Dreamwood (21 page)

T
hey left Jank where he'd fallen. It hadn't felt right to Lucy to leave him without some kind of tribute. But what could they do? She didn't even dare pick a flower to lay beside him. They'd left the grove and walked a short distance farther when they stopped and took
antimorpheus
together. Lucy's bottle was nearly empty, but Angus had plenty in his—he would have, considering there were drops enough for five dead men in it.

Then Silas could no longer contain himself. “Each day we stay here another one of us dies,” he told the timber baron angrily. His long, weaselly face looked thinner than ever, and he'd chewed raw a spot on his lip. “Who will it be tomorrow?”

Angus ran his hand through his hair and sighed, facing Silas. “You're right,” he said wearily. “The longer we stay in this forest, the more dangerous it is for all of us.” He turned to face Lucy and Pete. “Our lives depend on getting to the dreamwood as quickly as we can. We're in a desperate situation.” Angus looked pointedly at Lucy.

For a moment Lucy thought he was angry. But then he said more gently, “Your father is one of the greatest ghost clearers in history. Perhaps he gave you something that could help.”

Pete cleared his throat. “Lucy has a machine that can clear ghosts,” he announced to everyone's surprise, including Lucy's. “I'll show you.”

He marched over to her pack and brought out the sweeper, which wriggled in Pete's stocking. It looked like a fat angry sausage.

As he held it up he shot her a warning glance. Now she understood. Pete still didn't want her to show them the vitometer, so he was going to parade the sweeper around instead.

“Don't, Pete.” Lucy could already imagine how the men would react to the sweeper. There weren't any ghosts here; it would just march up and down looking silly.

But Silas thought she was trying to keep secrets from them. His eyes glittering, he held out his arm to stop her. “No, let the boy show us.”

“All right,” Pete said, “prepare to be amazed.” He untied the knot in the stocking and shook the sweeper onto the ground.

The egg shook with excitement at being freed. As soon as he put it down, the sweeper marched forward issuing earsplitting blasts of steam. For a few moments it looked formidable. Even Angus seemed to regard it with respect.

But there was a downed log in its path, and instead of going around, the sweeper simply collided with it. This obstacle seemed to enrage the egg; it butted heads with the log again and again. Finally, it hit the log so hard it ricocheted backward and fell on the ground, legs waving in the air.

Silas let out a long hiss of breath and then spat.

Angus's face was a thundercloud.

Lucy knew what they were thinking—William Darrington was a crackpot, a failure. An image of the Wickham newspaper with the picture of her father wearing his thought interferometer rose before her eyes:
Ghost Clearer Gone Mad.

“Maybe I put too much stock in William Darrington,” the timber baron said, staring into the twilight. He put his knuckles to his mouth as if trying to temper his disappointment. “I certainly expected more than this.”

“I told you the girl wouldn't be any help to us,” Silas said to his master. “The ghost clearer was a fool and his daughter is no better.”

Wounded pride built inside Lucy. Her father was a brilliant man. Angus, with his precious map, was leading them in circles. None of them would have gotten this far without her father's discoveries. She was tired of people making fun of him, she was tired of being underestimated.
You should show him some respect.

Lucy stepped forward, her chin quivering. “I have something that will lead us straight to it,” she said. She drew out the soft deerskin pouch she'd kept hidden inside Niwa's tunic. It was a relief not to have to keep it secret any longer. “This will save all our lives.”

Pete sighed heavily and hung his head. “There you go,” he said. “She's got the answers.”

“What is this?” The timber baron's eyes were bright with interest. He and Silas crowded around her to see better. It was getting dark, and Angus brought out his phos globe. Their attention bolstered Lucy and made her confident once again.

“A compass of sorts. I wasn't sure it was working correctly,” she lied. She needed to give some reason for not revealing it before now. “But I did some tests this morning and it's accurate. This needle points to dreamwood.”

“Let me see,” Angus demanded.

Lucy lifted the brass lid, revealing the needle and compass points inside.

Angus scrutinized it before saying under his breath, “So the ghost clearer was telling the truth about this, at least.”

His shoulders relaxed in relief. Then he clapped Silas on the back. “This is the first good news we've had since we got here.”

“Indeed,” Silas replied sourly. “Lucky it came to light
now.
” He squinted at Lucy, and his nose twitched. “I'm on to you, girl,” he came close and whispered. Lucy jumped as if she'd been pinched.

But the timber baron was in a celebratory mood. “Extra food for everyone tonight.”

“Course there's extra food,” Silas muttered under his breath. “And the more of us that die, the more leftovers there's going to be.”

Still, Lucy noticed, he took his extra portion when it was time to eat. She took her meal of salmon jerky and oat cakes and went to sit by Pete, who had found a soft, mossy spot near a clump of wild rhododendrons. They sat cross-legged with the food on a tin plate between them.

“Looks like wood, goes down like wood, too,” he observed, chewing the tough dried fish. At least Pete was speaking to her again.

After they'd eaten, Angus squatted down beside her. “Do you mind if I study your device?”

By this time it was black night. Lucy supposed he might look at it by the light of his phos globe. But he wouldn't be able to see much.

Pete stopped chewing, his cheeks full of jerky as he waited to see how she would answer. He'd been so suspicious, she couldn't help but feel guilty for letting the timber baron see it.
It's
my
vitometer,
she reminded herself.
Pete doesn't tell me what to do.
She took out the vitometer once more and held it out to Angus. But she felt bare without it; she'd grown used to its comforting purr against her chest, and almost immediately she reached out her hand to take it again.

