Winter Wood (26 page)

Henty and Little-Marten rose unsteadily from their crouching position, still stunned and weak-kneed with fright. A felix! Memories of the savage barn animal that they had encountered the previous summer should have made them more wary of venturing abroad at night – and yet this creature had plainly been terrified of
them
. It had been much younger and smaller, they realized now, than that other monster.

Had its yowling roused the giants? They stared up at
the dwelling, ready to flee if any light should appear. Nothing. All remained quiet and still.

Little-Marten let out a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Ffffffff . . .' He drew Henty towards him and they stood for a while in the cold moonlight, waiting for their beating hearts to subside. When they finally moved apart, Little-Marten saw the puzzled expression in Henty's eyes. She tilted her head back a little, as if to focus, then put her hand up towards his shoulder.

‘Bide still,' she whispered.

Little-Marten craned his neck sideways, trying to see what she was doing. ‘Eh? What is it?'

Henty had a fragment of some pale substance between her finger and thumb. She sniffed at it, held it away from her, sniffed at it again. Then she cautiously put it to her mouth and tasted it.

‘What've 'ee got there?'

‘Try it and see.'

Henty raised her fingers to Little-Marten's lips, and put a scrap of something into his mouth. Little-Marten chewed at the morsel between his front teeth, explored the texture of it with the tip of his tongue. It was . . . fish? Aye, fish! But like no fish that he had ever eaten before . . . a delicious salty flavour, with none of the earthiness of the eels and gudgies that the Wisp provided.

How could a piece of fish have found its way onto Little-Marten's shoulder? It must have been dropped there by something. The felix . . .

Simultaneously the pair of them turned towards the
place that the felix had sprung from. They saw a large black container, square edged and taller than them, with a lid that had been thrown open. From the top of the container protruded torn scraps of a shiny material that they recognized – the same type of black sack that had held the Gorji bindle-wrap. They sniffed at the air, and looked at each other, as if to confirm what they were both thinking. There was food in that thing. They could smell it, for certain, and they were beginning to guess at what it was that they had discovered – a food store. This must be what the giants used for their Basket-time.

The container had handles – very useful – and Little-Marten found that by standing on tiptoe he could just reach one of these. He tested the weight of the thing, rocking it to and fro on its base.

‘I reckon I can tip 'un up,' he whispered to Henty. He put one foot against the base and leaned back, pulling the handles towards him. Henty stood beside him, ready to help take the weight. Between the two of them they managed to lower the object onto its side, more or less in silence. They hauled the black sack from the open mouth of the container, and began their exploration.

What they found was scarcely believable: pieces of fruit, vegetables, meat – more food than all the Various tribes had seen brought to their own Basket-time in a moon. Crusts of toasted bread, some already spread with honey . . . half-full metal containers, one of which held the delicious fish . . . some strange curving yellow fruit that had been peeled back, bitten
into, and then put aside for later . . . and all of it jumbled together in a glorious heap. They feasted as they foraged, gulping down mouthfuls of cooked potatoes, greenstuff and those things that they recognized, poking experimentally at those they did not, sniffing, tasting, offering, sharing. Did the Gorji truly live thus, with so much food to spare that they could leave such a basket out for a single felix? No, there must surely be others who would come to take of this.

In the meantime how much could they take for themselves, without it being missed? They had a whispered discussion.

‘Enough for the morrow,' said Henty. ‘No more, or they might come a-hunting for it.'

‘Aye, agreed,' said Little-Marten. ‘We'd likely end up as meat ourselves if they catched a hold of us.'

They sorted out a few crusts, some small round pieces of dark fruit – of which there seemed to be plenty – and part of a bird carcass. The rest of the food they carefully put back into the black sack, trying to arrange things as they had been before. Then they grabbed hold of the handles of the big container and tilted it upright once more.

‘Should we close the top?' Henty wondered.

‘No. Best leave it as 'twas.'

Back to the tree-dwelling they hurried, carrying enough spoils to see them through the following day, delighted at their success. Provided that the giants raised no alarm on discovering their loss, there seemed no reason why this shouldn't become a nightly expedition.

‘We s'll see the winter through yet,' said Little-Marten, as they reached the foot of the rope ladder. ‘And never need turn a hand. Go on up with 'ee, then.'

‘Oh no, Master Woodpecker. It's those idle hands that I don't trust. You first.'

MIDGE WAS SITTING
bolt upright up in bed, her pulse banging in her ears.

Tap-tap-tap
 . . .

Again that terrifying sound from beyond the drawn curtains, louder now, more insistent. Midge wanted to run – to leap out of bed and dash to her mother's room – but she dared not move. One twitch from her, and whatever monster was out there would surely come bursting through the window . . . roaring through the shattered glass . . .

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap . . .

Although if there
was
a monster, then it might not be quite so polite as to knock for permission to come in. Midge felt the use of her muscles returning to her, along with her reasoning. It would take no more than a moment for her to be through that door and out of here, if she wanted. She turned her bedside lamp up a little higher, then edged over to the far side of the bed, swinging her legs out in readiness.

Tap-tap . . . tap-tap . . .

Could it be Pegs? The thought occurred to her.
Maybe he'd flown up to the window ledge and was perched there, trying to get her attention. Maybe it was him. No. Pegs would speak, as he had done before, whisper to her in those strange colour-words. But then something that Pegs had already said came back to her, about Little-Marten and Henty. How they'd run away . . .

Maybe it was Little-Marten, then.

That seemed more possible. Midge stood up, still undecided as to whether she should run to get her mum or go over to the window and see for herself. It couldn't be anything that dangerous out there, could it?

