The Rumpelgeist Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Penguin Books

  the Rumpelgeist

  Fiona McIntosh was born in England, spent her early childhood in West Africa and has lived in Australia for most of her adult life. A traveller at heart, she continues to roam the world for her stories.

  To date Fiona has written twenty-four novels including a number of blockbusting adult fantasy novels that are published and enjoyed worldwide and in various languages. The Rumpelgeist is her sixth novel for children although Fiona’s younger readers’ books are for everyone and they have all the hallmarks and characterisations of her best-selling adult fantasy – ‘just without the grown-up bits!’

  When she’s not on the move, Fiona lives in South Australia with husband Ian, twin sons Will and Jack, a bossy fox terrier and a barmy border collie. She would love a donkey and some chickens.

  Apart from writing, Fiona’s passions are baking, eating fine chocolate and drinking excellent coffee.

  Visit Fiona’s website at: www.fionamcintosh.com.

  For my Aunt Eileen … teacher, reader and

  animal-lover, who inspired my storytelling through

  those wonderful, long, lazy summer holidays in

  Berkshire, letting us kids run wild and free.

  1

  Night had begun its surrender to day over the kingdom of Drestonia; nevertheless the first threads of light were tentative, easing over the rooftops of the farmhouse and wheatfields of the Jervis property on the fringe of the capital, Floris.

  Farmer Jervis heard the family’s enthusiastic cockerel give an excited welcome at the whisper of morning and he yawned loudly, stretching in his cot. Next to him, Mistress Jervis groaned. Not so long ago he’d stolen from their bed to check on the boys. All were snoring lightly. Lex’s cot remained empty.

  ‘Is it already time to get up?’ Mistress Jervis murmured, her voice leaden with sorrow that her favourite son was lost.

  ‘Afraid so, my love. Come on, you know how cross the good citizens of Floris get if their freshly baked loaves aren’t scenting the air by first light.’ Farmer Jervis swung his legs to the ground. ‘And the bakeries need our wheat. I’ve got deliveries to run with the boys.’

  ‘Lex’s next exam is nearly upon us,’ she whispered, ignoring her husband’s prompts.

  ‘I know. He’ll come home; he’ll make it.’

  ‘Come home from where? He wouldn’t have left us; those exams were more important to him than anything. You’ve been away in the far fields. You have no idea what’s going on. There’s talk in the city that children are disappearing.’

  ‘Disappearing?’ he said with soft amusement as though her imagination was running away with her.

  ‘This is not a jest. It’s not just Lex. There are others.’

  Farmer Jervis looked at his wife’s misted eyes and felt the pain of his private worry deepen. He’d had to stay strong for her, could not let her feel an inkling of his personal despair. He didn’t have to be reminded of how driven his youngest son was to sit Master Linkey’s exams. It’s all the boy had talked about for so many moons Farmer Jervis believed all in the family could recite the ingredients for the warts potion or how to make up the restorative for a fever patient. Lex would not go missing like this. And if other children were missing it meant … No, he couldn’t bear to think on it. Surely the Crown would be throwing all its weight behind searching. Well, after deliveries today, he would find out just how many children might be involved. Perhaps the people needed to take matters into their own hands. For now, he had to soothe his wife’s fears.

  ‘Listen to me, my love. Lex is fifteen summers and a dreamer. He’s like most other boys his age. All that matters is themselves and their needs.’

  ‘Exactly! But his needs are here! Everything his world revolves around is here in Floris and near to that apothecary.’

  Jervis began lacing his breeches. ‘He’s likely taken himself off somewhere quiet to study or gather up his curious plants. You know how he is.’

  ‘I do know how he is! I know he wouldn’t just disappear. So do you.’ Lex’s mother began to weep softly.

  Jervis helped her out of bed. ‘Come on, love. Get your apron on. I’ll stoke the fire.’ He led her to the window of their cottage on the rise that looked down across their barren wheatfields. In the distance sprawled the city of Floris. They could see the castle, its banners flying high.

  ‘The King’s in residence,’ he said quietly. ‘If your fears are real, you can be sure King Lute is taking steps to find our children.’

  He hugged his wife close and pointed at their land. ‘That’s a good sight, Mother. Look, we had a grand harvest this year.’ He nodded at the frost-kissed fields that would lie dormant now through the Freeze while their earth was icy. ‘They are sleeping. We owe them our thanks. If I ignore their yield, I’m ignoring the blessings of Lo and what He’s given to this family. He will look after Lex for us and bring him back to us. In the meantime, I must make my deliveries and you mustn’t ignore your other sons, who need loving and feeding and readying for their working day too, Mother.’

  Mistress Jervis was weeping. ‘I know he often took off to go ranging for his plants but he always told us where he was going and when he’d be back. It’s been three days, Zim.’

  ‘All right, Mother. After deliveries, I’ll go and see the city constabulary again and find out more about these other children. Perhaps his brothers and I can take the horses out this afternoon and we’ll check again all his known camp sites.’

  ‘Please, Zim. It would ease my heart to know we’re searching everywhere. And Zim …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Peggy Pratchett said there’s been some disturbances in the city proper. Hauntings or something. It’s been going on for a few days. Ask about that, too.’

