The Child Thief

PART II

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Deviltree

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Chapter Four

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Goll
It will all end soon, the child thief thought as he moved
steadily through the forest, back toward the shore, back toward the Mist.
Nick’s with the Devils now. His fate is in their hands. What will happen, will
happen. He slid from shadow to shadow, stopping frequently to listen, to
watch, trying to keep his mind focused on the danger and away from what
he had done, what he had left to do, because thinking about it didn’t change
it. Thinking about it only led to distraction, and out here, on their part of the
island, distraction would get you killed.
Peter came to the edge of the thicket and scanned the beach. There,
waiting for him, floated the Mist. He could hear it calling, taunting him.
Grimacing, he broke cover and started forward when he caught voices. The
child thief ducked back and dropped behind a thick knot of roots. Five
shadows sat against a chunk of driftwood not thirty paces away—Flesh-
eaters!
Fool, Peter silently cursed himself. You almost walked right into them.
He’d allowed the Mist to distract him. Stupid. He reached instinctively for
his sword and remembered he only carried his knife.
One of them stood, his tattered shirt fluttering in the breeze. “There they
be.”
Peter followed his gaze; a line of dark figures came marching around
the cove, easily forty or fifty of them. He couldn’t remember seeing so
many out at once, not since the galleons first arrived. What are they up—
His blood went cold; even in the dark he had no problem recognizing a tall
silhouette; there was no missing the wide-brimmed hat with that ratty
feather. The Captain. Peter clutched his knife.
The faintest glow of dawn touched the low clouds as the Captain
tromped his way up to the others.
“Well?”
“Found some tracks, aye, but that be all. Tracks come right out of the
mist, they do.”
“It’s him,” the Captain said, scanning the tree line. “The devil boy.”

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“Think so, do ya?”
“Who else?”
“Ya want we should search the wood?”
The Captain shook his head wistfully. “We’ve no time this day.” He
patted his sword. “But mark my word, I shall make a trophy of his head
yet.”
The line of shadowy figures halted behind the Captain. Peter felt sure
every eye was on him. He shuddered and managed to press himself closer
to the ground, hoping they couldn’t hear the thudding of his heart. Their
hunger was insatiable—every day they took more, every day they burned
and murdered their way closer to the heart of Avalon. Some boldly wore the
bones of the dead around their necks. How much blood will it take to make
them stop? How many more children must die?
The Captain turned to the line. “Who called a halt?” he shouted. “Move
your pockmarked asses. We’ve much work to do.”
The dark figures trudged on; as they passed, Peter caught sight of two
large barrels being hauled along. What’s the Captain up to now? He felt his
chest tighten. He glanced back the way he’d come. I should go back. Should
warn them. He dug his nails into his palm. No, there’s no time. I have to
bring more children. Just have to be quick, have to get back before the
Captain lays all to waste.