Emily Rodda - Shadowgate

He eased the door open, hoping against hope that it would not creak.

Steven and Laughing Jack were still talking.

‘There is nothing I like better than helping those less fortunate than myself,’ Laughing Jack was saying. ‘Why I live to do good. And you seem such a worthy fellow. Let me lend you the money for your cart! How much do you need? Twenty gold coins? Fifty?’

‘Fifty!’ Steven exclaimed. ‘Why, with fifty I could put a new roof on the house as well!’

‘All the better!’ cried Laughing Jack. And Lief could almost see his skull’s grin broadening.

The cart door was now fully open. Lief and Jasmine looked inside.

A mattress covered by a glorious patchwork quilt took up most of the floor space. Around the walls, baskets of food and valuable objects of all kinds were stacked to the roof. An empty honey jar had rolled into the corner nearest the door.

But there was no sign of Zerry.

‘Where is he?’ Jasmine breathed.

Lief shook his head helplessly.

Zerry was not in the cart. And he knew that the Belt was not there either. If it was, he would feel it.

He began to close the cart door. As he did, a scrap of paper fluttered from a fold in the quilt and landed on the floor. Jasmine picked it up and glanced at it. Her eyes widened in horror.

She thrust the note at Lief.

14 – Choices

Understanding broke over Lief in a wave of burning heat. He stumbled away from the wagon, hardly knowing what he did. He heard Jasmine gasp out his name, but he did not turn. He could not face the horror in her eyes.

The Belt was gone—gone with Zerry, down, down into the terrible throat of The Funnel. Perhaps only minutes before they arrived.

That is why I can still feel it, he thought. That is why I was so sure…

Blindly he stared at the thundering waterfall, the greedy, swirling water beneath.

Zerry, whatever he had been promised, had only been a puppet—a puppet used ruthlessly by people far more powerful, far more wicked, than himself.

He had just been someone who could steal the Belt. Someone who could carry it safely, as a true servant of the Shadow Lord could not.

Someone who could be disposed of as easily as a scrap of paper or an empty honey jar.

‘So,’ Laughing Jack was saying loudly. ‘All you have to do is sign this paper, my good fellow, and your troubles are over.’

Slowly Lief turned his head to look at the evil man who could kill a boy, amuse himself by tormenting his horses, then calmly sit down to eat his dinner.

Laughing Jack was holding a piece of parchment in one hand and a small money bag in the other. He shook the bag. The coins inside jingled invitingly.

‘I fear I am not much of a one for reading,’ Steven said, staring blankly at the paper.

‘Oh, this is nothing!’ The thin man flapped the parchment casually. ‘Just a few words saying that Laughing Jack lent you fifty gold coins. It proves you came by the money honestly, do you see? You would not like anyone to think you had stolen it, would you?’

‘No indeed!’ Steven said earnestly.

‘Excellent!’ said Laughing Jack. ‘Now, I think I have a pen here…’

He put the parchment on his knee, and bent to look inside his coat.

Instantly Steven glanced up. He saw Lief standing staring at him, and his eyes seemed to flash. Immediately he looked back to Laughing Jack, his teeth bared in a savage grin.

Too late, Lief realised that he had given no sign of what had happened. Steven thought they had found the Belt, and that now he could deal with Laughing Jack.

The moneylender had brought out a large pen and a bottle of black ink. Carefully he took the lid from the bottle, and dipped the pen into it.

‘Now,’ he said, his hand hovering over the parchment. ‘Your name?’

Steven’s grin broadened. ‘Hank Modestee,’ he said softly.

Laughing Jack grew very still.

‘Ah—you have heard my name before, I see,’ Steven said, still in that same, dangerously quiet voice. ‘Perhaps you have also heard of my aunt—Dame Henstoke?’

‘Who are you?’ Laughing Jack hissed.

The next instant, his long legs were kicking out, and the stove and the kettle were crashing onto his enemy.

Pen, paper and ink bottle went flying as he sprang to his feet. He kicked the red bag he had been using as a seat, sending it rolling towards The Funnel. Then he bent double and scuttled towards the wagon like a great, lanky, four-legged spider, so fast that he seemed a blur.

Steven growled ferociously, thrusting the stove and kettle aside. His eyes were flashing gold to brown, brown to gold. His body was quivering…

And the plump red bag was tumbling down the sloping rock towards the raging water.

Lief shouted and hurled himself forward. Suddenly he knew what was in the bag. Knew why Laughing Jack had kicked it before he fled.

The bag had reached the edge of the rock. It was tipping…

Lief dived for it. His arms and chest hit the rock. His hands caught the last corner of the bag just as it slid over the lip of The Funnel. He held on with all his strength.

‘Jasmine! Steven! Help me!’ he shouted, twisting his neck, searching for a sign of them. But he could only see Laughing Jack, standing on the driver’s seat of the wagon, a long whip in his hand. Jack’s hollow eyes were blazing as he stared at something beyond Lief’s vision.

The bag swung over the greedy, spinning water, drenched with spray. It was moving now. Someone inside it was struggling and kicking. Grimly Lief held on, his arms straining. He felt himself beginning to slide forward.

Desperately he dug the toes of his boots into the slippery rock, trying to hold himself back. But little by little the weight of the bag was pulling him after it.

He heard Jasmine cry out, and moments later felt her fling herself down behind him, felt her gripping his ankles.

Her strength was not enough—not enough, with the red bag dragging him down. The only way to save himself was to let go. But he could not let go.

‘Steven!’ he heard Jasmine scream over the thundering of the water.

Lief’s head and shoulders were over the edge now. Spray beat on his face, filling his eyes and his nose. He gritted his teeth, held his breath…

And then, miraculously, he felt hands gripping him around the waist, lifting him back. Still he clung to the sodden, bulging bag, though his arms felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets, and his fingers were numb.

With joy he saw the bag rise, dripping, over the edge of The Funnel, and Steven’s great arm reach out to gather it in. But still he did not release his grip.

Only when he was sprawled on higher ground, and the bag was safe, did he allow his fingers to be prised away from it. He lay back, trembling all over, as Jasmine cut the knots that held the bag closed.

Out rolled a squirming shape tied up like a parcel in a thick brown rug. Muffled shrieks reached their ears.

‘Hold him, Steven!’ Jasmine said sharply. She cut through the ropes and peeled the sodden rug aside. And there was Zerry, drenched, screaming and kicking.

Grimly Steven held him down.

‘Let me go!’ Zerry screeched, twisting violently. The buttons tore from his skimpy jacket. The ragged shirt beneath it ripped like paper.

And beneath the shirt, something gleamed. Something bright was looped around Zerry’s neck, hanging down over his chest like a giant necklace.

Lief reached out. The moment he touched it, the Belt of Deltora fell into his hands. Tingling warmth flowed through him as he clasped it around his waist.