. Now he needed to focus on getting free.

Alfie’s rings cut into the rope, bit by bit, a soft scuffing amid the rain-filled night.

‘It isn’t working, Raven,’ Alfie groaned, his voice cracked with pain.

But just at that moment, when he felt the last of his strength seep from his body, the rope fell away and Alfie slumped forward. He twisted his neck towards Raven who neighed softly and pawed
the ground.

‘Shhhhh, boy.’

Alfie made to get up, but his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed. Raven turned his back to Alfie.

Alfie winced. ‘Don’t – don’t turn away, boy,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just – I don’t have the strength . . .’

Raven yanked his neck to one side and then there was a crack as the tethering rope, which had been fastened from a ground peg to his halter, snapped off. Raven stepped gingerly towards Alfie,
then lowered his neck and nuzzled the boy’s head. His warmth surged through Alfie and he lifted a shaking hand to his cob’s mane.

‘My boy,’ he whispered, closing his eyes. ‘My boy.’

He sank his head into Raven’s mane and then watched, his mouth wide in disbelief, as Raven lowered himself to his knees.

Alfie shot a look at the clearing, but Skull and his gang were still deep in conversation. Summoning all his strength, Alfie clung to Raven’s mane. ‘That’s it, boy,
that’s it! There’s a chance now . . .’

Flinching in pain with every movement, Alfie hauled himself up on to Raven’s back. His own leg was bloodied and limp, but he felt the power of Raven’s legs as the cob thrust his body
upwards to a standing position.

Alfie was silent for a few seconds, then he let his head fall down on Raven’s mane. ‘I don’t know, Raven. I don’t know where to go.’

Rain poured down on to Alfie’s face making his teeth chatter, but Raven didn’t hang around. He picked his way away from the clearing into the heart of the Deepwood. As soon as the
camp was out of earshot, Raven quickened his pace. Trotting. Through the deadened glade. Then faster. Cantering. Through the crowd of beech trees. Until, at last, they were racing away from Skull,
through the sodden forest.

Alfie clung on. ‘Don’t let me fall, Raven. I can’t go back to Skull. Don’t let me fall . . .’

His body slumped on Raven’s back and waves of pain washed over him, dragging him back into unconsciousness. The trees around him fell away, and with it the raw aching in his leg. Still the
black cob raced on.

Alfie’s eyes fluttered open as they slowed by the river. But the pain was rolling over him again and, lulled by the pattering of the rain, he felt himself falling away once more into
nothingness. He was numb to everything around him: numb to the splash of water as he fell from Raven into the river; numb even to the strong, firm hands that hauled him to the bank.

M
oll sat on the end of her box bed. It had been raining for days and this morning it clobbered down on her wagon roof like thousands of marbles
dropping on to a tin tray. Gryff was nestled within the folds of crumpled clothes on Moll’s floor. Before Moll’s kidnap by Gobbler and Alfie, the closest the wildcat had been to the
camp was when he’d occasionally crept beneath her wagon at night to sleep. But since their escape on the heath he hadn’t left Moll’s side, not even to hunt, and Oak’s boys
brought him rabbits, voles and mice. During the day he followed her like a reflection and at night he watched over her, a friend amid the forces of the Dream Snatch.

Moll looked at the figure in her bed. ‘Should I poke him?’

Gryff opened one yellow-green eye and growled.

‘Stop staring,’ Moll hissed. ‘You’re meant to be sleeping.’

Gryff made a short
pppttt
noise through his teeth, then closed his eye.

‘Maybe a little poke,’ Siddy whispered, ‘to check he’s still alive.’

Moll and Siddy had got their poking fingers ready when the wagon door creaked open and Mooshie stuck a bedraggled head in.

‘You two – OFF!’ she hissed. Raindrops dripped off her dimpled chin and her headscarf was soaked through. Behind her, children whispered in anxious, excited voices. Mooshie
shooed them away. ‘I’m sure Moll will tell you everything soon.’ She closed the door. ‘Won’t you, Moll?’

‘Mmmmmmn.’

Siddy gave Moll a thwack. ‘Come on, admit you missed everyone when you were in Skull’s clearing.’

Moll sighed. ‘There was a lot going on, Sid. Not much time for missing people, I’m afraid.’ But she had missed them. Not just Siddy, whom Jinx had led Oak to after Moll’s
kidnap, but even Florence, and that was worrying on a whole new level. Moll stared across at the body in her bed.

‘If you carry on staring at him like that,’ Mooshie said curtly, ‘he might never wake up. I know I wouldn’t bother coming round if the first thing I had to look at was
your scowling mug.’ She unhooked a copper pan and turned to the stove. Lighting it, she boiled down the pig fat she’d brought in, then reached inside her pinafore. ‘Blossom
gathered in a thunderstorm – carries extra healing properties.’ She scattered the petals into the simmering pot, then strained the mixture. ‘For his bruises – and I’ve
lavender oil and woundwort to soothe the wound.’ She brought out a small tin. ‘It’s mixed with mashed potato, see – the best dressing you’ll find.’

