His stepfather pats his back. ‘Huntsmen lie, son. You’re not the first to be taken in by one and likely you won’t be the last.’
‘Darkwood needs us,’ says Daisy. ‘Whatever Morning has launched, it’s big, and she means business. They came to our aid twice; the alliance works both ways.’
Hansel’s stepmother nods resolutely. ‘Hear hear. We’ll stop that thing before it even reaches the forest. Catapults, everybody!’
The villagers hurry to the catapults. There are over twenty of the defensive weapons now. The original dozen Gretel built are still lined up facing the road towards the Citadel, from the battle for Nearby only a few weeks ago. Adding to them at the village’s perimeter, newly fixed, stand the machines abandoned by the huntsmen on their retreat – more catapults, trebuchets and a huge ballista, as well as three weapons Daisy was made to invent while in captivity. Daisy’s inventions are the ones that get the most people squabbling over who gets to use them. They’re by far the most powerful, and her latest prototype even uses explosive powder, which several of the younger villagers think is very exciting.
Thankfully, the arguments are short-lived. Most of the villagers who’ve quickly trained themselves to work the large weapons have a favourite one to man anyway. Daisy settles herself in catapult four, affectionately called Big Greenie by nobody but her, and to the confusion of most villagers, since catapult four is neither particularly big compared to the newer weapons, nor particularly green any more. With the argument over who’s going to use the explosive artillery finally won by Bilberry the candle lad and every machine now manned, Hansel leads the remaining villagers in loading them with bolts and missiles.
‘We don’t know what it looks like,’ Daisy calls, ‘but it’s high, and it’s big. Suggest lightweight projectiles that’ll pierce it, let’s try to bring it down slowly enough for anyone on it to parachute to safety. No setting anything on fire, Bilberry!’
‘Aww,’ Bilberry complains.
The machines are loaded, and a quiet falls. Everybody watches the sky, and waits.
And waits.
And waits some more.
‘Should I go and do a breakfast run?’ asks Hansel’s stepfather after about half an hour of waiting. ‘I could murder an egg butty.’
‘Ooh, and a cup of tea,’ agrees Mother Goggins.
‘There’s that big tea urn in the village hall,’ adds Ethel Wicker. ‘I could run off and fetch that. Obviously I’d need someone to help me bring it out here once it’s full, since somebody lost my best cart…’
‘Let it go, Mum!’
‘Shan’t!’
‘Shush,’ says Hansel suddenly.
There it is again. The rumbling of a machine, somewhere up in the distant sky. The flying machine is catching up with them again.
‘I hear it,’ says Daisy. She calls out to Bilberry, and the others at the newer, more powerful machines. ‘You’ll have it in range first; wait for my mark.’
The wait continues. Minutes pass. The noise above the clouds grows louder and closer. The villagers watch Daisy for a sign. In his mind’s eye, the Hydra flaps lazily towards Hansel from a distant spot, ignoring him, its multitude of eyes fixed on some unfortunate prey far beyond where he stands.
‘Look,’ cries Gregor Smithy, a little unfairly, since he’s the only one with a telescopic spyglass to hand.
The others all have to make do with squinting in the direction he’s pointed. Sure enough, something is slowly emerging from the sheet of cloud. It’s long, dark, wide and flat, like a huge paddle slowly dipping down out of the clouds.
‘Now?’ cries Bilberry, but Daisy shakes her head. It’s still too far.
‘What’s it doing?’ she mutters. ‘Is it landing…?’
In his magical vision, the Hydra gives its mighty wings another ponderous flap. The gaze of one of its heads shifts onto Hansel, meeting his eyes. It looks at him for a moment. Its monstrous lips slide back into a knowing smirk.
‘No…’
The Hydra tips, and turns.
‘It’s turning,’ cry Hansel and Daisy, realising at the same time.
We’re not stupid, the Hydra tells Hansel in his vision. You’re disloyal troublemakers, and you have projectile weapons. Darkwood is big. Nearby is not the only way in, or over.
‘It’s going north,’ calls Daisy. ‘Trousers! It’s keeping out of range!’
There is a loud explosion, and a smoking iron ball screams into the air from Bilberry’s artillery machine. It sails noisily up and up towards the dipping wing of the great aircraft, far further and faster than any of the other weapons could send a projectile, before gently arcing downwards again, missing its target by a least a thousand yards.
Daisy turns to him. ‘What did you do that for?’
Bilberry shrugs. ‘Thought I might as well try.’
They all watch the wing continue to peacefully turn the hidden aircraft, before rising back up into the clouds. The sound of it begins to grow more distant.
‘There’s loads of places between here and Slate where they can get to the north of Darkwood unchallenged,’ Daisy frets.
‘Prolly headed straight to Bear Mountain,’ says Mother Goggins grimly. ‘There’s witches up there. Old ’uns. Living off scraps, so they say. Doubt they’d be able to put up much of a fight.’
‘What do we do?’ Daisy asks.
Hansel notices that everybody is looking to him.
‘We can’t fight the huntsmen,’ he says quietly. ‘Not from the air. Not this time.’ He thinks. ‘But we can still help the Darkwood. We can put out fires, we can free people from collapsed buildings and caves, we can supply first aid, food and water… This isn’t a battle, this time. It’s a rescue mission.’
Carpenter Fred looks uneasy. ‘What do you want, a refugee camp in the village or something?’
‘Maybe eventually.’ Hansel nods. ‘We’ll have to see what damage that flying machine does. For now, we need to go into Darkwood, bring buckets and bread and bandages, and…’
A worried hush has descended.
‘Into the Darkwood?’ Ethel Wicker asks, worried.
‘Yes.’
‘Now? As it’s being attacked?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But…’ Hansel is surprised that even his own, caring, stepfather seems to be having trouble with this concept. ‘But all those witches and beasties, Hansel…’
‘You lot all just had a party with them, Stepfather!’
‘Aye, on our turf, not in the accursed forest!’
‘It’s just a few trees! Gretel does all right out there.’ Hansel takes a deep breath. ‘In fact,’ he adds, ‘once we’ve finished this relief effort, so will I.’
Daisy blinks at him. ‘Wait, what?’
‘I’m sorry, Daisy,’ he tells her. ‘I’m sorry, all of you. You all know there’s been something witchy about Nearby for years. It’s what got Gretel sent away. But she isn’t a witch.’ He takes in one more calming breath, inhaling the light for a second, before exhaling slowly, pushing magic into the earth so that it rises smoothly beneath his feet, creating a short, muddy pedestal for himself. ‘I am,’ he tells them. ‘I’m so sorry for not telling any of you sooner.’