Darkwood (10 page)

Aunt Prim had never shown much interest in the children on her list, except for Phoebe Tamburlaine, the first.

“You know she only talks about Phoebe to scare you, right? To make you behave?” Page said to her one day.

“You mean it never happened?”

“I don't know. Something happened, but the version you heard probably isn't true. People like to exaggerate. Especially people like Aunt P.”

“Oh.” Annie had felt strangely disappointed.

Page smiled, and patted the mattress next to her. “Do you want me to tell you the version I know?”

Phoebe Tamburlaine lived with her parents and six siblings on a farm close to town. One day when she was behaving very badly, her mother shut her outdoors to learn a lesson. The sky was bright. The sun was hot. Phoebe's shadow moved around her body as the sun moved in the sky. “Mama?” Phoebe called, but her mother didn't listen, or didn't hear. Night fell. “Mama!” Her screams, if she had time to scream at all, were drowned by the frenzied howls of the kinderstalk. When her mother ventured outside the next morning she saw the dirt in the yard all pocked with paw prints; of her daughter there was
nothing left but a tattered shoe and a single sock, flecked with blood.

“Beware the kinderstalk, Annie! Bewaaare!” Then Page had pounced on her and tickled her until she shrieked.

Annie sat up. “Gregor, we can leave this place. They don't know I can see, and I have some terrible-looking stuff from Grandmother Hoop. We could give it to a guard, or—”

“Grandmother Hoop? What did she say it was for?”

“She said, ‘for the heart and for the belly.'

“Don't waste it. She cured my dad once. He was sick, awful sick. It was green powder and she mixed it with whisky. ‘Tastes like frogs!' he said. But he got better, Annie. He got better quick.”

“We won't use it on the guards then. But we have to plan. Tomorrow night I'll have to work, and if Smirch really …”

“Rest first, just a bit. Then plan.”

With his eyes closed, she could see the prominence of the brow bones, the veins at his temple like distant rivers.

“Yes. Rest,” she said. “I'm exhausted.”

Annie was just wondering if Gregor had fallen asleep when he spoke again, so softly she had to strain to hear.

“Darling, what do you wish for?”

“What? Gregor, are you …”

“Darling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”

“Gregor!”

He nudged an elbow into her ribs, barely a touch.

She laughed. “Start again from the beginning. I'll be the child.”

“Darling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”

“A ribbon, Mother, a ribbon, to tie back my hair.”

“Darling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”

“A key, Mother, a key, to lock up my heart.”

“Darling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”

“A light, Mother, a light, to find you when you're far.”

“Darling, what do you wish for? Tell me what you fear.”

“The dark, Mother, the dark, the dark wood is what I fear.”

When she knew he was asleep, Annie slipped from the bunk, careful first to cover him with both blankets.

No one had bothered to lock the door. And why would they? The children had no torches or lanterns of their own. They had no weapons. The dark imprisoned the children more securely than the highest, thickest wall. Annie shuddered, partly with the excitement of how easy it would be to escape, and partly with a new and dreadful sense of how important it was to keep her secret.

Where would she take Gregor to get well? To Grandmother Hoop? Would she help them? What about his own parents?

Annie considered these questions with half a mind; the other half she focused on two objectives: stay clear of the roving
circles of torchlight that would reveal her to the men working the night shift and find a weapon. A club or a knife would do, but what she really needed was a pistol. They wouldn't keep them anywhere near the miners' tents. She skirted those, her ears, which seemed sharp tonight, picking up snores, a hacking cough, someone trying to swallow sobs. Her nose, too, was hard at work: wood smoke from the kiln; the usual men-smells of sweat and feet; damp wool; something burnt lingering from dinner; and that tinny sweetness that hung over everything here. Chopper smelled of it, Hauler smelled of it, even Gregor. The fruit she'd stolen from Chopper's garden had tasted of it, she realized, and had the funny sensation of feeling her mouth water and her stomach turn at the same time.

