Shadowgate

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.’

Barda cleared his throat. ‘What a great pity!’ he said. ‘If you are returning to the east, I fear that we must part company with you.’

‘What?’ Bess dropped her spoon with a clatter. ‘But you cannot leave us! Lewin has a great future before him. You, too, Berry, from all I have heard. And even young Jay—’

‘Ah, well, it cannot be helped,’ Barda said firmly. ‘As you know, my nephews and I have always planned to go to the west.’

Lief glanced at Rust. Her eyes were shining with amazed relief.

You did not expect this, did you, Rust? he thought. You were so sure we were spies, and would cling to the troupe as long as we could. Well, you were wrong. Soon you will be rid of us. And we will be rid of you!

Bess was panting, as if she had been running. She turned to Lief.

‘Surely you do not want this, do you, Lewin?’ she demanded.

‘I am sorry, Bess, but my first loyalty must be to my uncle,’ Lief said, grateful that he did not have to hurt her even further by admitting he wanted to leave. ‘Wherever he goes, I must go too.’

Bess bowed her head, struggling to calm herself. ‘Well,’ she mumbled. ‘This has been a great shock.’

At last she looked up. ‘But perhaps it is all for the best,’ she said, smiling bravely. ‘Bring a jug of wildberry wine, if you please, Rust. Berry needs restoring. Quill worked him far too hard this afternoon. And bring some oatcakes with honey for the young ones.’

The fox-woman nodded and hurried away, taking the used dishes from the table with her. Clearly she was in high good humour.

‘Lewin,’ Bess said, ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’

‘What is it, Bess?’ asked Lief cautiously.

‘I want you to go into my wagon, and take the round silver box from beneath my bed,’ Bess said. ‘In the box, you will find a mask. I want you to put that mask on, Lewin, and wear it for me.’

Lief’s stomach turned over.

‘I see by your eyes that you have guessed,’ Bess said. ‘Yes. It is the mask of Bede’s adulthood—the mask he never wore. It would have been yours one day, Lewin, if you had stayed with us.’

She looked down at her folded hands. ‘Now that will never be,’ she said. ‘But it would give me such joy to see you wear it—just for a single hour—on this, our last night together.’

Lief hesitated. He could feel Barda and Jasmine staring at him. No doubt they could see no harm in Bess’s request.

And what was the harm?

He stood up. ‘If it would please you, Bess,’ he said.

He took a lantern from the collection around the table, and moved to the back of the wagon.

The sack that had stood by the door now sagged half empty. A fire burned beneath the black iron pot, which was filled with slowly bubbling liquid that looked like porridge, but smelled strongly of rotten fruit.

Lief wrinkled his nose. Plainly, Bess was cooking some of the roots from the secret field.

I am glad we are leaving tomorrow, if that is to be the Masked Ones’ dinner tomorrow night, he thought.

He entered the wagon, went quickly to the bed and soon found the silver box.

Inside, wrapped in yellow silk, was a magnificent mask—a gleaming blue bird-head, similar to the one he was wearing, but much finer and more lifelike.

Lief reached out and touched it. It seemed to quiver beneath his fingers. For a single, horrible moment it seemed alive. Lief snatched his hand away, his heart beating wildly. He clutched at the Belt of Deltora, hidden beneath his clothes.

Gradually his panic ebbed away. He forced himself to look down.

The mask lay in its bed of silk—a beautiful, lifeless thing of feathers, fabric and paste.

Filled with shame, Lief took off his old mask. At the same moment, the village clock began striking eleven. The sound seemed so loud and clear!

For a few moments he relished his freedom. Then, as the last, ringing chime died away, he gritted his teeth, picked up the new mask, and pulled it on.