Moll made a silent decision never to have another cut or bruise.

Mooshie shooed Moll and Siddy off the bed. ‘Can’t you busy yourselves elsewhere?’

Siddy threw his hands into the air. ‘We’ve been busying ourselves for ages!’ He pointed to the mounds of moss, birds’ eggs and feathers he’d collected with Moll.
‘Any more busying around and we’ll have half the blinking forest in here!’

Moll nodded. ‘He had all of yesterday and the day before to come round. And we’ve got so much to do: understand why the Shadowmasks have no shadows; figure out how they killed my
parents; find the well with the amulets inside . . . And he needs to help, instead of lying there covered in mashed potato!’

Mooshie shook her head. ‘You saw those hounds, Moll. You saw what they managed to do to Wisdom and Jesse – and they were on cobs.’

Moll looked down. Even after Mooshie had held her close and tucked her into bed the night of their escape, she couldn’t untangle herself from what she’d seen. Every time she closed
her eyes, she saw the hounds. They chased her into her nightmare that night and it was only when the familiar click of her wagon latch sounded that she had been rescued from their snarling jaws.
Oak was carrying a small body in his arms. That had been two days ago and still Alfie hadn’t sat up or spoken a word.

He lay before her, breathing shakily. His eyes, swollen and bruised, were closed, and the scratches on his face were still raw and red.

Moll sat forward. ‘Alfie?’ she whispered. ‘Alfie, Alfie, Alfie, Alfie, Alfie, Alfie, Alfie, Alfie—’

Gryff buried his head under Moll’s discarded clothes and Mooshie glowered at her, picking up two mud-stained skirts from the floor and folding them over her plump arms. ‘Hush, Moll,
you’re being a pest. Leave the boy to sleep, will you?’

Then, quite unexpectedly, Alfie’s eyelids fluttered and one eye opened.

Moll beamed at Mooshie. ‘Ha!’

‘Stay with him, both of you,’ Mooshie said, ‘and I’ll get Oak.’ But her eyes were sparkling and as she left the wagon there was a spring in her step.

Alfie’s other eye opened and his gaze fell upon Moll. He looked at her for several seconds, his face completely blank, then his eyes travelled over her wagon and its belongings. Seconds
later, he looked back at Moll with empty blue eyes.

She stuck out her leg and nudged Gryff with her foot.

Gryff yawned, his whiskers twitching either side of his nose. He dipped his head towards Alfie. ‘
Brrroooooo
.’

‘That’s his greeting call,’ Moll said.

Alfie didn’t respond, but he tensed as he took in Siddy.

‘That’s Siddy,’ Moll explained. ‘He pinched the bone reading from Cinderella Bull’s wagon – and he races earthworms in his spare time.’

Siddy lifted his flat cap, then beamed. ‘You’re Alfie, aren’t you?’

‘You know he’s Alfie,’ Moll hissed.

Siddy grinned. ‘I had a pet worm called Alfie once. Before Porridge.’ He lifted the earthworm from his pocket. ‘Now I’ve got Porridge the Second and I’m training
him up to be a racing worm.’

Porridge the Second shot Alfie a look of resigned boredom, then sank back into Siddy’s pocket.

Alfie swallowed and looked at Moll. ‘Is this your wagon?’ His voice was scratched, like a broken instrument.

Moll nodded. ‘Yup.’ She drew herself up nice and tall. ‘We’ve been looking after you, even though you thieved me from Oak’s camp—’

‘You catapulted me in the head! And you – you left me for dead on the heath!’

Moll blew through her teeth as she tried to remember Mooshie’s advice again. Think then get angry. Or was it get angry then think? Or maybe it was don’t get angry and don’t
think. She tried that: ‘I wanted to come back for you; I tried to make them. But Skull – he . . .’ She trailed off. ‘Anyway, you can borrow the wagon for a while if you
want.’

Alfie raised his eyebrows. Moll scowled back. So here she was, making peace with the enemy again. And yet Alfie had tricked Skull with the blacksmith note and he’d got them out of the
cage. And there was her dress. Somehow she didn’t want to snap a promise to him any more. It felt like the right thing to do.

‘Is Raven safe?’ Alfie asked, biting his lip.

Siddy nodded. ‘Tied up with our cobs just beyond the clearing. Oak’s boys have been looking after him.’

Alfie breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the quilt back, he eased himself up so that he was sitting against the wagon wall. Moll pretended not to notice the way he winced every time he
moved.