Tap-tap-tap . . .

Well it wasn't going away, whatever it was. Midge crept silently over to the window. She hesitated a few moments longer, before gingerly twitching the edge of the curtain, keeping it at arm's length, ready to jump back. She couldn't see a thing.

Closer, then. She leaned forward and pulled the material aside a little more, to make a bigger gap.

‘Oh . . . !' Midge gasped and instantly let go of the curtain.

A hand! She had glimpsed a pale hand, flat against the glass, a waving movement. The hand was quite small, though, and its gesture unthreatening. Perhaps it was Little-Marten after all. Midge forced herself into decisive action. She drew the curtain aside properly, grasped the catch and pushed the window open.

‘Agh!' Midge heard a grunt of alarm from outside, felt the resistance of the window as it bumped against
some living thing, and realized to her horror that she'd shoved whatever it was off the window ledge.

‘Oh no!' She peered out into the darkness below, and saw something scuffling about among the shrubs near the balustrade wall. ‘Spick it! Spick . . . spick . . .' Low muffled curses drifted up from the shrubbery. It didn't
sound
like Little-Marten.

The figure straightened and turned to look up at her. Midge could see a face now, furious eyes that glinted white in the moonlight. It took her a moment or two to realize who it was – and even then she could scarcely believe it.

‘
Maglin?
'

‘Aye, Maglin.' The hoarse whisper came back to her. ‘Or what be left of him. Do 'ee mean to see me dead, maid? Well, no matter. I be down here as'd have to come down anywise.'

‘Yes . . . um, sorry. I didn't mean to push you like that. But what do you want?'

‘Look on the ledge, maid, beside 'ee. There be a pecking bag – see it?'

‘A what? Oh. Oh, yes. I've found it.' Midge looked along the window ledge and saw a rough bundle of material. ‘Do you want me to throw it down?' She still didn't understand what this could be all about.

‘No, maid. 'Tis for Celandine. Thee must take the bag to her and tell her that 'tis a gift from Maven-the-Green. Can 'ee remember that?'

The freezing night air was making Midge shiver so much that her whispers came out in shaky gasps.

‘Wh-what?' She couldn't believe she was having this
conversation. ‘This is f-for Celandine?' She dragged the bag towards her.

‘Aye. And only for she. From Maven.'

‘But what is it?'

Maglin didn't reply. He'd turned away from her and was looking intently towards the far end of the building. Midge heard a muffled yowl from the other side of the house. Probably one of the cats messing around in the bins again.

‘I be gone,' Maglin hissed up to her. He began to back away towards the shrubbery. ‘Mind what I tell 'ee, now. The bag be for Celandine – from Maven. To help her remember. And when 'ee've learned whatever there is to learn then bring word to me. To me. Come to the tunnel and ask for Maglin – no other.'

‘No . . . wait. What about Pegs? Have you seen him? Is he all right?'

But Maglin was already clambering over the balustrade wall. He disappeared into the darkness with no other word. Gone.

Midge picked up the bag and put it under her arm for a moment as she closed the window. A quick tug at the curtains and back to her bed she scuttled, shaking with the cold. She threw the bag on the bed, and sat with her knees up and her duvet pulled around her shoulders, as she studied it. The material seemed to be of soft animal skin, a bit like roughened chamois leather, but darker in colour. It had a single carrying strap, again made of leather, and a flap that had been tightly fastened with waxy twine so that the contents were hidden. Midge reached forward and prodded its
lumpy shape. There was a round object in there of some kind . . . a couple of other indeterminate shapes . . .

Midge was becoming aware of a pervasive smell beginning to fill the warm room. She lifted the bag and brought it cautiously towards her. Yipes, the thing
stank
. A deep earthy smell, overlaid with a sweeter perfume . . . sort of musky. Lavender?

She was going to have to do something about this, and quick. Her mum was sure to notice the smell when she brought in her morning mug of tea. And then there would be awkward questions. Midge hopped out of bed and went across to her wardrobe. She rummaged about and found two or three scrunched-up plastic carrier bags, remnants of past shopping trips. They might help contain the strange odour. She put the leather bag inside one of the carriers, tied it up as tightly as she could, then put that bundle inside a second bag and did the same. Get out of that, she thought, and stuffed the whole lot back into her wardrobe.

What could be
in
there, though, and why had it been Maglin who had delivered this strange package? He was the last one she would have expected to see. ‘To help her remember', Maglin had said. They knew, then, that Celandine's memory had gone – probably from Pegs. But how had Maglin known whereabouts in the house to find her? And what on earth did that weird old Maven-the-Green have to do with all this?

Too many questions, as always. But tomorrow was Sunday, and so perhaps she would soon learn some
answers. Uncle Brian was going over to Almbury Mills again, and she'd be able to visit Aunt Celandine. The bag would go with her.

Midge turned her lamp down low, and lay back down on her pillow. She closed her eyes. You just couldn't think too much about all this stuff, otherwise you'd go nuts. That was one thing she'd learned already.

Maglin paused at the gates to the Gorji settlement, listening for any further sounds of danger. Nothing. If there were a felix about, it was nowhere to be seen.

He glanced back up towards the blue light in the Gorji child's window, marvelling at what he'd just achieved. It had been no easy matter to land on that narrow ledge . . . fly-hopping from the swaying branches of the nearby fir tree. And no easy matter to balance there once landed. Drat the girl for then shoving him from his perch . . .

But he'd done it – flown down from the woods, soaring through the black night, to deliver the pecking bag at Maven's behest. He shook his head, still unable to see how the hag had known exactly where the child would be. And still wondering how she'd managed to persuade him to take on such a task.