face-off and the talk of torture, he was already regretting his decision to come.
“Keep your voice down! It won’t come to that if you follow my lead. Now would you please get on with it.”
Given their surroundings and the fact that he really had no choice, Ned did as he was told.
“Well, you heard him, Gorrn …”
Both of his sidekicks were uncommonly jittery at their surroundings and Gorrn at first pretended not to hear.
“Gorrn, you know I know you’re there. I can see you oozing behind my leg.” Which wasn’t actually true.
Nothing.
“Please, Gorrn, oh great and dear protector, would you kindly and in your own sweet time stop us from being brutally savaged or tortured, or even just a bit hurt?”
There was a tense moment when Ned thought Gorrn had actually fled, before he heard a low and unenthusiastic “Arr” from his foot. Inch by inch, the slovenly blob that was Gorrn began rising up from the cold forest floor, till their gloomy little spot became even gloomier.
“Thank you, Gorrn. Bene, Mr Fox, it works better if you’re ‘in’ him.”
Ned watched Mr Fox closely as he stepped into Gorrn’s ooze.
“Well, this will be different,” was all he said, though Ned noticed it was said with something of a tremor.
“We won’t be invisible exactly, but Gorrn will make us blend in. We’ll look more like a moving shadow than anything else.”
Whiskers was unnaturally quiet even for a mouse, and Ned popped the little bundle of furred metal in by his neck. Even with just his faint tick rather than a real heartbeat, his mostly faithful companion was still a comfort.
The going was painfully slow. They had to make completely sure that no part of them was outside Gorrn’s oozy embrace, which as well as making them look like a shadow, also made it harder to see. Benissimo led the strange group in total silence as Mr Fox covered their rear. The deeper into the forest they went, the more crooked and wild the trees grew. Their bark was as hard as stone and they rose up from the ground now, crowding and vast, like great armoured giants. Through the little light that made its way down here, Ned could see a wet blackness amongst the leaves and moss, as though some sickness was creeping into the forest or growing up from its roots. He had rarely visited a more foreboding place, made only worse because of its silence.
Slowly he began to notice, where long-dead trees had fallen and their bark had rotted, the telltale glint of slithering. Small creatures at first – worm, grub and beetle; then larger and more strange, black and scaly, or soft and with lidded eyes. He couldn’t see them clearly enough to tell whether they were Darklings or not, and only prayed that they couldn’t see him.
The ground began to slope downwards and Whiskers’ fur stiffened at his neck. The little rodent was worried.
“You all right, boy?” Ned whispered.
Tick.
“Whiskers?”
Tick.
Ned didn’t need to pull the perometer from his pocket. He could already feel its metal needle twitching.
Tick, tick, tick.
Finally he realised: the ticking did not just belong to his mouse.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tinks’s Big Brother was right – the Twelve’s eyes and ears had been plucked and now kept watch over Barbarossa’s forest.
“Grr.”
Ahead of them they heard several grunts and snarls, followed closely by a piercing howl. Gorrn’s oozing form wobbled nervously and Mr Fox pulled the silenced pistol from his side as Benissimo edged forward.
The trees began to thin out and through the twilight Ned could see that up ahead a small river crossed their path, and on its banks, a little upstream, sat a group of huddled, powerful creatures: four weirs, from the wolf-pack. Before the world had gone mad, their kind had been tasked with keeping the reserve’s borders, but it was well known now that they had sided with Barbarossa and his cabal. Ned had been chased by a weir on Benissimo’s flagship and had met others in St Albertsburg. They were gruff, violent creatures and their muscly torsos were covered in matted fur. Their combination of claws and fangs made them look terrifying, more so because their kind had quite forgotten what it was to be human. These were wolf-men and they lived for the hunt.
Benissimo put a finger to his lips and indicated in the opposite direction, downstream. Ned saw two more weirs coming to join the others. They were between both sets of creatures now and would be found before long unless they crossed the river. They had no choice. As quietly as they could, Ned and his party waded into the water.
Though the river wasn’t wide, it was ice-cold, waist-deep, and its rocks underfoot were slimy and loose. As the water rose around him, Ned breathed in painfully. Step by tentative step they moved, Ned’s heart and chest pounding, the river’s cold current biting at his skin. There was now less than twenty feet between them and the second group of wolf-men. There was a flap of wings above them and a small kestrel swooped down low, first one then another. Was it one of Barba’s tickers? Had they been spotted? One of the wolf-pack noticed, its keen ears pinned back and its slack jaw loose and wide as it sniffed at the air. The other three’s fur bristled and they growled deep and low, scanning the riverbank for movement.
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