After running further than they'd ever run before, the children arrived panting and limping - especially Swift with his sore foot - at a crossing where three roads and a cliff track were marked by four signposts.
The sign to the right said, To Mizzen Bee; the one to the left said, To Mussel Cove; the cliff track sign said, To Wartstoe Village. And the one pointing where they'd come from said, To Royal Woods. High up on the Wartstoe Village track they could see a string of lanterns bobbing along.
`We'll let them get to the top of the cliff before we follow,' whispered Lyla.
`What if the snakes attack?' argued Lem.
Looking back to where Snake Tree Woods ended and seeing no snakes in sight, Lyla raised her eyebrows at her brother. `I don't think they can leave the woods.'
By the time they reached the top of the cliff the Huntsmen's lanterns were gone and all they could see was a pitch-black plateau dotted with red campfires.
They circled the first campfire and discovered why it was built so close to the Wartstoe Village track. The plateau was covered in prickly grass that crackled loudly underfoot, letting everyone within hearing distance know that someone was coming.
There were also sharp stones that cut through their boots; waist-high walls of snake bones, that fell with a clatter; deep groundhog burrows and deeper cracks that could swallow even a big Huntsman who wasn't being careful.
`Swift will feel the way with my spear,' whispered Lyla. `We'll tie him to us so if he slips we can heave him up.'
With Lyla's spear held out in front Swift felt every step before taking it. Sometimes he teetered on the brink of a hole and had to be pulled back. Sometimes his spear felt nothing and he took another direction. It was slow going but finally they passed the Huntsmen's camp and returned to the safety of the track.
The golden-rimmed moon had risen by the time they reached the next campfire. Lem crept towards it to ask the Huntsmen's dogs not to bark as they passed by. When he returned he told the others that it was a bandit camp and that he'd seen three men tied to stakes in the centre of a ring of tents.
`The dogs said if we don't want to be taken prisoner and be thrown off a cliff then we have to keep going.'
`But what if the prisoners are the potato farmers?' argued Celeste.
Lyla agreed. `Celeste is right. If they are the farmers then we can't leave them there.'
`And what if they're three other skin-us-alive bandits caught by these skin-us-alive bandits,' whispered Swift.
Celeste handed her bag and Splash to him. `One way to find out. I'll creep up and if they're the farmers I'll cut them free and if they're not, I won't. Meanwhile you continue on to Wartstoe Village so that if I have to make a run for it we'll all be running in the same direction.'
Celeste held her breath as she crept through the ring of tents to where the men were tied to three stakes surrounded by firewood. The closest man was the farmer who'd argued with Abel Penny. She cut his and the second man's ropes without waking them. But the third, whose head was bleeding, was awake. He stared at her as if he was seeing a ghost. Putting her finger to her lips, she quickly cut his ropes and crept away.
Expecting to hear the shouts of angry bandits or the cries of farmers being caught again, Celeste ran to catch up with the others. They met on the track and raced towards the next campfire. They circled it and three more before they reached the point where the cliff track sloped downwards. Below them were what had once been the productive wheat fields of Wartstoe Village but were now only dry stubble.
In one field they found a burnt-out barn where they hid under a pile of mouldy hay. They were all sound asleep when a skinny rooster, not long for this world, crowed that it was morning. None of the children heard a sound.
Chad woke first, much later. He crawled out of the hay and he found they'd all slept through most of the day. He could also see that the closest cottage in Wartstoe Village was only a shout away. He shook Celeste awake and beckoned her outside. Five minutes later a tousled-headed Lyla and a shivering Lem joined them.
After complaining about how hungry and cold they were they talked over what they should do next. Lyla and Celeste weren't sure about their boy disguises, and the others were too young, so they decided that Lem would go to the village alone. They also agreed he should barter for food as well as information about Edith, and that he would pay for both with one of the jewels pried from the casket's lid.
`Leave the moment you have everything but return in a roundabout way in case someone thinks we have more jewels and tries to follow you,' instructed Lyla. `Meanwhile we'll bury the casket so that it can't be stolen.'
When Swift awoke and discovered that Lem had already set off for the village, he climbed into the barn's rafters where Chad was on watch.
Below them, Celeste and Lyla were washing their arms and faces in a barrel of water. They were worried about Lem so they talked about how brave he was, how good he was with his sword - even though he hadn't taken it - and how his gift of speaking to animals would surely help him if he met danger.
`As long as there are animals around,' added Celeste. Seeing the dismay on Lyla's face, she bit her lip and wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
6
Petrie Wartstoe
Lem's pace slowed as he reached the village. Cautious and questioning by nature, he liked to know what he was walking into before it was too late. He was also not as keen to do this task alone as he'd made the others believe, but couldn't have them thinking he was afraid.
The village was a pitiful place with windowless cottages, sagging bark-roofed shanties, cracked mud walls and toppled fences that kept nothing in and nothing out. The few villagers he passed were gaunt-faced women or dirty-faced children peeking from doorways. All averted their eyes as if to return his look would cause them trouble.
Even the dogs, slinking from puddle to puddle, had nothing good to say.
`You are too well dressed,' growled one bent-eared hound.
`The fishermen from Mussel Cove will steal those boots,' warned a skinny cattle dog.
`The innkeeper is a thief and a murderer,' panted a third limping by with a sore the size of a dinner plate on its haunches.
`Go back. Go back,' barked a tan and black puppy that was so starved its flanks flapped together.
Lem scooped him up. `You poor little thing. If I get any food I will give you some.'
The pup snuggled its head under his arm.
The inn was a rambling manure-walled building with a shingle roof, four attic windows and one smoking chimney. To its left was a stable full of swayed-backed mules and horses. To its right lay a cobblestone yard jammed with vehicles. One was the potato farmers' wagon.
Lem placed the pup under the wagon. `Stay here,' he ordered. But the pup followed him through the inn door.
The stink of spilt ale, badly cooked food, and a floor that was never swept or washed of its layers of tobacco and phlegm, made Lem's empty stomach churn.
`Shut the door and sit down if you're staying,' grunted a man just inside the door.
The interior of the inn consisted of one large smoke-filled room with a ladder leading to the attic, a fireplace large enough for four men to stand inside and a sack- covered doorway leading to the ale room. Over the fire revolved a spit containing a lump of fatty meat, a roasting rooster and three crackling groundhogs.
A wizened old man turned the spit when he wasn't sticking his tobacco-stained fingers into the beef dripping and sucking them. Beside the sizzling carcases hung a soot-blackened soup pot and a smaller pot of mulled wine. The old man's finger dipped into these as well.
Pulled up around the fire were 20 split-log benches and 10 plank tables crowded with men drinking, talking, playing cards or sleeping. Around