Nix barked.
“I know Mads said not to go to the village but what choice do we have? We need somewhere to stay before it gets Dark.” Finding shelter was the only thing Bo was certain of. He would find somewhere safe from vengeful wolves and Shadow Creatures and then . . . and then . . . and then he’d work out what to do next later.
As the first hut loomed before them, Bo tugged at his hood—without Mads by his side he felt thankful for the oversized cloak and the protection it afforded him. The village was silent, window shutters and doors locked tight; only the wind played in the street.
A low growl of unease rumbled from Nix.
“I know,” said Bo. He lifted his chin to the Light, high in the center of the sky. “Should be bursting with people by now. Maybe more have left than Galvin said . . .”
It wasn’t until they had passed several rows of houses that Bo began to notice the scratches. Every wall and every door had been clawed by Shadow Creatures. It hadn’t been like that yesterday. No wonder the villagers were leaving. Bo tried not to let Nix see him trembling.
“Stay clear of the shadows,” said Bo just in case.
The first sign of life was the Innkeeper’s dog, a raw-boned beast with russet fur, tied to a post outside the inn. Nix bristled.
“Easy,” said Bo.
The dog jerked his head at the sound of Bo’s voice. He was an ugly beast; half his left ear had been torn clean off, and his fangs stuck out even when his mouth was closed.
Bo edged back—“Nice dog, good dog”—but the dog charged, spitting saliva as he barked. Bo tripped over his own feet trying to run away and fell with a thud on his behind. Luckily, the chain pulled taut and the dog choked to a halt just out of reach.
“Serves you right,” said Bo, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off.
The dog strained against the leash and barked.
“Woof, woof, yourself.”
The door to the inn swung open and the flush-faced Innkeeper clomped outside. “Quit your racket, you useless beast,” he snarled, failing to notice Bo.
The Innkeeper had a habit of chewing tar-bark, which he’d spit on the ground in sticky globules; it stained his teeth black. The strings of his grimy apron looped several times around his stout frame, and his thinning hair was slicked across his scalp in weedy, silver tendrils. His pockmarked skin was the color of a slapped pig’s hind.
Bo shrank back, trying to stay out of view. But the Innkeeper finally caught sight of him. His cheeks puffed and he turned a deeper shade of red.
“You! Devil-child! Come to set more Shadow Creatures on us, have you?” He grabbed a broom and poked it at Bo.
Bo stumbled back, rucksack rattling. “What are you on about?”
“Why d’you think this whole village is locked up tight? There were hundreds of Shadow Creatures roaming the village last night, scratching at doors. Why, Lucky Karl lost all his pigs!”
Bo couldn’t care less if Lucky Karl’s pigs had grown beards and done a jig, but he bit his tongue. “Always Shadow Creatures about,” he said, but he knew the Innkeeper was right: Bo had heard the Shadow Creatures himself and had seen the claw marks. Galvin’s warnings made more and more sense.
“People are scared out of their wits and half of them are leaving, scurrying with their tails between their legs to the Un-King. Who am I going to sell my beer to now, hey? You’ve cost me my livelihood.” The Innkeeper stomped to the edge of the porch. “Away with you and your curse. Back to your forest and that Devil-man you live with.”
Nix pawed at the ground, growling.
Bo opened his mouth but no words came out; the words had scattered, hidden, vanished. Like Star-children.
A thick globule of tar-bark splattered at Bo’s feet. “Where is your master, anyway?” sneered the Innkeeper. “I’ll have him locked in the Fuglebur for letting his Devil-spawn run wild in our streets.”
Bo sucked down his grief; it burned his throat raw. “Mads is dead,” he said, eyes on the splatter at his feet. “A wolf got him.”
The Innkeeper stumbled back, shoulder crashing into the doorframe. “D-did you say w-wolf?”
“And it’s after me, too, so—”
“You brought a wolf here? To the village?”
“But it’s Light,” argued Bo. Nix edged in front of Bo’s shins, baring his teeth at the Innkeeper. “A wolf can’t—”
The Innkeeper wailed and swung the broom. “You’ve brought a curse on us!”
Bo ducked as the broom went whoosh over his head. The Innkeeper swung again and again until Nix charged at him, biting down on his calf.
The Innkeeper howled. “Get this beast off me! I’ll have you strung up!” The Innkeeper shook his leg, trying to dislodge Nix. “I’ll set my dog on you both!”
As if hearing his master’s threat, the dog reared, straining against the chain with hunger in his eyes. The Innkeeper struck at Nix with the broom. “I’ll get you, you Devil-creature!”
“Leave him alone!” Bo swung his rucksack. The heavy pack connected with the Innkeeper’s chin and he tumbled backwards. Nix finally let go; blood stained the white fur around his mouth.
“Come on, Nix!” shouted Bo.
They turned and ran, the pearly white huts blurring as Bo and Nix sped down the street.
“Nowhere to run, Devil-child!” called the Innkeeper, struggling to his feet. “You’ve no Mads to save you now. I’ll have you strung up in the Fuglebur—see if you can escape the Shadow Creatures then!”
Bo and Nix hurried through the winding streets, circling closer and closer to the center of the village and the market square. More shouts joined the Innkeeper’s. They’d have the whole village after them soon. Not to mention the Innkeeper’s dog.
And then Bo saw a hedge of sneezewort, thick and tall and dense. Mads grew the foul-smelling shrub around their hut: Keeps all manner of beasts and nasties away, he used to say.
“Quick,” said Bo. “Behind here.” He didn’t know if sneezewort kept dogs away but it was the only chance he had.
Bo squeezed through a break in the hedge, grabbing a handful of the small white flowers as he did so. Behind the hedge was a narrow yard filled with junk. Bo scurried into the gap between a wood heap and a broken old cart. Nix squished in behind, the pair of them pressed tightly into the hidden corner. Bo rubbed the flowers all over his skin and clothes; Nix whimpered as Bo rubbed the flowers over his fur, too.
They froze as heavy boots pounded past the hedge, villagers shouting: This way, that way. The Devil-child ran through here! Legs flickered between the slats of wood; the Innkeeper’s dog barked but didn’t come close.
Bo wrapped his arms around Nix.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.” He should have heeded Mads’s warning, should have known he’d find no help in this village.
Nix licked Bo’s forearm.
“When it’s safe, we’ll go. We’ll find somewhere before Dark. I promise.”
After the shouting died down, Bo crawled to the end of the heap, and through a gap he saw the market square; it was deserted.
“We’ll spend the night in the stables,” said Bo, squinting at the mishmash of huts on the other side of the square. “I don’t think they’ll find us there. We’ll grab more sneezewort and wrap ourselves in it.” Bo pointed. “We make a run for the fountain in the middle first. There? See?” To the right of the fountain, a pole stretched into the sky, and from the very top hung an iron cage, creaking and groaning in the breeze: the Fuglebur.