Pip and the Twilight Seekers (14 page)

Still the children kept on running. They helped each other along, pulling at one another’s tunics and cloaks. Soon they would break out into the city and, although they had no idea where they would head, freedom beckoned them onward.

They felt the surface of wooden boards beneath their feet. They were crossing the gateway to the city streets and as they reached the other side of the bridge, they instinctively stopped and took deep, heavy breaths. They were a big group now and it would prove difficult to hide.

Even here in the streets the clash of city and forest could be heard. Roars and screams and shouts of war, piercing the night. A low rumble of disturbance filtered between the trees.

“Where now?” said Pip, looking expectantly at Toad.

“Somewhere that can take the lot of us,” he replied, gasping and wheezing and looking around him. Were they still all here?

Frankie began to count and her finger worked its way around the group. “Fifteen,” she said. “All present and accounted for.”

And so they kept on running. They still had no idea where they were heading but they kept on all the same, with their hearts pounding and their cold breath clouding around them. They were weak, all of them, and they would have to find somewhere soon or else the smallest ones might drop to their knees and fall flat in the snow.

“Not much farther,” encouraged Toad but in truth, he did not know where they might go.

In typical Jarvis style he had avoided the confrontation in the forest. He was a true coward. The clash of steel and drawing of blood was down to his escape from the city, but he had been the only one to sit out on the fight. It was a grim and gruesome affair. These things always were. There were, as expected, casualties on both sides and the forest was littered with the remains of a fight. Broken weapons, injured men and horses, and other sights best left to the imagination. The city folk had returned empty- handed, their prisoner lost in the onslaught.

It was much later when the man Jarvis stepped out from the hollow of a tree. The battle was long finished and all was still and silent.

His feet crunched on the hardened white surface. The first hint of daylight was pushing the darkness back into its hole and Esther steered one eye downward as he emerged. She had faithfully waited by his side.

He dusted himself down, took a long, snake-eyed stare around, and then he began to walk back to the undergate. And as he walked he dreamed himself a story about how he had fought for his life against the city folk. He thought so long and hard of the tale that he almost began to believe it himself.

The witches were circling above. Darting between the forest and the city, searching for the little ones through the air with their black shadows dashing across the rooftops like scurrying rats. The children moved quickly in the safety of the shaded corners of the streets and houses.

“Stop,” said Frankie, calling out to Toad at the front.

“What is it?”

“The Duprie bakery is near. We should head inside. We can use the ovens and make bread. We can keep warm. It’s empty and, for now, it’s safe.”

And so they all turned and followed Frankie. Like marching ants they changed direction and snaked in a line through the alleyways.

When they reached the bakery it was boarded over. Snow piled high against the walls and it had remained untouched for some time. A sadness overwhelmed Frankie, bringing tears flooding down her face. She had pictured it with its warm fireside glow through the window, the snow twinkling in the soft orange light and her parents standing in the shop front. But it was dark and empty. Paint peeled itself from the doorway and the old sign creaked rustily on its hinges in the breeze.

Pip stepped in. “We have to be careful. It’s undisturbed. If we break in, we leave a mark.”

“Around the back,” said Frankie, wiping her tears, and she showed them the cellar door, which lay flat upon the cobbles. Carefully they raised it upward and allowed the children to file inside. Pip came last, dispersing footprints with a discarded broom and letting down the hatch gently.

Frankie set about lighting the ovens in the basement. They were vented into the sewer outlets and so they did not have to worry about the smoke piping up and announcing their position.

A whooshing sweeping sound filtered through the alleyways. The last of the twilight seekers were giving up the search for the little ones. It would grow light soon and they should be back in their holes. Jarvis was holding court around a fire in the forest. He feigned an injury and told his tale. Of how he had taken on Hector Stubbs, the city mayor, and wounded him, maybe even fatally. And how soon he would take his position when the whole forest rose up in arms against the authorities. They must be ready for war, he had announced. And soon.

It was late now but the children were all settled into their corners and huddled together like baby mice, taking comfort from each other and burying their faces into their chests. The heat from the oven was becoming blissfully warm. There were sacks of flour stacked in one corner, enough to keep them going for some time.

“I can feel my toes again,” said young Edgar, rubbing his feet and hands.

“Come closer to the ovens,” said Frankie, and she herded them nearer to the heat.

In the morning she would show them how to make bread and they could feed themselves until they felt strong enough to move on. They were not sure yet just what they would do. Perhaps they should leave the city for good, some had suggested, and make their way across the ice valley. Or find the others across the city, in basements and attic spaces, in groups or alone.

“We should build an army and take the forest and return triumphant to the city, never again to be ignored,” said Pip, and Toad cheered in agreement. But now was not the time to decide. Rest and a good meal in the morning. That was their first task.

Pip watched the others drift into sleep. Toad was out like a light, face first into the sack of flour he lay upon. Frankie was drifting off. She gazed over at him and smiled but she was too tired to speak.

Soon Pip was the only one awake. He knew they were safe and he felt good for now. Rescuing the others had been a triumph but he was exhausted. He eased himself into comfort, but something pressed into his side. It was a small burlap bag. Of course, it was the captain. He had quite forgotten that they had brought him along, and Pip suddenly felt uneasy that they had a traitor in the camp. Perhaps he should throw him into the oven and be done with it. He was far too dangerous. They didn’t need him to find the others.

“Go on, Pip, do it,” he heard himself saying. “Burn him. He’s only a doll.”

He grew nervous. He had never held him in his hand before. He pulled the drawstring at the top of the bag and felt a shuffle of movement inside. The feather in Captain Dooley’s hat sprang up and Pip grabbed his hat and eeked him out of the bag.

And he would have thrown him straight into the oven. Really, he would. But the wooden doll felt the hand around him as Pip took him by the waist. And something came into the captain’s thoughts.

“Master Pipkin,” he squeaked at last. “One half of the Pipkin two. Born of the same hour and separated at birth. Left alone in the orphanage without the love of his brother. Poor old Eddie Pipkin.” And then just as quickly as he had awoken he fell back to sleep.

Pip’s eyes grew wider and his heart beat so fast that he could hear it thumping through his chest. He wanted to wake everyone up. To scream out loud to Frankie. Was it really the truth? Did he have a brother? Was that the missing part of him that kept him awake all night? And where on earth could he be?

How could he not share his news? He rose up and crossed the room to where Frankie lay and she woke to see him smiling.

“Frankie, listen. The captain has spoken. I have a brother. A real brother. I’m a twin.”

But she was so tired that she thought she was dreaming and she drifted back into a heavy sleep. Pip looked around him. They were fast asleep, all of them. Blissfully drifting in the warmth of the bakery. He should let them rest, of course he should.

And so Pip lay there in the dark hours, bewildered and excited, until he was overcome with tiredness. As the light from the fire died he felt himself slipping helplessly into sleep, and dreamed of what was to come.