The Child Thief

the blades scissoring into the face of the man holding Danny, cutting the entire front of the man’s face off, exposing his eye sockets, nasal cavities, and an open hole where his mouth had been. There came a horrible gargling cry; the man’s tongue flapped like a windsock. He fell away from Danny, clutching what was left of his face.

Peter landed behind them. The men all tried to spin at once, but in different directions, crashing into one another and getting tangled in each other’s weapons. Peter shoved his swords into the backs of the men on either side of Danny and snatched the boy free. Hauling him away, pushing him up the trail. “RUN! ” he screamed. “Run, for the Lady’s sake!”

Danny took off with Peter right behind him, and made it about four paces, then tripped, taking Peter down with him. Peter got one foot back under him when something hit him on the back of the skull.

Peter was still lucid enough to feel his face slap the hard earth, to feel the air go out of him, to see the men with their wicked grins and deadly spears circle him. Then he saw something else. There, far up on the hill, looking down, stood a tall figure in a woolly cape; a helmet with great antlers sat on its head.

Peter smiled. The Horned One had come to guide him to Otherworld.

PART IV The Captain

Chapter Twenty Samuel Carver

Bedbone slipped again, jerking the rope against Nick’s neck. Nick winced as the prickly cords bit into his flesh. He fought to keep his footing and could only watch helplessly as Redbone struggled to regain his feet. There was a terrible gash in Redbone’s side; blood oozed out and ran all the way down his leg. And even though Redbone had been trying to kill him only an hour before, Nick still hated to see him suffer like this.

Just ahead of Redbone, Danny was blubbering and wouldn’t shut up. In front of Danny was Leroy. Nick wished Leroy was the one with the wound in his side; he’d have no problem watching Leroy choke. Peter was in the lead, plodding silently forward. Nick had no idea what was going to happen to them, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

The men strung out in a long procession both in front and behind the boys, their dark, leathery flesh glistening beneath a coat of oily sweat. Directly ahead trudged a group of pike-men with the heads of the dead Devils sitting atop their pikes. Dirk’s lifeless eyes stared at Nick as his tongue lolled back and forth to the rhythm of the march.

Now that they were out in the open landscape and well away from the forests, the men had dropped their guard, staring at the trail with empty, soulless eyes, and dragging their spears as they tromped down the long, gray road. Nick did his best to avoid looking at them, at the thick veins running beneath their skin like worms, the bumps, scales, and horns. Apparently, the magic had twisted each man differently, and Nick found himself confronted with an endless variety of tortured bodies and the faces of men weary to their very souls.

The air was warm and humid, especially compared to the forests. Sweat rolled down Nick’s face and into his wounds, stinging the raw flesh where the ropes cut into his neck and wrists. Nick’s tongue felt swollen. He couldn’t remember ever being so thirsty. Down here, in the flatlands, the earth was dried out. They kicked up a cloud of dust as they marched along, and soon were covered in the claylike powder. Nick tried to spit to clear his mouth of the grime, but his mouth was too dry.

Their guard, a short, one-armed man with a sour face and a festering of warts along his brow, whacked Peter on the shin with the butt of his spear. Peter stumbled but somehow managed to keep from falling. “Stop dragging your feet, you ugly cunny. Move it.”

The man caught Nick looking at him and shoved his face into Nick’s; his breath smelled like rotten meat. “He be a demon, y’know. That one.” He whacked Peter with the blunt end of his spear. “Tell me you can see it?”

Nick didn’t answer.

“Little fool,” the guard spat. “How can you be so blind? Do you not see his pointy ears? He be Lucifer’s own son, that one.”

Nick turned away from the man.

“You see this,” the guard pressed his scarred stump right into Nick’s cheek. “It were him that done this.” The guard took the blunt end of his spear and whacked Peter in the ribs. Peter let out a grunt and the guard laughed, then whacked Peter again.

“Beasley, enough,” came a rough, weary voice. The voice came from the tall man with a thin mustache and goatee, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, what Nick thought of as a pirate’s hat.

“Aye, Captain,” the one-armed man sneered, then gave Peter a shove for good measure.

CAPTAIN SAMUEL CARVER pulled at his goatee and scanned the line of captives. They’d captured five boys alive and had the heads of close to a dozen more to decorate the fort walls with. Though they looked like children, the Captain knew better and had made doubly sure their hands were tightly bound and their necks strapped to the pole before beginning the long march back to the fort.

The Captain studied the red-headed boy in the lead, a clot of blood drying on his scalp. The Captain resented that this demon child should have red blood. It wasn’t right, not when his own pure English blood had turned black. Of course, what was right anymore? It’s him—the pointy ears leave no doubt. This had to be the one they called Peter, the leader of this pack of heathens. How many times had this demon taunted them? Now, they not only had him, they had him alive. The Captain still couldn’t believe it, would never have guessed it could be so easy.

The demons had come early, right on the heels of yesterday’s success. The Captain had guessed that one right and marshaled every able-bodied man in preparation, intending to catch the demons by surprise. His plan was to hide his main body among the trees and draw Peter into an ambush with a smaller force. But no such plan had been needed. The demon children came straight to them, as though God had handed them over. The Captain almost felt disappointed, cheated. He’d come to expect more from this devilish creature. He moved up alongside Peter. “Tell me something, boy,” the Captain asked in a deep, rough voice. “Did you give up? Is that it? Just tired of the game? Tell me, son. So I can put my mind to rest.”

The red-headed boy met his eyes and held them. Even beaten and tied, the creature managed a sneer.

Captain shook his head. “Well, it’s over now, at least for you.”

One of the boys stumbled. The kid had a wild mop of hair with a red bone tied into it, a long scar that ran across his eye, and a nasty-looking wound in his side. The rope strangled him as he struggled to regain his feet. The Captain knew he had a right to hate them all, but found it hard to feel anything other than pity. Beneath the scars, the paint, the savage sneers, they were just children, or at least had been once. He knew a bit about Peter, how he stole these poor lads from the outside, bewitched them to do his bidding, turned them into savages. But no matter how savage they appeared, they all cried for their mothers once the Reverend started in on them.

Three of them looked to be fresh recruits; they had no scars, none of the tattoos and other wicked markings. The Captain dared to hold out a little hope. With these, there might be a chance. Maybe he’d be able to win them over, get them to talk, to help.

He’d rescued children before, and they’d all died badly, with their secrets undivulged, all except Billy. Billy had been fresh, like these boys. A little kindness and putting the fear of the Reverend in him, and the boy had come around. It’d been from Billy that he’d learned about Peter, about the Lady and the legend of her precious apple tree. But Billy hadn’t known where the Lady and her tree were hidden.

It pained the Captain to think of Billy—he had been a sweet-natured child. But then the change took Billy, and it had driven him mad. The Captain had had to cut the boy down and it still grieved his heart.

The wounded boy continued to struggle for his feet, continued to strangle. The Captain sighed and pulled the