Beyond the Deepwoods by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Read Free Book Online Page A

and clasped the hood. It was about to reveal its face. Twig tried to turn away, but he couldn't move.
    All at once, the creature cackled with hideous laughter and let its hand drop down by its side. ‘You shall know me soon enough,’ it hissed, and leaned towards him conspiratorially.
    Twig's heart pounded furiously. He felt the warmth of the creature's breath against his ear, and smelt a sulphurous mustiness which seeped from its hooded cloak.
    ‘ WAKE UP! ’
    The sudden cry exploded inside Twig's head. He shouted out in fear, opened his eyes and looked around him in confusion. It was light and he was high up, lying on something soft. Beside him were red-skinned individuals, all snoring softly. He looked at Gristle's face, calm in sleep and everything came back to him.
    ‘Wakey WAKEY , up there,’ he heard.
    Twig clambered to his knees and looked over the edge of the hammock. Far below him was a slaughterer – the only one still up. He was stoking the fire.

    ‘Was that you?’ Twig called down.
    The slaughterer touched his forehead lightly and nodded. ‘Ma-Tatum told me not to let you sleep through the day, Master Twig,’ he called back. ‘Not with your being a creature of the sun.’
    Twig looked up at the sky. The sun was almost at its highest. He made his way to the end of the hammock, taking care not to wake any of the slumbering family, and climbed down the ladder.
    ‘That's it, Master Twig,’ said the slaughterer, and helped him down from the bottom rung. ‘You've a long journey in front of you.’
    Twig frowned. ‘But I thought I might stay awhile,’ he said. ‘I like it here and I won't be missed by Cousin Snetterbark – at least, not for the time being…’
    ‘Stay here?’ said the slaughterer in a sneering voice. ‘Stay here? Oh, you wouldn't fit in here at all. Why, Ma-Tatum said only this daybreak what a gawky, ugly little fellow you are, with no feeling for leather…’
    ‘Ma-Tatum said that?’ Twig swallowed the lump rising in his throat. ‘But she gave me this coat,’ he said, touching it lightly. The fur bristled and stood on end. ‘Ouch!’ he yelped.
    ‘Oh, that,’ wheedled the slaughterer. ‘You don't want to take no notice of that. It's just an old coat. Can't give them away normally,’ he added, and laughed spitefully. ‘No. You want to go back to your own kind, and the path you want lies just over that way.’
    The slaughterer pointed into the forest. As he did so a flock of grey birds billowed noisily up into the sky.
    ‘I will!’ said Twig. His eyes were smarting but he wouldn't cry – not in front of this little man with his red face and fiery hair.
    ‘And watch out for the gloamglozer!’ the slaughterer called out, his voice nasal and mocking, as Twig reached the trees.
    ‘I'll watch out for the gloamglozer, all right,’ muttered Twig. ‘And for stuck-up slaughterers who treat you like a hero one minute and a barkslug the next!’
    He turned to say as much, but the slaughterer was already gone. Twig was on his own once more.

· CHAPTER FOUR ·
T HE S KULLPELT
    A s the forest, green, shadowy and forbidding, closed in around him once more Twig nervously fingered the talismans and amulets round his neck, one by one. If there was some powerful evil at the heart of the Deepwoods, then could these small pieces of wood and leather truly be enough to keep it at bay?
    ‘I hope I'll never have to find out,’ he muttered.
    On and on Twig walked. The trees became unfamiliar. Some had spikes, some had suckers, some had eyes. All of them looked dangerous to Twig. Sometimes they grew so close together that, despite his misgivings, Twig had no choice but to squeeze between their gnarled trunks.
    Time and again, Twig cursed his shape and size. Unlike the woodtrolls and slaughterers, who were short, or the banderbear, which was strong, he was not designed for a life in the Deepwoods.
    And yet, when the trees abruptly thinned out, Twig grew still more anxious. There was no