Free Pip and the Twilight Seekers by Chris Mould

the lock.
    “Dis way, Misser Jarvis.”
    It pushed open the keep door and they moved on. The little fellow peered into the carriage as they passed. He held his lantern aloft as he gazed inside.
    “Why you don’t got nuffink in der, Misser Jarvis?”
    Pip pretended he hadn’t heard the gatekeeper and carried on moving.
    “Jus you tells Bodkin when you’s ready to come out, Misser Jarvis, sir,” said the strange little man, and he handed over his burning torch to what he thought was the city warden.
    “Anyfink else you wants, Misser Jarvis, you jus calls Bodkin.”

    “Bodkin!” exclaimed Toad quietly beneath his cloak. “Strange name for a … whatever it was!”
    “Shhh,” urged Frankie.
    In they went, the carriage rolling slowly over the undulations of the root-bound earth, and as they passed into the cave the faces of small children began to show around them. They scattered into the corners like rabbits frightened by the sight of foxes. Whenever Jarvis returned, they knew they should hide. Most of them had felt the tip of his shiny hook at some point and some had scars to prove it. He would not hesitate to lash out if he felt the need.
    They pulled the cloak away and revealed themselves. “It’s all right, it’s me, Toad from the tavern.”
    “And Pip,” said Pip.
    “And Frankie Duprie, from the bakery.”
    “Mister Jarvis isn’t here. He’s locked up in the city prison. We came in disguise. The woodsfolk thought we were him,” explained Toad in a loud whisper. “We come to get you out. We need you.”
    To begin with there was no response, but then slowly the children emerged from their holes. First their faces appeared, the lantern light reflecting in their pupils. Then their bedraggled figures materialized, their clothes tattered and worn and their bodies bony and wasted.
    “They’ll be hungry. I never thought to bring food,” said Pip.
    “I’ve got bread,” said Frankie, taking a parcel from her apron pocket, “I’ve always got bread. You should know that.” She smiled and then she handed it among the children. They pinched it from her and scuttled back as if still frightened.
    Pip held the lantern to them so that Toad might know some of their faces. There were some he knew and some he didn’t. Young McCreedy, the Brice boy, the Carraway twins. Mrs. Malvern’s daughters. They must have been here for some time. They looked different—older, definitely, and taller. He counted the children. There were twelve. It would be a squeeze to get them in the carriage and they would have to endure the onlookers peering in. It would look suspicious, taking children out from the keep!
    “I have an idea,” said Pip. “It could work.”
    “Not again!” said Frankie. She could not help but despair at the boys’ wild ideas. So far they had already cajoled her into far more than she would have liked to have been involved in.
    But within minutes they were bundling the children into the confines of the black pumpkin. There were seats on either side. No use of course, but they lifted up to reveal neat little cubby holes. Pip had remembered the way that Toad had described the carriage after taking his first journey. Two either side would hide four of them. If three had the strength to cling on they could fit side by side beneath the carriage, holding on to the axle. Three could lie in the floor space, and two more in the footwell with the surplus of the cloak draped over them. That was twelve, plus the three disguised as Jarvis made fifteen children in total.
    It was worth a try. And after all, there was little choice.

After much shuffling and squeezing into small spaces, the crew of children were ready to make their journey. Like a crew of hidden pirates they were about to set sail secretly aboard their black ship. The pumpkin turned itself around in the squat space of the forest keep. Pip could feel the carriage struggling with its newly acquired weight. It strained itself to make the turn, the horse