  ‘Ghosts now? You think our Lex’s disappearance might be connected with a haunting?’ He smiled sadly at her. ‘Come on, Mother, get our porridge going, eh?’

  Larkin, one of the city’s master bakers, had risen just moments before his wheat supplier, Farmer Jervis, had woken. Mistress Larkin muttered something from beneath the blankets. Though the baker couldn’t make out what his wife was saying, he could hear the fear in her voice.

  Larkin made sure his voice sounded strong and jolly when he spoke. ‘I’ve put a brew on. No dawdling, now, Jessie.’

  In truth, Baker Larkin didn’t really want to get out of bed either. He knew what these small hours of the morning might bring.

  Mistress Larkin’s head emerged from beneath the covers and spoke to his anxiety. ‘Will it come, do you think?’ she asked.

  He felt his courage faltering. ‘Well, either it’s gone or it’s late,’ he answered. There was no point in pretending to her.

  ‘What if it turns nasty?’ she said.

/>   ‘I don’t know, my love. It hasn’t so far.’

  ‘It always comes here first. We might be the unlucky pair it turns on. Why haven’t they stopped it? What does it want?’

  Larkin sighed. He didn’t know how to comfort his wife because she was echoing his own concern. In fact, he had already begun thinking about how they would live if the Rumpelgeist forced them to leave Floris. Like his petrified wife, he worried that the daily disturbances were a prelude to something more serious. Harmless and noisy now, but who knew what an angry Rumpelgeist might do? He rallied himself and stood, letting out a soft grumble at the familiar creak in his knees. It was then he heard the sound they had both been dreading.

  The door to their small cottage began to rattle noisily.

  Mistress Larkin leapt out of bed and let out a shriek. ‘The Rumpelgeist is here!’ she wailed.

  They stood in the middle of their tiny bedroom at the back of the cottage, waiting it out, hoping the ghost-rattler would leave quickly today.

  The Rumpelgeist set off all the city’s dogs. And like their sinister visitor, the animals’ howls were becoming a familiar, but nonetheless chilling, part of their mornings. Several days in a row now. The door stopped hammering after a while but Mistress Larkin screamed again when heavy thumping sounded across the roof. The whole cottage seemed to shake.

  ‘It’s an omen,’ the baker whispered, as spooked and superstitious as his wife, unable to help the next words that escaped him. ‘Floris is cursed.’

  Their tiny window shot open and a gust of air blew in. This was too much for the baker’s wife, who fainted, believing that the Rumpelgeist had finally turned nasty, as she’d feared. But the invisible invader had already moved on to the next cottage, where Larkin, helping his wife to her bed again, could hear the frightened yells of his neighbours. He felt a guilty relief that it was their turn.

  The disruption and anxiety rapidly became infectious as people, who had been woken up well before they should, burst onto the street. Now they were standing in huddles, looking around trying to pinpoint the source of the haunting. Children found themselves pushed to the inside of the gathering group by adults wanting to protect them. Word had spread fast about the missing children and no parent was taking any chances with this strange visitor.

  Many of the men had armed themselves with whatever weapon came to hand. The younger and fitter among them, led by the blacksmith and his boys, were holding hammers and hooks. Together with a few of the farmers carrying pickaxes and forks, they had joined forces to encircle the ever-increasing mob of bleary-eyed townsfolk as the ghost-rattler began to wreak chaos on the city.

  While the dogs howled mournfully, all the cats of the city had emerged from their hidey-holes and warm sleepy spots, too, but there was none of their usual stretching or grooming. Instead, they were spitting and hissing at the air. What could they see that the people couldn’t?

  ‘It’s on Millie Baffer’s cottage,’ Old Berne announced, pointing a shaking finger towards the house with its window-boxes of bright flowers being stamped upon. ‘I’m going to follow it this time, even if it means running from house to house.’

  ‘Can anyone actually see it?’ someone asked.

  A collective ‘No!’ came back.

  ‘Look at the cats! They seem to be able to follow its trail. There! Did you see the Tomlins’ door rattling?’ Old Berne cried, excitedly hopping from foot to foot and pointing again. ‘There! See it?’

  ‘I see the door shaking,’ Millie agreed.

  And then the rats began to run. This hadn’t happened on previous mornings and caused even more panic. Baker Larkin was convinced his ears would bleed as the women temporarily forgot the Rumpelgeist and focused their high-pitched screaming attention on the scurrying rodents. The rats, normally reclusive, began to stampede, forming a grey-brown stream as they ran through the crowd, away from the city centre.

  Dogs paused in their howling and instinctively gave chase to the cats, which were helplessly seduced into speeding after the rats, which were, in their helter-skelter path, dodging people’s feet. It was pandemonium.

  ‘What does the Rumpelgeist want?’ asked Elizabeth Jenkins, the candlemaker’s wife.

