Moll sat inside a tent in the clearing, beside Mooshie and Patti as they sang a ballad about lovers lost at sea and prepared the hawking goods with a handful of girls. Moll loathed songs that favoured lovers over highwaymen and looting, so she tried to listen to the rain pattering on to the canvas roof instead. Gryff crouched in the far corner of the tent, away from the clatter, and, although Florence and Ivy tried to get on with shaping wire into flowers, their eyes kept glancing nervously towards him.
Siddy walked across the clearing with an armful of firewood, past his father and Oak who were sitting on Oak’s wagon steps, sharpening knives in case Skull’s gang came close. On seeing Moll with the girls, Siddy gave her a surprised thumbs up. Moll shifted her stool away from Florence and Ivy (and their beautifully ironed dresses and brushed hair) and scowled back at him. Most days Moll would have been entranced by the simmering pots of melted wax and vanilla essence and she would have watched, wide-eyed, as the wax hardened round the wire flowers. But not today.
She rocked back and forth on her stool. ‘I need to get Alfie up. It’s already midday!’
‘Get him up?’ Mooshie spat as she twisted a wire flower in the pot.
Moll nodded. ‘How are we going to beat Skull if I’m sitting here helping you make wax flowers?’
Patti scowled, rubbing the wax from her finger on to her purple skirt. ‘You’re not sitting here helping us make wax flowers. You’re sitting here being a pest.’
Moll grabbed a flower and dunked it furiously into the melted wax. It splashed up on to her hand and she jumped backwards. ‘No one ever, ever, ever understands me,’ she hissed. ‘We need to be up and looking for this well. It’s in the forest somewhere – and finding it is our only chance against Skull. And how are we going to do that when I’m stuck in here and Alfie’s in my wagon with Rocky Jo?’
Mooshie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why’ve you left Alfie with a cockerel?’
‘He’s not a cockerel, he’s a legendary highwayman – of the worst kind,’ Moll said. ‘And I thought Alfie might want the company.’ She sighed. ‘But he’s probably bored stiff of Rocky Jo by now. Unless you know the highwayman well, conversation can be a bit tricky.’
Mooshie rolled her eyes, then adjusted the pinafore string around her waist. ‘You’re not taking Alfie to look for the well until he’s better, and until Cinderella Bull has read her crystal ball again for clues as to where the thing might actually be. We can’t take any chances now, Moll.’
But Moll wasn’t listening. Alfie had appeared on the steps of her wagon across the clearing.
Florence gasped. ‘That’s him? The boy who helped you escape?’
Moll nodded and, quite by accident, she found herself replying, ‘He can pick locks and whisper to cobs.’
Florence’s eyes widened.
Patti wiped her hands on her lilac pinafore, then turned to Mooshie. ‘We could get Moll to show Alfie what’s what around the clearing – they’d be safe in here.’
Ivy sat forward. ‘And Moll could take Siddy too. Wisdom caught him slipping minnows down our chimney earlier. He said it was a wedding present . . .’
Mooshie fiddled with her rings, then she stuck a hand out of the tent. ‘I suppose the rain is clearing and Oak’s boys are all up in the trees on watch.’ She drew herself up in front of Moll and pointed to a wheelbarrow full of logs that Siddy was now lugging. ‘You can wheel Alfie once or twice round the clearing so that he can see what’s what, but mind his ankle and, if you so much as step into those trees, your life won’t be worth living. Remember, Moll – the whole camp’s watching out for you now. STAY INSIDE THE CLEARING.’
As Moll sprang up from her stool, Florence added, ‘Perhaps we could do some hawking together once all this is over?’
Moll considered and Mooshie and Patti braced themselves for something vile. But it wasn’t too disastrous. ‘Or we could watch Gryff hunt for things; he’s great at killing voles. Really gets his claws stuck in.’
Florence gave a shaky smile. It was a start.
Gryff skirted round the edge of the tent towards Moll, then they sploshed across the puddles, mud splattering all over Moll’s newly-ironed skirt. She grabbed the wheelbarrow from Siddy, emptied it of logs and pointed to Alfie. ‘We’re putting him in it.’ She glanced at the bandages wrapped round Alfie’s ankle and, for a second, she wondered whether the wheelbarrow was in fact an entirely appropriate means of transport.
Alfie followed her gaze. ‘It’ll heal,’ he mumbled. ‘They always do.’
Moll bundled two pillows out of her wagon while Siddy helped Alfie into the wheelbarrow. The rain had stopped now and shards of sunlight filtered through the trees. Bracken glimmered after their drenching and the undergrowth looked greener than it had in months.
Several metres away, Mooshie stood with a hand on her hips. In the other hand she brandished a wire flower like some sort of fencing sword. ‘Remember my warning, Molly Pecksniff.’
‘Who’s that?’ Alfie whispered. ‘I recognise her face. Did she help me – in your wagon?’
Siddy nodded. ‘She put the bandages on you and the mashed potato.’
‘Really? That’s where that came from?’
Moll nodded. ‘Her name’s Mooshie; she’s Oak’s wife and she’s good news when she’s not tempered up with her tea towel.’
Moll grabbed the wooden bowl of chanterelle mushrooms Mooshie had left for them on the wagon steps. She and Siddy chomped a handful down and even Alfie managed a few mouthfuls.
‘They’re good,’ Alfie said. ‘Better than anything I tasted in Skull’s camp.’
‘Mooshie’s a good cook,’ Siddy said.
Moll nodded. ‘Except when she makes nettle soup.’ She placed the last of the mushrooms on to the ground before Gryff.