Annie stopped when she reached the tents where Gibbet's men slept. These were in better condition than those of the miners. They had wooden sides and stilts to keep them above the frost and mud. A lantern was lit in one of them and she could see two men in profile, one sitting, the other standing in front of him. The standing man was unwinding a piece of cloth from around the sitting man's head. She crept closer.

“Hurts!” said a muffled voice.

“Hold still, this will be the worst of it. There.”

“How's it look?”

No answer.

“It looks bad?”

“It looks bad, Pip.”

“Will I lose my eye?” the seated man asked in a small voice.

“Might do. Can't say. A scar though, definite.”

“Like Chopper?”

The standing man chuckled. “Just like that, Pip. Terrify the orphans, for certain.”

“Why'd he do it, Rube? It was just a slip. Just a little slip.”

“You never call him that. Never. Not until he really is.”

“King?” Pip whispered.

“Quiet! You want me to take your tongue, too?”

“Sorry, Rube. Sorry. But Rube?”

“What?”

“Where does he go all the time? What does he do?”

“He stays at Chopper's farm, you know that. Or sometimes”—here Rube's voice changed, and Annie could not tell if it was contempt, or surprise, or something else he was trying to suppress—“I heard sometimes he stays with his mother.”

“But what does he
do
?”

“Sit still. I'm going to wrap you back up.”

They were quiet for a few minutes except for an occasional whimper from Pip. Annie had just decided to continue her search for weapons when Rube spoke.

“They'll have a job for you, I think. A bad job.”

“What?” Pip's voice was muffled again.

“A new chipper in today. Strong, and Hauler says Chopper caught her on the ladder in full dark, so either brave or dumb. We hope dumb.” He chuckled. “Anyway, the beds are getting tight. And there's a runout.”

“Aw, not that, Rube. I'm not the man for that.”

“You're not the man for anything if you don't show them
you know how to keep quiet. Tough and quiet, like I always tell you, Pip. Tough and quiet.”

A pause.

“How do I do it?”

“However you like, just so there's no trace.”

“When?”

“The runout's in there now, all alone. Or maybe the new one is with him, but that's no matter. Just do it before the rest get off shift. And before Hauler wakes up. He doesn't like to know.”

“Gregor! Gregor, wake up.”

Again and again she had to remind herself, as he stumbled and clung to her, that he was sick, that he couldn't see. But she wanted to shake him, to yell at him,
hurry, hurry, hurry
.

“Annie, stop. I can't. I can't.”

He was panting, his arm around her neck, hers gripping his waist. She could feel his ribs through his back.

“Boots?” she asked.

“No boots. All burnt.”

“Never mind.”

Somehow, she got him through the door, a few feet down the path toward the cliff. Lights bobbed along the cliff top. Would the children carry lanterns? Would they chip blind?

She was nearly carrying him now. A wagon. If they could get to a wagon … there must be horses stabled somewhere.
Think, Annie, think
.

“Gregor, take this. Take a sip.”

“From Grandmother Hoop?” he gasped.

“Yes.” She closed his fingers around the vial.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

“No, my kiddies. I'm afraid, no.”

Smirch stood with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to one side. His mouth was smug. A moment later Pip appeared, his head swaddled in bandages, and behind him a man Annie guessed to be Rube, holding a torch.

“You two take the runout. I'll take the girl. Bold as brass, this one.” He shook his head. “Chopper liked you.”

Annie tightened her arm around Gregor. Rube nodded at Pip, who took a step toward them. Smirch put his hand on her shoulder.

If Annie had had time to think, she wouldn't have done it. Of course she wouldn't have done it, something so strange. But she didn't think. She bit Smirch's hand, bit him so hard that blood spurted into her mouth and he screamed a thin scream of real pain.

Then, a blur. Running, Gregor running with her, a surge of hope—they were free!—and then a feeling of being cut in two, cold air where his body had touched hers. A pair of strong hands grabbed her under the arms, wrenching her upward. It was a mistake, lifting her like that. It left her feet free to kick, her hands free to punch and claw. Whoever was holding her let go, and she turned, frantic.