Free Pip and the Twilight Seekers by Chris Mould Page B

must suffer.
    Edgar McCreedy lay curled up inside the cubby hole beneath the rear seat. One of the Carraway twins squeezed in alongside him. Edgar shook with fright. Soon he would be back with his parents but he had promised himself he would not open his eyes again until he heard his mother’s voice.
    Toad sneaked a look from his position under the cloak and passed word to Frankie, who was unable to see. “Nearly there. I can see the torchlight at the undergate. Fingers crossed.”
    Only Fenris guarded the exit. He wandered across in front of the carriage and, using his long snout, he sniffed nosily at its base, raising a growl as he came. The smell of children had become a familiar scent upon it but still it made him bare his teeth. Pip pushed past, urging the carriage wheels onward as the wolf stepped back.
    They were clear. The view of the snow-covered ground was a welcome sight, signaling their escape. A refreshing brisk wind whirled around them. Pip carried on and waited until the light from the undergate had disappeared and then he stopped to let the others climb inside. The discomfort of the footwell and the pain they had endured while attached to the axle was replaced by the relative ease and comfort of the hard seats in the carriage.
    They looked from the rounded portholes in the doors as they rumbled over the roots and through the snowy forest. Light from the city was beginning to show itself as a vague orangey glow through the silhouetted skeletons of the winter trees.
    Home was in sight.

Roach was watching Bodkin scratching his head and quizzing himself over something. He fiddled with the keys at his waist and was staring upward with a twisted expression fixed on his face.
    “Is there something bothering you, Bodkin?”
    “Oh, its nuffink, Misser Roach.”
    “No, do tell me, Bodkin. What on earth is troubling that pointy little head of yours?”
    Bodkin turned to Roach and fixed his troubled gaze on him. “Well … da fing is, Misser Roach … beggin yer pardon me askin, but, when did Misser Jarvis fix ’is ’and?”
    “When did … Mister Jarvis … fix his hand?”
    “Yes, sir! When did Misser Jarvis fix ’is ’and?”
    “Bodkin, I have no idea what you are talking about, but please do explain.”
    “Oh, it dunt matter. Bodkin gets easily muddled,” said the strange little figure, and he stared downward at the floor, as if embarrassed by his own stupidity.
    “Please …” urged Roach, “carry on.”
    “Well, sir, yer see, when Misser Jarvis give me da torchlight back he had two ’ands, sir. One ’and was takin’ der reins, sir … and … (He paused to think a moment).
    “Yes, Bodkin, do go on, I’m intrigued,” said Roach as a realization began to dawn over him.
    “And … da uvver one pass me da torch. Misser Jarvis not got two ’ands, sir. Misser Jarvis got one ’and on der right and a ’ook on da left!”

    Roach closed his eyes as he took a large intake of air in through his nose and then heaved a great big sigh.
    “Whassa matter, Misser Roach? You no look too well.”
    “We’ve been double-crossed, Bodkin. Bring the dogs. Call the bark demons and tell the others to gather at the undergate. And hurry. We won’t be foiled again.”
    “Yessir, Misser Roach,” said Bodkin and he hobbled off at high speed, waving his torch as he went and calling out at the top of his voice. “We’s been double-crossed.” And as he ran, he wondered what on earth being double-crossed was, and why it had made Mister Roach so angry. But Bodkin suspected he was probably muddled again and so he thought nothing of it, and of course, he wouldn’t ask another stupid question.
    In less than no time at all, the foresters were gathered, howling and whooping at the undergate, waiting for the signal to head out and begin the short hunt. The herd of cackling and cawing beasts were thundering in a swift procession toward the black pumpkin.
    A flock of witches stayed behind. They had other methods. They