The Silver Skull by Mark Chadbourn Page B

sleeves and neck of worn clothes, head lolling on the chest beneath a widebrimmed felt hat. Yet something about the well-stuffed shape held him fast.

    A moment later, the scarecrow shifted.

    "A game!" Miller chuckled under his breath. "I have seen this before, in my village. A child hides inside it!"

    "Away," Will urged as gently as he could, trying to push Miller back against the weight of the crowd behind him.

    The scarecrow lurched to its feet, stumbling and swaying on the step, straw hands going to a face that was at once twisted knots of straw and hazel switches and also completely human.
    Terrified eyes rolled insanely. Twig fingers clawed at the place where the mouth should have been, and a mad mewling came from deep inside it. With a pleading arm, the scarecrow reached out to the crowd, but as it staggered around the arc, everyone moved back, unnerved, trying to believe it was some joke, knowing in their hearts what they were really seeing.

    Miller's eyes widened. Grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to drag him away, Launceston urged through clenched teeth, "Get him out of here!" But Miller threw Launceston and Will off, and stepped towards the scarecrow.

    Flailing desperately, its puppetlike movements drove the crowd to silence until an old woman whispered, "The Devil has been here."

    That was enough. "The Devil! The Devil!" jumped from mouth to mouth as the mob fell apart in uproar.

    One bull-necked, bald-headed man was not convinced. Stepping forwards, he tore open the scarecrow's jacket and ripped at the straw beneath. The scarecrow's desperate mewling grew louder.

    Golden straw rained across the street as the frenzied search for the hidden occupant tore through the insides. Finally his fingers scraped the back of the jacket and the expression of dumb realisation that crept across his face was devastating to see.

    "There is nothing in it," he croaked. "It is the Devil's work."

    Falling to its knees, the scarecrow futilely clawed up the straw and stuffed it back inside.
    Its mewling was now a loud whine that set the teeth on edge.

    "It is one of Pickering's men," someone else said, "taken by Old Nick for his sins."

    The horror that gripped the crowd broke out in anger and cruelty. With cudgels and boots they attacked the scarecrow as it flopped and flailed and emitted muffled whines on the ground.
    From one of the tenements, the baldheaded man emerged with a burning stick pulled from the hearth. Faces torn by fear, the crowd parted with a desperate hope that here would be an end to it.
    Dragging the scarecrow to its feet, the bald man thrust the blazing stick into the scarecrow's gaping belly. The straw caught immediately. With roaring flames engulfing the figure in a second, greasy black smoke billowed up between the tenements. Women clutched their ears to keep out the mewling noise as the scarecrow at first ran back and forth, then staggered, and finally fell to its knees and grew silent as the blaze consumed it.

    Finally, nothing remained but black ashes, half-burned boots, and remnants of clothing.
    Kicking through the ashes with a fury that revealed his secret fear, the bald man searched for any blackened bones, and only calmed when he saw there were none.

    As their anger dissipated, a deep unease fell on the silent crowd. Miller tore off the hood of his cloak, tears of fear streaking his pallid face.

    "What happened to him?" he croaked.

    Will and Launceston did their best to bundle him away, but the damage had already been done.

    "Strangers." A pointing finger was levelled at Miller.

    "Strangers," another repeated.

    "They did it."

    Hands tore at Will's cloak. Carpenter's sword was revealed, and Mayhew had his hood ripped from his head.

    "Strangers! "

    It did not matter whether they were agents of the law or responsible for the terrifying event that had just unfolded, Will saw that he and the others were a vent for the crowd's churning emotions. Throwing off the men attempting to grip his