Finally, the light flickered out in her mother’s house. Kestrel pulled the hood of the wolf-skin cloak over her head and braced herself, sucking in the power in its teeth and claws.
The door was unlocked. Kestrel left it ajar so there was a small wedge of light to see by, highlighting the long-legged spiders perambulating over the ceiling. The room was cold and filled with scuttling mice.
“Mother,” Kestrel whispered, fixing her eyes on the dark shape in the middle of the room, so quietly she was only just moving her mouth. “Are you awake?”
Her mother had her head propped against her hands, her elbows dug into her knees. Her mouth was slightly open and she looked dead but for the thin whistle that came through her nose. As Kestrel had suspected, she was fast asleep. She’d been angrier today than she had in weeks, and it had exhausted her. The black dog was snoring by her side.
Kestrel crawled toward her mother and the dog, trying to make herself as tiny as possible. Her breath rattled loudly in her ears. As she picked her way toward them her elbow caught on a piece of red thread, and the whole room shivered.
Her mother grunted. The dog twitched. Kestrel bit her tongue, screaming internally, but they both fell silent again.
When she was sure they were still asleep, Kestrel swept her hands over the floor around her mother’s skirt, squinting until she could see the piece of black string used to control the dog. It was next to her mother’s right hand, which lay palm-up like another spider.
She tried to remember exactly what her mother had done with the string when she was tying the dog up. It had looked like a simple knot, but what if there was more to it?
Well, she didn’t have a choice. As long as she did it slowly.
She reached out and touched the string. The dog shivered but didn’t wake. Kestrel, with her eyes fixed on the dog, picked up the loose end and began looping it over itself, pulling it through the hole as gently as possible, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth.
“Steady, boy,” she whispered to the dog. “I’m just putting your leash on. . . .”
The dog’s eyes flicked open, lamp-yellow and accusatory. Without thinking Kestrel grabbed the string in both hands and pulled tight.
The dog let out a strangled whine and fell to the floor. Its chest was rising and falling, but it was completely, stone-cold unconscious.
Kestrel pulled the knot tighter and tighter, until it was as small and hard as an apple pip, then knotted it again and again for safety. It wouldn’t take her mother very long to undo it, and she might wake soon. Hopefully it was enough.
She dropped the string and touched the dog on the head, but it didn’t respond. It suddenly looked a lot smaller, lying on the floor with a look of startled consternation on its face. If it wasn’t so intent on ruining her life she could almost feel sorry for it.
Almost.
Pale mud bubbled out of the Salt Bog, pushing between huge cracks in the salty crust. Kestrel tried to step as lightly as possible along the paths, but wherever she put her foot down there was a loud crunch. Every time she saw something in the corner of her eye she thought: grabber! and whirled to face it, only to find that it was a frozen mouse or a dead leaf blowing around. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew it wouldn’t be far away. The thought of it watching made Kestrel quicken her pace, while her nerves shrieked at her to run.
She hurried toward the place she’d last seen the Briny Witch, gripping the handle of her spoon. Her plan was uncomplicated and nerve-racking. She’d find the drowned man and lure him with the promise of her eyes; then at the last minute, force him to make her invisible at spoon-point.
But the farther she walked the less clever her plan sounded. No matter how far she stuck her chin in the air or how hard she gripped her spoon, she felt more and more doubtful. What if she couldn’t find him? What if he was stronger than her and pushed her into the bog? What if he had been lying and couldn’t help her anyway? What if her grabber caught up with her and ate her first?
“Good evening,” whispered the Briny Witch in her ear.
Kestrel jumped and flung her spoon so hard it stuck between two of the drowned man’s ribs. He was standing right next to her, his hair floating around him in a slimy aura. He looked shocked for a second, and when he opened his mouth to speak the only thing that came out was a small, round bubble of surprise. Then he gathered himself, sighed, and pulled the spoon out of his ribs.
It was covered in something like jelly. Kestrel snatched it back and the Briny Witch brought his face close to hers, his milky eyes unblinking, the fat fish circling him like slow comets.
“You know why I’m here,” said Kestrel, trying very hard not to lean away from his fishy breath.
“I can guess,” said the Briny Witch with his underwater voice. He moved as though he were wading through thick mud, bubbles rising from his nostrils as he spoke. “But maybe you kept me waiting too long. Maybe I changed my mind.”
They stared at each other, the Briny Witch with his blind eyes that seemed to know exactly where to fix themselves. Both refused to be the first to speak. After a minute the Briny Witch smiled.
“Very well,” he gurgled, an elegant fish circling his head. “What do you want?”
“Invisibility,” Kestrel said firmly.
“For?”
“My eyes,” she said, tightening her hand on her spoon. The Briny Witch licked his lips.
“I detect a hint of untruth,” he said.
The bubbles around his head popped, and he sprang toward her with the speed of a wolf. Kestrel lashed out with her spoon, catching him in the arm, shocked by his sudden rapidity. The blade bounced off, and it was all Kestrel could do not to drop it. The Briny Witch’s hair was no longer floating about his head, and he was dripping water as though he had just stepped out of rainfall. He closed his fingers over the top of her head, holding her still, and chuckled with a noise like knucklebones rattling in a cup.
Kestrel felt water running down the side of her head and shivered.
“You’re a stupid little girl,” the Briny Witch said, his voice no longer wet. He sounded cruel and elegant. “You thought I was slow. You thought you could cut me to pieces and take what you wanted, and I’d simply float around like a slow, fat fish.” He leaned in. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust strangers,” he said.
“You’ve forgotten something,” Kestrel replied, her stomach churning as his wet fingers pressed into the side of her head.
“And what’s that?”
“You shouldn’t trust little girls, either.”
Kestrel twisted herself out of his grasp and flung herself square into his chest. They both tumbled backward, the Briny Witch’s slimy rags and her toothy cloak tangling together. Kestrel tried to wrestle him to the floor, determined to pin him down and make him give her what she wanted, but he was stronger than she imagined. He fought back, and they tumbled over and over, trying to wrestle each other to the ground. She reached for her spoon but the Briny Witch knocked it away. It hit a frozen badger and stuck there, point out.
She really, really needed to learn to hold it properly.
Neither of them realized they’d left the path until they heard the crack. The salt crust split and pulled apart with a long, slow sound, like ice being crushed between teeth. Kestrel felt a jolt of panic, remembering that the Briny Witch had said there was something in the water that had preserved him. It was too late. They fell through and plunged into the water, springing apart just as they were swallowed.