He circled them once, sniffed the plate, then gobbled them down before settling himself on Moll’s wagon steps as she and Siddy pushed Alfie forward into the heart of the camp.
The clearing was filling up with people now the rain had stopped, but the carefree atmosphere that usually hung in the air had gone; everyone knew Skull and his gang were lurking close. Instead of charging round the fire, children were gathered close, carving catapults in case of an attack, and, although Mooshie insisted the girls help her with the hawking, the men were still sharpening knives and polishing saddles.
Some miles away, beyond the forest, church bells pealed out. Moll sometimes forgot that life in Tipplebury village muddled along beyond the fringes of the trees. She and Siddy wiggled round the children, then jerked the wheelbarrow to a stop by the old armchair set back from the fire.
‘This is Hard-Times Bob!’ Moll cried. ‘He’s great at dislocating his limbs.’
Hard-Times Bob, who had been enjoying an afternoon snooze, jumped out of his seat like a jack-in-the-box, then wheezed out a series of rickety hiccups.
‘Who? What?’ he snuffled.
‘This is Alfie,’ Moll said. ‘We were just showing you to him.’
‘Showing me to him . . .’ he muttered, but he adjusted his spotted bow tie all the same and threw them a smile with two rows of yellowed teeth. He glanced at Alfie. ‘Ah, so this is the famous Alfie. Moll tells me you see things others don’t – like ways to escape cages and means to trick Skull’s boys.’ Alfie blushed. Hard-Times Bob thumped his fist on the arm of his chair excitedly. ‘Just like me, you are, because I see things others don’t – like whiplash snakes. I saw one just last week in Punchbowl Copse. Moving in cartwheels, it was . . .’
From the armchair beside him, Cinderella Bull cast a withering look. ‘You haven’t left the clearing for two weeks, Bob; you haven’t seen no whiplash snake.’
Moll leant closer to Alfie. ‘He’s going to be famous one day – people will pay hundreds and hundreds to see Hard-Times Bob the Limb Dislocater. I know they will.’
Siddy shrugged. ‘I think I might be famous one day.’
Moll scowled. ‘What for?’
‘Fitting eleven chestnuts into my mouth at once. That or racing earthworms.’
Moll rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s keep going.’
Siddy pointed up to one of the Sacred Oaks. ‘See that bloke with the ponytail up in the tree?’ Alfie nodded. ‘That’s Wisdom – Oak and Mooshie’s eldest son. He’s won the Fighting Crown for three years running. I reckon that’s why my sister married him because it can’t have been for his ponytail.’
Moll nodded. ‘Oak’s got two more sons. There’s Noah, who always wears a red neckerchief and can throw a knife on to a bullseye with his eyes shut, and then there’s Domino, the smallest one. But don’t be fooled by his size. Domino’s the fastest gypsy in the camp! He’ll be up in an alder near the river so, if Skull’s gang come close, he’ll be here in a flash to warn us.’
Alfie gulped. ‘Can I see Raven?’
Moll and Siddy steered him away to the edge of the clearing watched by Mooshie and Patti. Gryff sprang down from Moll’s wagon steps. The children in the camp stopped carving their catapults and stared, wide-eyed, as Gryff prowled towards Moll – alert now, his eyes flicking between the trees.
Alfie leant forward when he saw the cobs tethered to the trees just behind the oaks. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled, and, within seconds, Raven had picked his way between the sun-dappled trunks until his rope was taut. Alfie hauled himself out of the wheelbarrow and stood before his cob. Raven placed his head into Alfie’s palm and Alfie leant into his mane.
‘My boy,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you.’
Jinx walked nimbly through the trees towards Moll. ‘Hi, Jinx.’
Siddy looked down at Porridge who had poked his head out of his pocket. ‘I need an upgrade,’ he muttered.
Moll tickled the special spot behind Jinx’s ears, then she looked around her and listened. The forest was coming alive again after the rain: animals scavenged for berries and nuts and unseen birds called to one another from towering branches.
She turned to Alfie and Siddy. ‘The forest—’ And then she stopped. A feeling – one of unsettling coldness – had scuttled under her skin. Her eyes darted over the trees, deeper into the forest. Nothing. And yet there was something nearby. She could feel it. Moll blinked. Was there something dark moving among the furthest trees? She shook herself.
‘What is it?’ Alfie asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Moll replied. ‘Only I felt something – like there was someone nearby. Not the camp, not Gryff. Someone else . . . Out there in the trees.’
Siddy took a step backwards, further into the clearing. ‘Even though Oak’s boys are up on guard, perhaps we should be staying close to the fire.’
Moll looked across at Gryff. He was just a few metres away, only he wasn’t looking at her. He had his neck craned towards the trees in the distance and his whiskers were twitching. He had seen something.
‘Let’s get back to the fire,’ Siddy said.
Moll nodded, stooping to pick a handful of strawberries growing among the undergrowth. ‘Could’ve been a deer,’ she said as she scoffed the berries down.
Alfie climbed into the wheelbarrow and they pushed him back towards the centre of the clearing.
Moll stopped. A strange dizziness was clouding her head, throbbing inside her temples. She clutched on to the wheelbarrow and then a burning sensation ripped through her mouth and her throat tightened, forcing her breath into gasps.
She collapsed to the ground, aware of shouting in the clearing, of Gryff charging towards her. But second by second the sounds and sights faded and, as the fever shot through her body, only one image remained clear: a long face made of grey slate, with a jutting mouth and gaping eyeholes, darting between the furthest trees.
Another mask had come for her. Just as Mellantha had warned.