‘What did happen?’ asks Gretel.
‘And why I’ve been out here since I was a mere slip of a wink myself, before any of your mammas were even born,’ Gilde says, cutting Gretel short. ‘Long afore the huntsmen. They never bothered with little ole me, up in the mountains. So, maybe all the adult witches in Myrsina did get… whatever it was you were acting out with your swell mime, there.’
Buttercup slumps. ‘Oh.’
‘Anyhoo!’ Gilde adds, with a gratingly fake brightness. ‘You wanted to have a proper parlay about your trouble-stirring plans, and my poor little bones get frightful cold out in this mean ole wind, so we’ll be heading back to my place now. Too far to walk, so good thing for you I’ve got other arrangements. Can Miss Ghost transport?’
‘As long as I know where I’m going,’ replies Patience. She nods at the others. ‘I can latch onto these guys because they were there when I died.’
‘Reckoned so,’ replies Gilde. She points to Gretel, Jack and Buttercup. ‘You three can ride Papa.’
Gretel exchanges concerned expressions with the others. ‘Papa…?’
‘Papa.’ Gilde jerks a thumb at the larger of the two bears. ‘He can carry three like it’s nothing, ’specially since your boy one’s even more skin and gristle than ours is…’
‘Hey,’ mutters Jack reproachfully, but without any real conviction since she is, after all, correct.
‘And what are you, little girl,’ continues Gilde to Gretel, ‘eight?’
‘Thirteen!’
‘Mercy.’ Gilde shakes her head. ‘Barely out of nappy-rags.’ Gilde turns to Snow. ‘Mamma’s strong enough to take you, Your White Knightship, covered in iron and Dwarves as you are, as long as the little darlings play nice.’
‘You hear that?’ Snow picks up a Dwarf by the scruff. ‘No biting the bears.’
‘Yummy,’ mutters the Dwarf, eyeing the bear warily.
‘And I’ll ride my sweet Baby.’ She looks around herself, as if only just realising that something’s missing. ‘Oh poot, where’s he gotten to this time? Baby!’
‘Aww,’ coos Buttercup, ‘there’s a teeny bear?’
Gretel notices the troubled sideways glances between Hex and Scarlett.
‘Baby!’ Gilde calls again.
There is an almost familiar rumble-crack from the trees beyond, swiftly approaching.
‘Wait,’ says Trevor, ‘did an Ogre follow us out here or something?’
Gretel realises at the same time as Snow. ‘That’s not an Ogre!’
The bear, astonishing in size, bounds into their clearing, scattering broken branches and uprooted saplings as it goes. He bounces right up to Gilde to huff and lick at her, like a massive, terrifying puppy.
Gilde smiles and pets the hairy colossus’s snout. He bends his head obediently.
‘There you are.’ She beams.
‘That’s Baby?’ breathes Jack.
‘That’s Baby,’ replies Hex.
Baby grunts. The bass of his utterance rumbles up through the soles of Gretel’s feet. The thing looms over the other two bears, almost twice the height of the bear Gilde had called ‘Mamma’.
Gretel doesn’t dare pat Mamma Bear, but manages to make eye contact with the creature and give her a small sympathetic head tilt. ‘Ouch. Poor Mamma.’
Gilde rubs her hands together. ‘Everyone hunky-dory? Don’t worry about steering them, they’ll just follow me. Miss Ghost can latch onto you and transport, Wolfie and Sweetiebird can just transform again and make their own ways.’
Hex groans.
‘Gilde!’ Scarlett whines. ‘We only just put our clothes back on!’
7
Lodgings
Obviously, the Citadel is an impressive sight, not least to somebody such as Hansel, who’s barely set foot outside his village, gets anxious around crowds of more than a hundred or so and considers three-storey buildings to be dazzling wonders of modern architecture. In the Citadel, the streets are paved with… well, with a proper paving material, such as cobbles, or stone slabs, as opposed to the gritted dirt tracks of the roads in and around the village. The buildings rise not two, not even three, but usually four or five storeys high; taller than the village’s windmill, taller even than the agricultural hardware workshop in Ham. At the northern edge of the Citadel, uphill and built flush against the defensive wall, Myrsina Castle looms above the rooftops, taller and more impressive still. The numerous hard paved streets, crowded in on all sides by the towering buildings, clatter and echo with the sounds of well-cobbled boots in their thousands, as well as horseshoes, and cart wheels and barrows. Costermongers and pedlars clamour to shout their wares above the cacophony of a multitude all going about their day. Lights hang on walls to illuminate the shadows created by the impossibly tall buildings. Elsewhere, walls are plastered with notices from the huntsmen – faded old edicts and abomination lists, as well as the newer, bewilderingly similar campaign posters for several different candidates to be the new head huntsman. The whole place is overwhelmingly loud and full, too bright and too dark at the same time. The smell is an unpleasant combination of food, sweat and bad drains.
One cannot truthfully describe all of this hitting Hansel suddenly the moment he stepped out of a carriage into the big city, since he arrived on foot, dragging a cart full of baskets. What actually happened is that he very slowly became horribly aware of the sheer scale, noise and smell of the Citadel as he and Daisy walked towards it over a series of hours. There was, at least, the moment when the gate guards accepted their paperwork and duty fee as traders and allowed them to pass through the large wooden gate in the Citadel wall, and Hansel walked for the first time into the terrible magnificence of it all. That had been a pretty awful moment. He’d needed a sit down and a hot drink after that.
There’s something else wrong with this place, too. Fear. Hansel has never been able to sense other people’s fear before, but it’s everywhere here. Perhaps he’s just never been around quite such a high density of people who are all holding in quite so much fear all at the same time. It’s a constant background hum of terror, from so many minds. It has no discernible voice, no words; it comes from every direction and no direction at once. It hangs thickly in the air; it’s seeped into the walls like a lingering stench.
Now, he sits with his back against the basket cart and tries to take it all in as calmly as he possibly can, as Daisy bustles about their new pitch. The spot they’ve been allocated in the marketplace is, if it’s at all possible, even noisier, smellier and more oppressive than most of the rest of the Citadel. He mustn’t get upset. Above all else, he must not get upset out here.
‘Three baskets already.’ Daisy beams at him, handing over another pair of silver coins for the purse. ‘At this rate, we’ll be able to afford a hot dinner and lodgings tonight, and not have to sleep under the cart after all.’
He gives her a horrified glance. ‘You wanted us to sleep here?’
‘Not any more!’ She turns to a well-dressed young woman inspecting the largest baskets. ‘Them’s three silvers, miss.’ She twirls one of the pigtails that poke out from beneath her bonnet, drawing attention to the black ribbon plaited into her hair. ‘My mum makes them, the poor soul.’