Free Pip and the Wood Witch Curse by Chris Mould Page A

warned, as they entered the skinny, tunneled passageway of Puddle Snake Alley. It was so tight that the horse struggled to pass through, and as it did it scraped off any hangers-on. A heap of witches lay scattered at the entrance to the walkway, but some flew overhead and waited at the other end, circling like vultures, ready to swoop on the emerging riders.
    Out came the steaming breath of the horse, followed by her head and then her bare back. The children had gone, lost in the black of the tunnel. The horse bolted through the streets alone, sweating and braying and slipping on the icy surface of the cobbles.
    A swarm of witch life filtered into the narrow space from both ends, searching the darkness.
    “They’re in here!” screamed Jarvis, but no one could see anything.
    Roach scrabbled upside down along the walls, feeling his way along every brick.
    “Nothing!” he roared. “Nothing at all!”
    Witches hung like bats from the ceiling, searching every inch of the void where the children had disappeared. And when that proved fruitless out they went, filing through the streets like ants until finally the streets grew quiet and soon the only sound that could be heard was the doves in the nearby clock tower.
    “Where are they?” screeched Jarvis as he stood in the silence of the market square with his arms held up in despair. “Where have they gone?”

Silence returned to the streets. There was no cawing or cackling or squawking or the thunderous pounding of feet. Just stillness.
    Toad lifted the drain cover in Puddle Snake Alley and the whites of his eyes broke the darkness.
    “Have they gone?” whispered Pip.
    “There’s no sign of anything,” said Toad.
    “It’s freezing down here,” said Frankie. “I want to go home.”
    “You can’t go home,” said Toad. “The old place is empty. You’ll have to return with us, to the tavern. We should head there now. All that matters is that you’re safe. We’ll have you fed and watered in no time.”
    They climbed down the wooden ladder and disappeared into the depths of the tunnels, while above their heads the wood folk filtered back into the forest without the slightest clue of where the children had gone.

    There was no boat, but their branch was still burning at least, and there was a good length of walkway before the friends would have to get into the water to cover the last stretch.
    The light petered out as they felt their way through the darkness. They stopped to catch their breath, puffing clouds of white air. Pip blew on the branch to stop the flame from dying, and when the brick path ran out they braved the freezing water for the last stretch of the journey.
    They emerged soaking and frozen into the darkness of the tavern cellar. Sam was right there, and when he heard the drain cover rattling at his feet he panicked and grabbed a pitchfork. He stood there waiting, shaking. What would appear? Something from the forest? But no, it was the face of his only son.
    Sam had been so frantic with worry and despair, and unable to talk to anyone about it, that he dropped to his knees when he saw Toad. Relief washed over him and tears sprang uncontrollably from his eyes.
    “I’ve never been so worried,” grunted Sam. “Look at the state of you! Where on earth have you been?”
    “If it hadn’t been for Pip, you would have never seen the three of us again.” Toad grinned.
    “Three?” quizzed Sam.
    “Yes, three. There are three of us now,” began Toad, “There is someone we want you to meet. Someone who was worth the risk.”
    And out climbed Frankie Duprie. Almost as tiny as Pip, with torn and ragged clothes that matched the scars on her face. Shattered and worn, soaked to the skin, and frozen to the bone.
    “Frankie!” said Sam.

    He was shocked into silenc and he stood a moment while took in the scene around him, realizing what the children must have been through.
    Pip had never seen an adult cry before. For a moment he didn’t understand it, and