‘I don’t know . . .’ Lug began, but Liska had already leapt up and grabbed his hand again. She dragged him after her in the direction of the Cryptwood before he could change his mind about helping her.

Chapter 6

‘Are you sure about this?’

They stood at the edge of the Cryptwood. It loomed before them, all dead trees with bark like bleached stone. Crackly skeletons of ancient bushes covered the ground, woven through with hanks of long, brittle grass, stems rattling quietly in the breeze.

Behind them, from the lush, green leaves of the forest city, they could hear the background noise of nature: fluttering wings, birdsong, insects buzzing, foxes barking. Even the nearby Scrubbings had its own soundtrack. Frogs croaked, reeds whistled, mud bubbles plorped.

But the Cryptwood was silent.

‘Of course, I’m sure!’ Liska tried to sound brave but even she was wary about setting foot in the cold, dead wood. All the horror stories she had heard over the years came rushing back to her in a horrible jumble of phantom beasts and evil spirits. She swallowed hard and tried to put on a brave face. Lug was already on the verge of running back to his underground swamp house and never coming out. If he smelt any weakness from her, that would be it. ‘Now. How do we get in?’

‘There’s a p-path,’ said Lug, pointing with a shaking finger. ‘That’s where I first saw the girl. Elowen.’

Liska could see a gap between the trees where the faintest of tracks wound its way through the bushes, deeper into the woodland. It looked as though nothing but foxes had walked on it for many, many years.

‘Come on, then!’ She put on her best chirpy voice, as if they were off for an afternoon picnic by the river rather than plunging into a haunted wilderness. She kept tight hold of a corner of Lug’s robe the whole time. Mostly so that he couldn’t escape, but also (a tiny bit) because it made her feel better.

It was difficult to walk along the path without getting snagged on twigs or thorns, although there were signs that someone had tried to keep the way clear. Branches had been pruned, brambles had been bent inwards. A few steps in, they came across a delicate yellow primrose that had been carefully planted by hand. Even though the petals were already wilted and falling, it was a splash of colour amongst all the lifeless grey.

‘Did Elowen do this, do you think?’ Liska asked, bending to examine the flower.

Lug nudged the petals with his foot. ‘Do you think it might be a trap? Might a hungry ghost have planted it to lure us in? So it can eat us?’

‘Ghosts don’t do gardening, stupid,’ said Liska. ‘Look. There’s more, further down.’