The Last Scarecrow

29 | The Black Peril

Outside, a headwind had begun to gather. Small dervishes of dust and sand waltzed across the dried, cracked path that led through the sprawling graveyards.

Erin was pushed up against the side of the run-down chapel.

The Patchwork Woman blustered past, heading for the water.

To Erin's surprise, a thin, elegant schooner was bobbing gently in the shallows. Made of dark wood and inlayed with slivers of turquoise and cobalt, the resin on the vessel's hull shone brilliantly in the moonlight. Three black sails rippled excitedly, calling for adventure.

Emblazoned on the hull in sparkling silver was the name The Black Peril.

It was by far the most beautiful boat that Erin had ever seen. She wondered how The Black Peril had survived The Many Years Storm when all others had been smashed to smithereens and condemned to the trenches of the Endless Blue.

But now was not the time for questions. She had to get the plan straight in her head. There was time. But was there enough?

Geographically, Erin had no idea where she was. She imagined that the journey back to Coldharbour Farm would take days, maybe even a week. The longer the better.

Two strange figures leaned over the edge of the elegant boat, extending a rope ladder. The Patchwork Woman boarded one a small skiff, crossed the water, then slowly climbed aboard.

Marshall burst through the door of the chapel, Jack's hands gripping his shoulders.

"Take that sack off his head," Erin urged.

"The Patchwork Woman's orders," Tomas replied, shrugging.

"You're pathetic. You know that?"

"Says the girl in chains," he sneered, shouldering her aside. "Bring them both!"

Marshall was at her side moments later, being urged towards the water's edge by strong, evergreen fingers. "Are you okay?" Erin asked.

"Peachy," Marshall winced beneath the sackcloth. "What's going on?"

"They're putting us on a boat and taking us to Coldharbour Farm," she explained. "I haven't seen Twelve. I think she might still be inside. I hope she's okay."

"Stop talking!" cried Tomas as the wickermen hauled a skiff onto the beach. Once it was settled on the shingle, he ordered Erin to get in. He sat opposite and signalled towards the schooner.

As the small boat inched across the water, Erin's eye turned to BootHill. The entire area was a mix of shadows and gravestones and nameless shapes. She stared at the chapel door, hoping that Twelve was about to burst through but, as the seconds ticked by, nothing happened.

The chapel remained silent.

The door firmly shut.

Gripping the course material of the rope ladder, Erin climbed onto The Black Peril. She clambered over the side. Her feet landed on the solid, slippery deck.

The Patchwork Woman had disappeared below.

The two new shapes stood before her on the Quarterdeck. One was huge, almost six foot in all directions. His hands were massive, oversized even for his enormous frame. The other was taller than Twelve, but slim and sinewy. They both appeared to be naked, shiny, the colour of clay, their strange eyes shining like rubies through the gloom.

Erin stepped towards them, but events on the beach tore her attention away.

The remaining wickermen had lit fire-torches and were surrounding the chapel. With one quick movement, flames spread from their hands to the frail wooden building, engulfing it with deadly fire.