“You can't see anything good now,” she explained. “Better wait till it's light.”

If Angus was disappointed, he covered it well. “Of course,” he said genially. On a sudden impulse he reached out and tousled her hair. “I'll look at it in the morning.”

“Sure,” Lucy said, feeling honored by this new mark of his affection. She reached up and smoothed her unruly braid.

Pete had been watching the two of them with a funny look on his face. “Happy now?” he asked her once Angus left.

Even a day ago she might have stuck out her tongue at him. But Jank's death had taken away any wish she had to snap at Pete. Now she just wanted them to be friends.

“No,” she said. She threw her bedroll to the ground and climbed inside, staring stonily at the tree branches above.

• • •

A fog came in that night, one of the thick coastal fogs that settles like a blanket, and come morning is so thick and veiling that the whole world is gray.

Lucy was asleep when a rough hand yanked at her neck. “Who's there?” she cried. “What are you doing?” The fog had closed off the stars; no light peeked through the darkness.

She fought like a wild thing and heard a gratifying
oof!
of pain as her heels connected with the man's shins. At least then she knew she was dealing with a person and not some beast of the Thumb.

But he wasn't trying to hurt her—merely snatch the deerskin pouch from around her neck. The slender cord broke and suddenly the vitometer's weight was gone.

Panic surged through her as she whirled about in the fog. Muffled footsteps ran away.

“Pete!” she cried. “Help!”

A dark shape loomed before her. This time she was ready.

“Ow!” came a boy's voice after her punch landed. “It's
me,
darn it.”

She'd hit Pete.

“I'm sorry.” She could see him now, doubled over and gasping.

“It's all right, who needs ribs?” He stood up and winced. Lucy's hand went to her throat, feeling again a burn where the cord had pulled against her skin. “Mr. Murrain,” she cried. “Silas took my vitometer!” She turned this way and that—but the soft, protected glen where they'd stopped for the night was empty. Beyond it the night was a gray shadow.

Beside her, Pete was still bent with pain. A disturbing noise—it sounded like
snorgle
—came from him.

“Are you
laughing
?”

Lucy wheeled about. She faced Pete, who was holding out his hands to defend himself.

“Oh, Mr. Murrain!” he parroted, then snorgled again as he gasped for breath. “They're gone.
Both
of them.”

She could hear the truth of it in the silence of the forest, broken only by Pete's rough breathing.

Pete eased himself to the ground, cradling his sore ribs. “Once he had your compass he didn't need us. We'd just slow him down. And you heard Silas last night. The longer we stay here, the more people die.”

“But . . .” She still had the timber baron's handkerchief.
You're quick witted,
he'd told her,
brave.
How could he have said such things, then left her behind? She touched her hair—he'd patted her head last night, but perhaps even as he did that he'd had his plan in mind.

We'll find dreamwood together,
he'd said.

Now she saw everything that had happened in the light of his betrayal. She slid to the ground beside Pete. “I was getting in his way.” Just like she was with her father.

“Don't say that,” Pete said, grimacing as he shifted position. “I think if anything, he was getting sick of
me.
”

It was awfully nice of Pete to say that. She wished she could laugh. But everything inside her felt broken, as if she were filled with shards of glass.

“No, it was me. And I know. I've been left so many times I feel like a piece of old luggage.” She turned to Pete, feeling her heart brim. “My father was never going to send for me at Miss Bentley's School,” she said desperately. “He was going to leave me there until I grew up and he didn't have to bother about me anymore. He wanted me to become one of
them.
”

She hadn't thought she would ever admit this to anyone. But there seemed little point in trying to hide the true reason she was separated from her father.

Pete didn't try to joke now. “You don't know that.”

But Lucy knew it in her heart, which throbbed with pain. And now she couldn't help it—tears dripped down her cheeks. “No. He didn't want me around.”

“Hey now! Don't say that.” Pete rubbed her shoulder urgently, as if more afraid of her tears than anything else on the Thumb. His hand felt warm, sweet, and she wished she could simply let it be. “No matter what, it'll be all right,” Pete told her firmly.

She shook her head. “I don't fit in anywhere. You're right, I
am
a know-it-all, I always have to have the answer, and nobody likes that.”

“That's just plain wrong. Look, I know you're stubborn and bullheaded and you're always right. But you're not alone. Whatever happens, you've got friends . . . you've got
me.
”

He grasped her hand.

She blinked back tears and looked at him. She had Pete.

Who she was now dripping tears and snot all over. Hurriedly she dragged her hand across her face.

Pete was good enough to pretend he didn't notice. “I know this isn't going to lick us,” Pete said. “We've still got one piece of jerky.” He brought out a deeply suspect piece of meat from his pack. “And we're closer than ever. So let's go find your father.”

“We can't,” she said, snuffling. “They took my vitometer.” The wiry arm around her neck had to have been Silas. The man was an absolute
rodent.

On a sudden thought she opened her pack and looked inside. There was her ghost sweeper. Sensing that the pack was open, it wriggled hopefully.

“They didn't even try to take the egg.” She felt her cheeks flush. For some reason she couldn't quite work out, she felt insulted that Silas and Angus hadn't thought it valuable enough to steal.

“They're a bunch of fools,” Pete concluded. “Now, how can you put any stock in what Angus said if he just went and proved himself
that
stupid?”

She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I guess I shouldn't put any stock in it at all.” Easier said than done. But Pete was making such an effort she felt she ought to try.