dealing with a Spirit Talker when you knocked on my door, did you?’ He looked around casually. ‘A shame your wildcat’s not here, Molly.’
Moll shuddered at her name.
Ashtongue went on. ‘But we’ll make do without him and I think I can have some fun with your little friend here.’
Moll made to move, her heart drumming inside her ribcage, her muscles straining against the curse. But it held her fast. She thought of the pattern Mellantha had explained to her and Alfie within the word
Shadowmask –
each letter in the word
shadow
standing in for a witch doctor’s name: Skull, Hemlock, Ashtongue, Darkebite . . . Panic bubbled inside Moll’s throat. Skull had come with his Dream Snatch, Hemlock had brought poison, Darkebite was a Shadow Keeper, but this distortion of the old magic was even worse somehow – and she and Siddy couldn’t even move against it. Cinderella Bull had been right: the thresholds were opening fast now and the dark magic was all around them.
Ashtongue made to move closer, but, instead of walking, he dropped to all fours and scampered to the middle of the room, his hands and feet turned inwards like some sort of sinister lizard.
Moll turned to Siddy and saw her fear mirrored on his face. And, as Ashtongue dipped his head, Moll could only listen, every muscle inside her quaking with dread. The words came in a mutter, the Shadowmask’s forked tongue hissing at the end of sounds:
‘Here is the girl who walks with the beast.
She is trapped and afraid; on her fear I do feast.
Her name I have used to make her hold still,
Until Darkebite comes, bearing all kinds of ill.
Molly Pecksniff you are, I’ve claimed you as mine.
Now you’ll wait with me here for the Shadowmasks’ sign.’
A scratching inside the chimney started, slow at first and then louder, faster, like a frantic animal scrabbling to break free. The flames in the grate shrank and dimmed until they fizzled away completely, leaving the logs black and still. The noise was now a scraping sound, like nails on a blackboard, and then a small brown creature tumbled into the grate – a bat with a furred body tucked beneath two leathery wings.
The bat crawled out of the grate into the hearth and as it moved it began to grow. A putrid smell, like burnt skin, clogged Moll’s nose and the bat continued to swell. Where its body had been there was now a human torso draped in black robes; from its back two giant wings arched up into peaks, all leather and veins, and between them was a mask of charcoaled wood, surrounded by a shock of wild black hair. The Shadow Keeper had emerged in all its menace.
Moll’s muscles seized up, clamped by Ashtongue’s curse, and her eyes glazed with fear.
‘Welcome, Darkebite, Master of the Soul Splinter,’ Ashtongue hissed, drawing his body up to full height.
Darkebite took a step closer to Moll and Siddy, jet-black eyes sunken inside the mask. ‘Molly Pecksniff.’
The words were neither a question nor a fact. They were a claim. And the voice that spoke them was unmistakably female.
Moll flinched. The other Shadowmasks had been men and Moll had presumed Darkebite would be no different. But the Shadow Keeper was a
woman
– a woman so riddled with evil it made Moll’s mouth turn dry. And for some reason, this made Darkebite feel even more sinister than before.
Darkebite reached a hand inside her cloak and pulled out a shard of glimmering black ice. Moll’s breath choked inside her. The Soul Splinter. The weapon that had killed her parents and that had to be destroyed to save the old magic. Darkebite’s long, thin fingers clasped it tight and her wings seemed to tremble with anticipation.
Moll tried again to work her way free of the curse, but her limbs were like stone. She thought fast. Back in the forest Alfie had told her that the Shadowmasks could only break the Bone Murmur if they killed the child and the beast at the same time.
Darkebite’s mask tilted to one side. ‘Think I won’t use
Moll shuddered at her name.
Ashtongue went on. ‘But we’ll make do without him and I think I can have some fun with your little friend here.’
Moll made to move, her heart drumming inside her ribcage, her muscles straining against the curse. But it held her fast. She thought of the pattern Mellantha had explained to her and Alfie within the word
Shadowmask –
each letter in the word
shadow
standing in for a witch doctor’s name: Skull, Hemlock, Ashtongue, Darkebite . . . Panic bubbled inside Moll’s throat. Skull had come with his Dream Snatch, Hemlock had brought poison, Darkebite was a Shadow Keeper, but this distortion of the old magic was even worse somehow – and she and Siddy couldn’t even move against it. Cinderella Bull had been right: the thresholds were opening fast now and the dark magic was all around them.
Ashtongue made to move closer, but, instead of walking, he dropped to all fours and scampered to the middle of the room, his hands and feet turned inwards like some sort of sinister lizard.
Moll turned to Siddy and saw her fear mirrored on his face. And, as Ashtongue dipped his head, Moll could only listen, every muscle inside her quaking with dread. The words came in a mutter, the Shadowmask’s forked tongue hissing at the end of sounds:
‘Here is the girl who walks with the beast.
She is trapped and afraid; on her fear I do feast.
Her name I have used to make her hold still,
Until Darkebite comes, bearing all kinds of ill.
Molly Pecksniff you are, I’ve claimed you as mine.
Now you’ll wait with me here for the Shadowmasks’ sign.’
A scratching inside the chimney started, slow at first and then louder, faster, like a frantic animal scrabbling to break free. The flames in the grate shrank and dimmed until they fizzled away completely, leaving the logs black and still. The noise was now a scraping sound, like nails on a blackboard, and then a small brown creature tumbled into the grate – a bat with a furred body tucked beneath two leathery wings.
The bat crawled out of the grate into the hearth and as it moved it began to grow. A putrid smell, like burnt skin, clogged Moll’s nose and the bat continued to swell. Where its body had been there was now a human torso draped in black robes; from its back two giant wings arched up into peaks, all leather and veins, and between them was a mask of charcoaled wood, surrounded by a shock of wild black hair. The Shadow Keeper had emerged in all its menace.
Moll’s muscles seized up, clamped by Ashtongue’s curse, and her eyes glazed with fear.
‘Welcome, Darkebite, Master of the Soul Splinter,’ Ashtongue hissed, drawing his body up to full height.
Darkebite took a step closer to Moll and Siddy, jet-black eyes sunken inside the mask. ‘Molly Pecksniff.’
The words were neither a question nor a fact. They were a claim. And the voice that spoke them was unmistakably female.
Moll flinched. The other Shadowmasks had been men and Moll had presumed Darkebite would be no different. But the Shadow Keeper was a
woman
– a woman so riddled with evil it made Moll’s mouth turn dry. And for some reason, this made Darkebite feel even more sinister than before.
Darkebite reached a hand inside her cloak and pulled out a shard of glimmering black ice. Moll’s breath choked inside her. The Soul Splinter. The weapon that had killed her parents and that had to be destroyed to save the old magic. Darkebite’s long, thin fingers clasped it tight and her wings seemed to tremble with anticipation.
Moll tried again to work her way free of the curse, but her limbs were like stone. She thought fast. Back in the forest Alfie had told her that the Shadowmasks could only break the Bone Murmur if they killed the child and the beast at the same time.
Darkebite’s mask tilted to one side. ‘Think I won’t use
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