The Child Thief

making his way over the driftwood and rocks beneath the silvery glow of the low-hanging clouds, and it was not long before he heard the soft tread of something trailing him.

Peter slid out his long knife and turned, shouting a challenge, daring the thing to show itself. Nothing did or dared, his madness too plain, and Peter continued on alone until he saw the jagged timber walls of the fort lit up from within by a smoldering watch fire.

He looked out toward the lagoon, to where the skeletons of the great galleons lay half-drowned, leaning off- keel and rotting. Their frames silhouetted against the silver glow of the Mist like the ghostly bones of a sea dragon.

He walked up to the fort wall, mesmerized by the dance of firelight between the jagged timber beams. Atop each of the gate posts sat a boy’s head, their mouths frozen forever in the silent screams of the dead, their hair blowing in the brisk wind, the dark hollows of their eyes staring back at him, mocking him, accusing him.

He counted twenty-four of them. “Jimmy, Mark, Davis…Bob. No. Bill? Which was it?” He started over again, then again, but no matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t remember all their names. As his frustration grew so did his volume, until he was shouting their names, knowing the Flesh-eaters would hear and not caring.

He saw their shapes approach the wall, peering out into the darkness, felt their eyes searching for him.

“DEATH HAS COME,” Peter screamed, “TO CUT YOUR THROATS AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD!” He threw back his head and howled like a wolf.

The gate opened. Dozens of Flesh-eaters carrying torches and wielding swords and axes stepped out. A figure pushed through them, a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. He slid his sword from his belt, sliced the air with its long, narrow blade, and strolled forward.

Peter slipped silently back into the shadows and disappeared into the night.

Chapter Eleven Barghest

Oww! OWW!” Nick cried.

“Just hold still,” Cricket said. “You’re making it worse.”

Nick grimaced. During the night, something—and Nick had a damn good idea what, judging by the pixies giggling from the rafters—had tied his hair to the bars of his cage.

“Just one more. There,” Cricket said. “Y’know, you’ll have to learn not to sleep with your head so close to the bars.”

Nick sat up, rubbing his hair, and shot Cricket a cutting look. “Thanks, but I think I figured that one out on my own.”

“Eww, someone’s a sourpuss,” Cricket laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Whoa, you don’t look so good.”

Nick frowned. “Thanks.”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, you don’t look well. You feel okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nick said curtly. “Just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

NICK WAITED HIS turn for the privy, stepped in, and took a hard look at himself in the mirror. Cricket was right, he looked bad. There were dark circles under his eyes and his eyes looked haunted, his face oddly gaunt. He couldn’t stop thinking about the nightmare. Unlike most nightmares, this one stayed with him. Not only could he clearly remember every detail, but he still harbored the ill feelings, the horror of what he’d seen and the terrible things he’d done. He knew it was silly, but he checked his hands, searching for any signs that they were turning black or growing claws. It had been that real. He doused his head with the cool water. It made him feel better, but didn’t wash away his dread or the dark mood lingering in his chest.

Nick almost ran into Sekeu when he came out. She was busy refereeing breakfast and getting the fires going.

“Sorry,” he said.

She gave him a passing glance, stopped, stepped back, and looked at him again. She didn’t seem so much concerned as disturbed. “Nick, how do you feel?”

“Okay.”

Sekeu eyed him, skeptical. “You are sure?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, a bit annoyed. “I’m fine, really.”

Redbone came up behind Sekeu and jabbed her in the butt. “Squaw, paleface need’um powwow.”

Sekeu spun around, leading with her fist.

Redbone was ready for her and leaped back, but she caught him on the arm so hard that even Nick flinched.

“Oww, Jesus Christ, man!” Redbone cried, wincing and clutching his shoulder. “Geez, I was just kidding around.” He shook his arm out.

“What do you want?” Sekeu snapped, looking ready to take his head off.

“Nothing really, except to say we’re running low on acorns, and berries, and mushrooms. Oh, and pretty much every other damn thing.” Redbone leaned over to Nick, still rubbing his arm, and whispered, “She got her muscles from scalping white men, y’know.” He snorted and elbowed Nick, then did a double-take. “Hey, wow. Cat, you don’t look so good.”

Nick frowned.

“How did you sleep?” Sekeu asked Nick. “Did you have any bad dreams?”

The image of his skin turning black and his hands twisting into claws came to Nick. He was about to mention it, but didn’t like the way the two of them were scrutinizing him, like he’d committed a crime. “No,” he lied. “My stomach hurt a little. That’s all. I feel fine now.”

Sekeu and Redbone exchanged a wary glance, neither looked convinced.

Redbone slapped Nick on the back. “That’s just your body getting used to the different food, man. That’s all. It’ll pass.” But Nick didn’t miss the dark look Redbone shot Sekeu.

It scared him.

THE NEXT COUPLE of days flowed into one another: breakfast, training, dinner, sleep, breakfast, training, dinner, sleep, round and round. Nick did his best to stay out of Leroy’s way, but the bigger boy took special pleasure in targeting him, taking every opportunity to give him a hard time. Nick tried not to let it get to him, losing himself in his training. He found the drills and long hours of practice to be the one place where he could forget his troubles. He also found he was getting pretty good with the staff and spear—his ability quickly outpacing that of both Cricket and Danny. His progress was encouraging. But more than anything, he wanted to beat Leroy, and worked tirelessly with Sekeu trying to master every move and trick. Soon he was pressing her to show him the advanced maneuvers he saw the Devils performing. He wasn’t sure if it was the exercise or the strange food, maybe both, but either way, his body felt stronger, his timing and speed increasing with each passing day.

The nights were the hardest, the dark dreams haunting his sleep. Each night in his nightmares, his skin would turn black and the dread and rage would grow in his chest. He would wake breathing hard, his stomach burning and murder in his heart.

After breakfast on Nick’s fourth morning, Sekeu led him, Cricket, Danny, and Leroy over to the big round door on the far side of the hall.

A few moments later, Redbone and the one-handed boy, Abraham, joined them, toting buckets and potato sacks. They’d put on leathers, tight-fitting, hand-stitched, single-piece garments with pointed boots sewn right into them, held up by a belt strapped high across the chest.

Redbone tugged on a beat-up, black leather jacket. This one wasn’t hand-stitched, this was a genuine American motorcycle jacket, complete with spikes, patches, and SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL painted in peeling red letters across the back.

Redbone had a sly grin on his face. “Any of you cats up for a break?”

Danny perked up. “Hey, that’d be great!”