‘Time to get up, precious,’ Gobbler snarled, his half-open eye red and running.
Hours must have passed; the sky above the trees was a purplish blue as dawn seeped in.
Moll made as if to leap away, but Alfie and Gobbler fell upon her. The gag came first, one jerk from Alfie, then Gobbler bound her hands and feet, his fingers cold and damp, like swollen worms. The wound to his head from his mare’s hoof was still red and glistening and Moll could hear the terrified whines of the cobs as they yanked against the ropes that tied them to the trees.
Moll bucked her body and jabbed with her elbows, but their grip was a lock and they dragged her upright. Her blood pumped hard.
Jinx’s tethering rope had been cut – she was nowhere to be seen – and there was Siddy, bound to a tree, his eyes wild with fear. He threw his head left and right, fighting against the gag, spluttering choked-up cries. Moll’s throat closed. She should have listened to him and gone back to the camp like he’d said. She tried to break free, to rush over and untie him, but Alfie was already hauling her towards Raven.
Moll’s mind whirred. How had all this happened? Why hadn’t she heard a thing? The answer dropped like shattering glass: Skull’s Dream Snatch. It had held her prisoner, blocked everything from her knowledge – all noise, all realisation of anything happening. She thought that she’d managed to defeat it, but it had attacked in a different way. Her glance slipped to the riverbank; she could just make out Gryff’s body tucked behind the reeds. He was shaking and his eyes were closed. Perhaps he hadn’t broken out of the Dream Snatch; she’d been the one back in Skull’s camp who’d had to tear him from his trance. Moll wanted to scream out for him, to call him close, but what if Gobbler and Alfie seized him too?
She gulped down the lump in her throat and blinked hard at Gryff. I’ll find you again, Gryff, I promise. Stay safe.
As Gobbler turned away to untie the cobs, Alfie threw Moll to the ground. Then he leant over her, a tangle of blond hair tumbling over his eyes, and ripped the boxing fist talisman from her neck. He grinned. ‘I can sell that for a small fortune.’
Moll caught Siddy’s eyes; they were filled with dread.
Alfie rubbed a grubby thumb over the initials, then his eyes widened in surprise. ‘MP.’ He said the letters slowly, savouring each syllable. He felt for something in his pocket and smiled. Out of the corner of her eye, Moll glimpsed a roll of leather, but Alfie tucked it quickly away. ‘We’re getting closer and closer to who you are, girl.’
But Moll wasn’t thinking about that.
Don’t open the boxing fists . . . Don’t see the catch . . . Not my pa’s bone reading, my only clue to the amulets . . .
Alfie glanced behind him to where Gobbler was trying to keep the cobs steady. Then he flicked the catch on Moll’s talisman, pulled out the bone fragments and stuffed them into his pocket.
Siddy tore against the ropes, but they held him firm, and Moll’s heart thundered within her.
Gobbler approached, riding his mare and yanking Raven behind him. Moll dug her heels into the ground, but Gobbler reached down and hauled her up behind him, and, before she could even turn back to Siddy, Gobbler had set off along the riverbank, racing further and further back upstream to where the crossing was shallower.
The wind picked up, screeching through the trees like the souls of dead witches. Its spirit was angry, Moll could tell. It buffeted against Gobbler and his mare, but they tore through its strength, surging on to where the river shallowed.
Again Moll found herself at the boundary as Gobbler’s mare charged into the water, racing over the pebbles with Raven and scrambling up the banks of the Deepwood. Moll snatched a glance behind.
And there was Gryff, charging through the breaking dawn on the other side of the river. But he was too late.
The cobs were galloping into the Deepwood now and a strange darkness was growing, blocking the river and the Ancientwood from sight. Moll’s head spun. It was as if the shadows had come alive: dark swirls of night that moved in ghostly swishes. Gryff was gone. All that was left was the sound of the shadows, moaning like wind trapped in a chimney.
Moll tried to break free, but Gobbler whirled round to face her. The vein in his forehead pulsed and his back bulged like some kind of overgrown wart. Moll could feel his sour breath on her cheek and see the scarlet veins glistening on his open eyeball. A smile festered in the corner of his mouth and he raised a hand – a clenched fist. Moll saw it coming, saw the knuckledusters glinting.
Then the darkness clattered down.