‘Blood! He tried to pull the mask off—and her skin tore away with it!’ a high voice shrieked. ‘The mask has grown into her face! Oh—oh, horrible! Horrible!’
There was a chorus of shuddering groans, wails of horror.
Lief looked around him. Everywhere, terrified people were tearing off their own masks and throwing them to the ground, trampling them underfoot. Faces were revealed, strangely shocking in their nakedness—faces old and young, pretty and plain, filled with disgust, with horror, with fear.
The man who had worn the bear mask was small-eyed and red-faced. Foam had gathered at the corners of his mouth.
‘It is the same with all of them!’ he howled, pointing at the Masked Ones gathered around Bess. ‘Freaks! Sorcerers! Kill them!’
The crowd surged forward, then halted, wavering. Silence fell.
The members of the inner circle had turned. Every one of them held a long, narrow knife.
Shoulder to shoulder they faced the bareface crowd, and their eyes were filled with loathing. Proudly they lifted their heads—their heads covered by the masks which were part of them.
The masks of their adulthood, Lief thought dazedly. Put on at the age of eighteen. Bonded to their flesh, forever… forever…
In the stillness, the village clock began to chime.
One… two…
Lief looked over the heads of the Masked Ones, beyond the tree to where the clock tower stood, shining in the moonlight. The hands of the clock were pointing straight upwards.
Midnight.
The skin of his face and neck seemed to warm and prickle. The memory of Bess’s voice whispered in his mind.
Wear it for one hour—till midnight. That will be enough.
He looked down again. The eagle-man, Quill, met his eyes. ‘You had better join us, Lewin of Broome,’ Quill said quietly. ‘Like it or not, you are one of us, now.’
Yes.
Lief took a step forward. Then, suddenly, his arms were seized, and he was jerked back. Bewildered, he turned his head from one side to the other. Jasmine and Barda each held one of his arms. They were holding him, shaking him, calling to him.
Lief recoiled. Jasmine and Barda had taken off their masks. Their mouths seemed to writhe horribly as they shouted. Their naked faces were beaded with sweat, creased and twisted with horror.
They were ugly—disgusting. It made him sick to look at them.
He struggled vainly to free himself. Barda and Jasmine were still shouting, but he could not understand what they were saying. The chiming of the clock filled his mind.
Five… six…
‘You see?’ roared the voice of the red-faced man. ‘See the boy in the bird mask? Bess the witch favoured him! She changed him into one of them! And so she would have changed us all, at last! Turned us into freaks, like herself!’
Shouting angrily, the crowd surged forward again. Some had armed themselves with rocks, and with flaming sticks from the fire.
‘Burn them!’ a woman shrieked.
The Masked Ones stood their ground.
‘Rust!’ Quill said.
Rust cupped her hands around her mouth. Her fox-face gleamed in the candlelight as she drew breath. Then she gave an unearthly, high-pitched screech.
It was like the weird cry Lief and Jasmine had heard in the forest camp of the Masked Ones. And now they knew its purpose.
For from the fences around the field the giant moths rose in a cloud.
Like thousands of scraps of paper whirling in a breeze, the moths swarmed towards the one who had called them in.
But there were no red boxes ready to receive them. They could not land. Confused, they swooped over the crowd, a fluttering mass of white.
The air was thick with them. Their wings brushed hands, shoulders, faces. The markings on their wings swelled and glowed scarlet. They spat, and their poison burned where it fell.
Many people staggered, screaming in pain. Others dropped their weapons, covered their heads and began to run, heedlessly trampling the fallen ones in their panic.
Run, you ugly barefaces, Lief thought, watching in satisfaction. Leave us to ourselves!
With part of his mind he was aware that the clock was still striking.
Nine… ten…
Soon…
With a shock he felt himself thrown to the ground, held fast. Barda pinned his shoulders down. Then, horribly, he felt Jasmine’s fingers tearing at his face.
‘No!’ he moaned. ‘No-’
Jasmine loomed above him. She was breathing in great, sobbing gasps. Her brow was beaded with sweat, and tears were pouring down her cheeks. But her mouth was set in a hard, straight line.
Eleven…
He felt a searing pain. He heard Barda cursing. He heard himself screaming.
Then all was darkness.
10 – The Bees
Lief woke suddenly, his heart pounding with fear. There was a low ringing in his ears. Needles of pain stabbed at his face and neck.
The ringing sound slowly faded away.
I must have had a nightmare, Lief thought. He lay very still, calming himself. Shadows flitted at the edges of his mind, but he could remember no dream. What had woken him, then? Woken him in such terror?
Cautiously he tried opening his eyes. They felt swollen and tender, and he could only open them a little. Through his eyelashes he saw blue sky, and sunlight filtering through the leaves of a tree.
It was broad daylight!
He licked his dry lips and swallowed painfully. He realised that he was very thirsty.
He turned his head to look for his water flask. Pain flashed through him, bringing tears to his eyes.
Have I been burned? he thought in confusion. He could smell the ashes of a fire. He could see the remains of a small fire near the trunk of the tree, not far from where he lay.
He could see nothing else. No pack. No water flask. Only trampled earth, deeply rutted with the marks of wagon wheels.
Gritting his teeth, closing his mind to the pain, he turned his head to the other side.
Jasmine lay there, deeply asleep. Her cheek was pillowed on her arm. In her hand was the tiny jar of green ointment. It was as though she had been using the ointment just before she fell asleep.
She was wearing the blue clothes of a Masked Ones acrobat. Her hair was covered by a woollen cap. Her face was smeared with mud and what looked like blood.
Beyond her, as far as Lief could see, the field stretched broad and empty except for the ashes of an enormous fire. The fence had been broken down in several places.
What has happened to us? he thought wildly. Where is Barda? His heart began to thud.
Barda is in danger…
The feeling was strong, but another feeling, or vague memory, was mingling with it. Something about Kree…
A fly buzzed close to his face, then settled on his arm. Lief wanted to brush it away, but feared that he could not lift his hand.
Another fly joined the first. Then Lief realised that they were not flies at all, but bees.
And at the same moment, as if in a dream, he heard sounds drifting on the breeze from somewhere beyond the field. The jingling of tiny bells. And singing.
Here we are in Happy Vale,
Pretty bees, busy bees.
Three long hours on the trail,
Fuzzy, buzzy bees.
Did you hear the clock strike eight?
Clever bees, tired bees.
Pray that we are not too late,
Hungry, bumbly bees.
As if the song had thrown open a window in Lief’s mind, he suddenly understood several things at once.
He had been woken by the striking of the Happy Vale clock. The sound had filled him with terror, but he did not know why.
It was eight o’clock in the morning. The Masked Ones had left in the night. He and Jasmine were alone here, with no weapons, no food, no water.