temper.
As Figgis watched, the sailors dragged their companion to the door. But before they could reach it, the door was opened and a cold blast of wind ushered in two new customers.
The smile froze on Figgis's lips.
They were a black-haired man and a blue-eyed lad.
PART THREE
Chapter 35
hut the door, love! We're trying to keep it cozy in here.” The black-haired man and the blue-eyed lad strolled to the bar of the Hangman's Hood, ignoring the woman who had spoken. She shook her head and turned back to her friends.
“Slavers,” she whined. “Act like they own the place.”
Figgis, watching from the corner of the room, felt the world had stopped turning. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He could only watch.
As the black-haired man ordered drinks, the lad turned and studied the room. His cool gaze traveled from table to table, from face to face. And it seemed to Figgis that when it reached him, it lingered … but then it moved on.
“Blue Boy,” said the man.
The lad turned, took the offered tankard of ale, sidled over to a bar stool and eased himself on. The man joined him. Soon they were deep in conversation.
Figgis remained at the table but his thoughts had flown away, back to the glade and his murdered family. And now,looking at the smug backs of the slavers, he wanted to stab them. He reached for the knife on his belt.
No.
Good sense stopped him just in time. “Not now,” he told himself. “Not here.”
He drained his glass and put on his jacket. Walked to the door and stepped out into the alley. Headed for the shadows. Fast, urgent footsteps. Manu appeared from a doorway. Figgis pounced on him like a dog on a bacon bone.
“They're in there!” he panted. “The man and the lad. Tell Snowbone. I'll follow them. See where they're hiding.”
The tavern door opened again. Figgis pushed Manu back against the wall. But it wasn't the slavers. It was the mouthy woman. She paused and reached into her bag. Swayed slightly. Unwrapped a chocolate caramel and slid it between her purple lips. Departed on unsteady heels.
“Go,” said Figgis, and Manu went.
Figgis stepped into the doorway and waited. An hour passed. Longer. People came and went, but not the ones Figgis wanted to see. And then, just as he was wondering whether the tavern had a back door, they emerged. Man and lad walked down the alley to the seafront, turned left and strode on.
Figgis followed, flitting from shadow to shadow. Through the streets, up the steps, twisting, turning, higher, higher. Out of town, over the headland—Figgis hoping and praying they wouldn't turn round, because there was nowhere to hide—and into a wildwood. The sun was rising; the trees were yellow with birdsong. But Figgis had no time to enjoy the dawn. He had to find the slavers' camp. Nothing else mattered.
And when, at last, he found it, Figgis studied the camp carefully. He counted the men as they emerged, yawning and gritty-eyed, from a bunkhouse. He noted every door, everywindow—everything he could see. Then he raced back to Snowbone and the others, fierce, jubilant, sure he had all the information they would need to plan a perfect raid.
But he didn't see the traps hidden in the long grass. Didn't see the pit beyond the bunkhouse. Didn't see the arsenal of axes in the woodshed.
By the time he did, it was too late.
Chapter 36
nowbone screwed up her eyes and studied the map Figgis was scratching into the dirt of the barn floor.
“So this is the cabin here,” said Figgis, “with the bunk-house behind. There's a shed here and an outhouse here—and I reckon that's the latrines, because the path to it was getting a right old hammering this morning.”
“Thrrrrr!”
said Two Teeth, holding his nose and fanning the air. “Farty-pants!”
The tiddlins giggled.
“He's right,” laughed Figgis. “The stink will knock you off your feet at twenty paces, so be careful! Especially you, Mouse!”
Mouse smiled, but Figgis could see she was worried.
As Figgis watched, the sailors dragged their companion to the door. But before they could reach it, the door was opened and a cold blast of wind ushered in two new customers.
The smile froze on Figgis's lips.
They were a black-haired man and a blue-eyed lad.
PART THREE
Chapter 35
hut the door, love! We're trying to keep it cozy in here.” The black-haired man and the blue-eyed lad strolled to the bar of the Hangman's Hood, ignoring the woman who had spoken. She shook her head and turned back to her friends.
“Slavers,” she whined. “Act like they own the place.”
Figgis, watching from the corner of the room, felt the world had stopped turning. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He could only watch.
As the black-haired man ordered drinks, the lad turned and studied the room. His cool gaze traveled from table to table, from face to face. And it seemed to Figgis that when it reached him, it lingered … but then it moved on.
“Blue Boy,” said the man.
The lad turned, took the offered tankard of ale, sidled over to a bar stool and eased himself on. The man joined him. Soon they were deep in conversation.
Figgis remained at the table but his thoughts had flown away, back to the glade and his murdered family. And now,looking at the smug backs of the slavers, he wanted to stab them. He reached for the knife on his belt.
No.
Good sense stopped him just in time. “Not now,” he told himself. “Not here.”
He drained his glass and put on his jacket. Walked to the door and stepped out into the alley. Headed for the shadows. Fast, urgent footsteps. Manu appeared from a doorway. Figgis pounced on him like a dog on a bacon bone.
“They're in there!” he panted. “The man and the lad. Tell Snowbone. I'll follow them. See where they're hiding.”
The tavern door opened again. Figgis pushed Manu back against the wall. But it wasn't the slavers. It was the mouthy woman. She paused and reached into her bag. Swayed slightly. Unwrapped a chocolate caramel and slid it between her purple lips. Departed on unsteady heels.
“Go,” said Figgis, and Manu went.
Figgis stepped into the doorway and waited. An hour passed. Longer. People came and went, but not the ones Figgis wanted to see. And then, just as he was wondering whether the tavern had a back door, they emerged. Man and lad walked down the alley to the seafront, turned left and strode on.
Figgis followed, flitting from shadow to shadow. Through the streets, up the steps, twisting, turning, higher, higher. Out of town, over the headland—Figgis hoping and praying they wouldn't turn round, because there was nowhere to hide—and into a wildwood. The sun was rising; the trees were yellow with birdsong. But Figgis had no time to enjoy the dawn. He had to find the slavers' camp. Nothing else mattered.
And when, at last, he found it, Figgis studied the camp carefully. He counted the men as they emerged, yawning and gritty-eyed, from a bunkhouse. He noted every door, everywindow—everything he could see. Then he raced back to Snowbone and the others, fierce, jubilant, sure he had all the information they would need to plan a perfect raid.
But he didn't see the traps hidden in the long grass. Didn't see the pit beyond the bunkhouse. Didn't see the arsenal of axes in the woodshed.
By the time he did, it was too late.
Chapter 36
nowbone screwed up her eyes and studied the map Figgis was scratching into the dirt of the barn floor.
“So this is the cabin here,” said Figgis, “with the bunk-house behind. There's a shed here and an outhouse here—and I reckon that's the latrines, because the path to it was getting a right old hammering this morning.”
“Thrrrrr!”
said Two Teeth, holding his nose and fanning the air. “Farty-pants!”
The tiddlins giggled.
“He's right,” laughed Figgis. “The stink will knock you off your feet at twenty paces, so be careful! Especially you, Mouse!”
Mouse smiled, but Figgis could see she was worried.
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