He clenched his fists. The disappointment was bitter. He heard a distant screech, as if Kree was echoing his feelings.
‘Is something wrong?’ Rust asked coldly.
‘No,’ Lief managed to say. ‘No, I—’
His voice was drowned out by a high, wavering shriek of pure terror.
7 – Phantom
Every thing seemed to stop. The figures around the wood pile froze where they stood. The music faltered and died.
The terrified scream came again, dissolving into a ghastly, rasping gurgle.
His heart pounding, Lief began to run between the wagons and the fence, following the sound.
With Rust close behind him he pounded past wagon after wagon, dodging stamping, terrified horses, leaping over boxes and piles of belongings.
Otto’s wagon was ahead. The door was hanging open, swinging crazily on its hinges as if blown by a gale.
And rising against the shadow of the door, rising up, up, so that at last it was outlined against the orange sky, was a deeper shadow—something black and billowing, with long white fingers that glimmered in the dark. Where its face should have been there was a flat gleam of green.
On the ground by the wagon’s back wheels, sprawled over a half-empty pack and a tangle of clothes, lay a twisted shape.
Lief’s throat closed. Behind him, the fox-woman cried out. And in that moment, the black thing writhed, thinned, and was gone.
The wagon door slammed shut with a crash. Lief ran forward and bent over the sprawled figure.
It was the woman in the cat mask—the woman he and Jasmine had spoken to on the road to Happy Vale.
One side of her mask was scorched. Smoke drifted from the blackened patch, and there was the ghastly smell of burned hair and flesh. The staring eyes seemed filled with horror, and the teeth were bared in a snarl of fear.
‘It is the seamstress, Fern!’ whispered Rust. She sounded horrified, but the horror was also plainly mixed with relief.
She is grateful that it was not a member of the inner circle, but only a ‘bareface hanger-on’ who was attacked, Lief thought grimly. Gently he slipped his fingers beneath the neck of the cat mask, feeling for a pulse.
His stomach turned over as the staring eyes focused on him, and the lips moved. The burned woman was still alive! She was trying to speak. Lief leaned closer.
Words came to him, faint as breath. ‘I… am… sorry. I… was… so… afraid.’
‘What is she saying?’ cried Rust. ‘Is she—?’
Angrily Lief waved his free hand to quiet her. ‘Be at peace now,’ he whispered to the dying woman.
The pulse beneath his fingers was light and fluttering. The agonised eyes held his, filled with urgent appeal. The lips moved again. ‘Beware… the Masked One…’ the woman breathed. ‘Beware…’
The voice died away. The eyes grew fixed. The fluttering pulse stopped.
Lief waited for a moment, then drew back.
‘She is gone,’ he said quietly. He began to pull the cat mask from the dead woman’s face.
‘Don’t!’ Rust gasped behind him.
Lief took no notice. He uncovered a scorched neck, and then a pale face. One cheek was deeply burned. The brand of the Shadow Lord shone blood red in the centre of the blackened skin. Lief could feel the heat still rising from it.
It is as if the burning came from within, he thought. His skin crawled.
‘Cover her face, for pity’s sake!’ hissed Rust. ‘The others are coming.’
Lief became aware of shouting and the pounding of approaching feet. He looked around, saw a blanket lying nearby amid a jumble of clothes, and threw it over the body.
The crowd was nearly upon them. Rust ran to the front of Otto’s wagon, and held up her arms.
‘Go back to work!’ she shouted. ‘There is nothing to see. There has been an accident, that is all.’
She folded her arms and stood immoveable till at last the crowd did her bidding and began moving back to the centre of the field.
Barda and Jasmine stayed. Rust seemed to know that there was no point in trying to make them go.
Bess’s reaction to Fern’s death shocked them all.
‘The woman was stealing from your wagon, Lewin,’ she said, shrugging. ‘She paid the price.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lief exclaimed, horrified.
‘Something watches over you, Lewin,’ said Bess dreamily, moving her hands over the glass ball. ‘Anyone who tries to injure you is in danger.’
The fox-woman stirred uneasily. ‘Bess, I do not think—’ she began.
‘Rust, see that Fern is buried without delay,’ Bess said, without looking at her. ‘And decently, with her mask in place, as is proper. Keep to your story of an accident. The people may turn against Lewin if they know the truth.’
Lief opened his mouth to protest, but Barda gripped his arm warningly, and he remained silent.
Barda is right, he thought. Better to say nothing. If Bess really believes that I am protected by some sort of spirit, it may help us later. If she does not—if the thing that killed Fern is some hideous secret she and the rest of the inner circle share—defying her will only put us in even greater danger.
When Fern’s body had been moved, Rust left the companions alone to re-pack their scattered belongings. At last they could speak freely.
Jasmine called Kree to her and began tending to the wound on the back of his neck. He squawked and clucked as she cleaned the raw place and smeared it with more of the green ointment.
‘Kree says he saw it all,’ Jasmine said in a low voice. ‘Fern came and began searching our packs. He was trying to decide what to do when the phantom appeared from the shadows and attacked her.’
‘“Beware the Masked One”,’ Barda frowned. ‘Are you sure Fern did not say “the Masked Ones”, Lief?’
‘I am sure,’ Lief said slowly. ‘She meant only one person. If only she had given a name! Then we could have told Bess which of her people is conjuring up the phantom. Whoever it is, is growing stronger. The thing was clearer this time. It had more shape. And its face—or whatever horror was inside its hood—gleamed green.’
‘The sorcerer may be Bess herself,’ said Barda. ‘She said the phantom watches over you. And both its victims were intent on doing you harm.’
‘But when Otto was attacked, Bess did not even know I existed!’ Lief objected.
‘Still, both deaths were certainly connected with us,’ Jasmine said. The sorcerer must be someone who wants to drive us away from the troupe.’
‘We have a wide choice, then,’ growled Barda. ‘The whole of the inner circle, except Bess, wants us gone.’
‘Well, as far as I am concerned, they can have their wish,’ Lief said flatly. ‘Let us tell Bess that we wish to leave at once—and tell her in front of others. That is the best way of ensuring our safety, and the safety of everyone else here.’
‘It is,’ Jasmine agreed. ‘And I, for one, will be very glad to go.’
‘I, too,’ said Barda. ‘Though I do not relish the idea of telling Bess.’
By the time the village clock struck ten, it was as if the attack had never happened.
Fern the seamstress had been buried. Fern’s grieving husband had been given a potion and had fallen into a drugged sleep. Life in the camp had returned to normal. And Lief, Barda and Jasmine were again sitting at the purple-draped table outside Bess’s wagon, while Kree kept silent watch in the tree above their heads.
They were eating dinner, served once again by Rust. The meal was nearly finished, but still they had not spoken of what was most on their minds. Then, suddenly, Bess gave them their chance.
‘This has been a hard day,’ she said, spooning the last of her soup into her mouth. ‘The new people—especially the orphans—are growing restless. We need a performance to lift their spirits—to make them know how fine it is to be a Masked One.’
She sighed heavily. ‘Plainly we must forget our plans to perform here. We must go east to Purley, I fear. I have never liked the place, but at least we know that we will have a good audience there.’