Free Dark Mist Rising by Anna Kendall Page A

ribs. Immediately I crawled out of the cave, blinking in the sunlight, to get away as fast as I could. Tom Jenkins, alone, strode towards me, swinging a full water bag.
    ‘Good morrow, Peter! How are you today?'
    How was I? No simple answer suggested itself, but Tom didn't wait for one anyway.
    ‘I have water and food. Here, back into the cave – you can't come out till night. Almsbury's swarming with savages. Pepper my arse, but they look fierce! Here, you best eat.'
    He was as cheerful as if returning from a morning stroll through a garden. Not sure what else to do, I retreated back into the cave. If Tom had set soldiers coming this way, he was more than capable of holding me here until they arrived. I possessed only my little shaving knife, which was about as dangerous as a woman's sewing needle. The savages had not even bothered to take it from me. So I sat with Tom in the dank gloom of the cave and drank the fresh water he'd brought in his water bag, ate the good bread and cheese, listened to him chatter as he tore into his own breakfast.
    ‘Got the bread from Agnes Coldwater. She's been after me to lie with her for a month or more. Too ugly, though it's a pity because she bakes the best bread and pies and sweet cakes in Almsbury. Good, ain't it? I'm going to have to stay here with you in the cave today, you know. Pretty soon my father'll miss me, the doddering old bastard! We used to play here when I was a boy, me and John Crenshaw. John died of plague three years ago. We pretended to be highwaymen and ... Here, dog, you want some cheese, boy? Shake paws, then!'
    Shadow did not shake paws. His eyes fastened on the cheese and he went utterly still, as if to ensorcel the cheese, or Tom, or both.
    ‘He don't shake paws? Well, we can cure that, can't we. Here, boy, sit!'
    Shadow was already sitting. Tom began to teach him to shake paws, using bits of cheese, talking all the while. Tom's energy was boundless. It wearied me, already weakened by pain and fear. The good food stretched my belly taut as a drum. I had just woken up, but drowsiness took me, and despite myself, I fell back asleep.
    A dream came.
    Not the dream of the crowned figure moving through the Country of the Dead. This was worse, a dream I had had two years ago and hoped to never have again, a dream of my mother:
    She sat in her lavender gown with a child on her lap. I was both the watcher and the child, safe and warm in my mother's arms. She sang to me softly, a tune that I heard at first without words. Then the words became clear, and Roger the watcher's blood froze. ‘Die, my baby, die die, my little one, die die ...' But Roger the child listened to the monstrous song and nestled closer, a smile on his small face and the pretty tune in his ears. ‘Die, my baby, die die, my little one, die die ...'
    I woke with a great cry. Shadow crashed through the underbrush and into the cave, looking for whatever had attacked me. A moment later Tom stuck his head in.
    ‘Peter, what is it? A bear?'
    ‘No, I ... I ...'
    ‘No bear?' He crawled into the cave. He carried the savage's gun . The sight of it banished the last of the terrible dream.
    ‘Tom, you can't shoot that thing out there. It makes a great noise – soldiers will come running from miles away.'
    ‘I know,' he said cheerfully, ‘but I wanted to practise holding it. There might come bears. I can shoot it once we're in the Unclaimed Lands. I took metal pellets from that savage in the cottage – that's what the weapon shoots, you know, big metal pellets – and I—'
    ‘No! You cannot shoot that gun . Not even in the Unclaimed Lands.'
    ‘Sure I can. It ain't hard. See, you open this small chamber here and—'
    ‘Tom, you cannot .'
    He grinned at me. ‘Do you always worry so, Peter Forest? Damn, but you're tetchy as a girl. Although not so pretty. Here, have some more of Agnes's cheese.'
    I didn't want some more of Agnes's cheese. Tom pointed the gun at me, sighted along it as if along a tautly