House of Secrets

“What was that?” Slayne asked. Eleanor heard him approach. He was only a metre away, on the other side of the wall – and then he opened the dumbwaiter door.

His black eyes met Eleanor’s. He had mayonnaise in his beard. His rancid-sweat smell hit her like a punch.

“Why, it’s a little witchling,” Slayne chortled to his companions, turning his head—

And Eleanor stuck him in the cheek with her barbecue fork.

“Raagh!” Slayne brought his hand to his face, shocked that the girl had cut him. Then he plunged his sword into the dumbwaiter. Eleanor shrank back and threw up an arm—

Clang! The blade glanced off her gauntlet. “Help!”

Slayne pulled back for another thrust. Eleanor felt a jolt – and the dumbwaiter began to rise rapidly. The next sword strike hit the wall of the shaft below Eleanor, just missing her. She heard Slayne’s bellow of frustration as she moved up in herky-jerky starts until she reached the second floor. Light entered the dumbwaiter… and with it the shadows of Cordelia and Brendan.

“Get out!” They yanked her into the hall. “They’re coming!”

A thunderous clamour of metal sounded from the spiral steps. “Kill her!” roared Slayne.

The Walkers ran into the attic, closing the door and locking it. “Nell! What were you thinking?” Cordelia demanded.

Eleanor started to explain – when they heard the deep crunch of an axe biting into wood behind them. They turned to see the tip of Krom’s axe poking through the attic door. It disappeared and struck again. Chunks of wood fell away, leaving a hole. A sword stuck up and slashed around.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Eleanor cried. “I was just trying to be brave, and now we’re all gonna die!”

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Brendan ran to the rollaway bed. There wasn’t much time. Krom kept widening the hole – any minute now it’d be big enough to let all the warriors in. Brendan tossed the mattress off the bed and wheeled the metal frame to the window.

“We’re too high up to jump. But if we can get to that tree…”

Cordelia and Eleanor understood. They opened the window, and then helped Brendan lift the front of the frame and shove it out diagonally, so it would fit; then they grabbed the back and lifted that too, pushing it out to make a bridge, hoping it would catch against the gnarled bark of the nearest tree.

“Count of three!” Brendan said. “One… two…”

With all their might they heaved.

“Yes!” Cordelia said. The far end of the bed caught. The near end was hooked over the inside of the windowsill. “We did it!”

“You two go first.” Brendan glanced back. There was now a huge hole where the attic door used to be. The stairs, which folded up when the door closed, were gone as well – reduced to splinters. Slayne’s red feather poked through the hole.

“Krom, on your hands and knees! I need to get up there!”

Cordelia took the lead. She removed her bulky breastplate and stepped out on the bed, teetering back and forth on the springs. She willed herself not to look down. She moved by feel, eyes closed, trusting her balance. The humid air washed across her face as she reached the tree. The thick seams in the bark provided perfect handholds. She started descending.

“Nell!” she called back. “You can do it! Just don’t look down!”

But Eleanor, crouching at the foot of the bed frame, had already looked. The fall was far enough to cripple her, if not kill her.

“C’mon!” Brendan urged.

“I can’t, Bren!”

“You have to!”

“I can’t. I looked down.”

“Then look behind you!”

Eleanor glanced back to see Slayne hoisting himself into the attic. She didn’t give it another thought; she tore off her gauntlets because they made her arms feel clumsy and ran full tilt across the bridge, nearly slamming into the tree at the other end and starting down as Brendan came across last.

Cordelia stood on the ground, urging Eleanor to jump the rest of the way. Brendan reached the tree and kicked the bed frame aside so no one could follow. Eleanor screamed as it fell, diving off the tree to keep from getting hit. Cordelia darted into position and caught her. The frame crashed to earth, smashing ferns and logs. Brendan reached the ground as Slayne appeared in the window and yelled, “Run, sorcerer’s spawn! See how far you get before I gut you!”

Another warrior appeared at the window with a bow and fired off a shot.

The bronze-tipped arrow whizzed past Brendan’s ear and thudded into the earth. Brendan, Cordelia, and Eleanor ran through the woods, slipping on pine needles and wet rocks, no idea where they were headed. The journey across the bed bridge and down the tree had left them with bruises and scrapes that screamed at them. Their armour was gone; none of them had weapons. They were terrified and had no idea how to run without leaving a trail. They didn’t speak, hearing only their breath – and then another sound. Hoofbeats.

The warriors were mounted and gaining. Cordelia stumbled on a root. Brendan grabbed her before she hit the ground. With a thunk an arrow spiked into a tree next to him. Eleanor ran as fast as her small legs could carry her. The thoughts going through the Walkers’ heads were less the thoughts of human beings and more the thoughts – No! Keep going! They’re here! – of hunted animals.

Slayne, in the lead on his mighty horse, expertly twirled a chain-mail net and let it fly at Cordelia, Brendan and Eleanor. It landed on top of them like a spider’s web, only a million times heavier. Slayne jerked it, bringing the chains together, and the kids crashed against one another as they were pulled over sharp rocks and sticks and brought to a stop, crying out in pain.

Slayne halted and swung himself to the ground with surprising grace for a man built like an army tank.

He walked in a calm circle around his captives. The Walkers heard his boots, the birds and insects, and their own heartbeats. The other warriors stayed mounted. Suddenly Slayne reached through the net and grabbed Brendan, lifting him by his shirt collar. The chain-mail links cut into his face.

“Why are you here?” Slayne demanded, bathing Brendan with a gust of noxious breath.

“I don’t… honestly I don’t know. The Wind Witch—”

“So you admit to being witches!”

“No, no! Of course not—”

“And the Wind Witch is your mistress?” He nodded to Krom and another of his men, the one who had fired the bow. They both dismounted and stood above Cordelia and Eleanor.

“No, no, she sent us here,” Brendan said. “We’re not—”

“You’re trespassing on my land.”

“We had no control over that—”

Krom and the other man planted their boots on Cordelia and Eleanor’s stomachs. Cordelia felt a bug crawl past her earlobe and thought she might scream.

“Don’t – don’t hurt my sisters. Please just let us go, and we promise we’ll get off your land.”

“Do you know the penalty for trespassing?”

“No…”

“For a warlock: death.” Slayne squeezed Brendan’s throat playfully. “For a witch…” His eyes narrowed. “We have our own ways of killing them.”