  ‘It’s after the children. It’s come to take more babies!’ her neighbour Mistress Nance said. Her claim instantly set off fresh panic among the mothers. ‘Beng Colley and Dilly Jenkins are gone. Their parents are out of their minds with worry,’ Mistress Nance continued. ‘If you ask me, it’s connected with this ghost. He’s telling us something, or he’s stealing our children and laughing at us!’

  This notion was promptly yelled down by a senior member of the city constabulary’s night guard, which had begun arriving on horseback. They formed a ring around the crowd.

  ‘Calm down, everyone! And stop that wretched talk, Mistress Nance. Nothing is taking any child from Floris on my watch,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe not yours, Master Ferris, but I heard there are seven children unaccounted for in our part of the city,’ someone yelled.

  ‘Four down our way,’ another cried.

  ‘My Tobin’s gone,’ the blacksmith growled, and shook his hammer. ‘I’m ready to petition the King in person. We have an army – it should be set into action. Who’s with me?’

  Loud cries of agreement followed the smith’s suggestion.

  Master Ferris grimaced. It was obvious from his expression that he sympathised with the people. ‘And where would you send that army, Jos?’ he all but snarled back at the man. ‘We have to see what this thing wants and we don’t know that it’s even connected. Believe me, the constabulary is doing everything it can to find these missing children. Now, let us do our job. Your job is to keep a close watch on your little ones – don’t let them out of your sight. My men are ringing the city. No child gets out unseen … I promise.’

  ‘What about the palace?’ Tobin’s father demanded.

  ‘The King returned from the north yesterday. He is being briefed this morning. Now let it be, Jos. The Crown will make the right decision and –’

  The Rumpelgeist interrupted whatever else Ferris was going to say as it began hurling slate roof tiles to the ground to shatter loudly in the street.

  Soon afterwards a small cart of firewood was upturned. Moments later wooden buckets, which had been stacked neatly outside a storehouse, were flung towards the crowd, though never close enough to hurt anyone. People began to run in all directions. Master Ferris and his guards could do little to prevent the chaos that now reigned as dawn broke across Drestonia.

  2

  The girl led her horse until it drew alongside the gatehouse. She smiled disarmingly and cast a careless glance over her shoulder. ‘My escort is just relieving himself. I didn’t think it was polite to stand alongside and wait,’ she said airily. ‘I’ll just walk my horse slowly until he catches up,’ she added.

  The guards shared unsure glances but seemed to know better than to argue with Princess Ellin. With reluctant expressions they let her pass through the gates alone. Ellin climbed nimbly onto her horse and immediately urged it into a gallop, ignoring the cries of protests from the guards. In a few heartbeats she was gone, strawberry-blonde hair streaming out behind her as she streaked away towards the moors.

  Once clear of the palace’s immediate grounds, Ellin moved forward in the saddle and gave Flaxen, her beautiful honey-coloured mount, free rein. Ellin was usually filled with joy when travelling at such a daring pace, but today she felt only anger. She had barely spared a thought for the fate of the escort she had slipped away from. She turned now in the saddle and saw him giving chase. Ellin smiled, grimly satisfied. She watched him risk a gesture, begging her to stop, but this only pushed her into urging her mare with a soft nudge with her heels to go even faster. Flaxen needed no further encouragement and smoothly increased her speed until Ellin’s pursuer was so far behind she could no longer make out his handsome features.

  Once she had put enough distance between herself and her shadow, she
slowed Flaxen, guiding her towards Billygoat Beacon, Ellin’s favourite place when she wanted to escape the reach of the palace. It would take her escort a while to figure out her destination, buying Ellin more time to seethe alone.

  Am I really alone, though? Ellin thought. Why is it that I feel I am being watched recently, even when I’m not surrounded by minders?

  It crossed her mind that her father might have set a spy to trail her, but she quickly threw that idea aside. King Lute was far too direct to bother with spies. He would simply confront her – or send in Pilo – if he suspected mischief. Nevertheless, the notion of being watched remained.

  Flaxen covered the uneven ground with a sure tread as they slowed to a walk and both horse and princess began to catch their breath.

  ‘You must have enjoyed that, Flax,’ Ellin murmured, leaning over to stroke the gold’s soft creamy mane.

  The horse gave a snort of approval. Ellin was grinning as they crested the hill. Her amusement faded, however, as she saw a tethered horse and realised that someone had beaten her to her favourite and most private place, until she realised who it was.

  ‘Pilo!’ she exclaimed, glad to see him.

  ‘Ah, the lovely Princess Ellin,’ said the man, turning to greet her. He had been staring out across New Town towards the fields and meadows that led to Tarrow’s Landing. ‘Here alone?’ he queried, looking around her. His tone was light, but she heard the hint of accusation.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Are you spying on me?’ she asked, her tone equally spiced with humour, but privately her suspicions were taking roost.

  Pilo fixed her with a gaze that managed to be withering at the same time as it was gentle. How did he manage to make her feel childish and guilty and irresponsible without saying a word? Her father had told her he’d often felt the same when he’d been a lad under Pilo’s care.

  ‘No, of course you’re not spying,’ she hurriedly said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Testing palace rules?’ Pilo asked, the smile that had been vaguely playing at his mouth reaching his eyes.