White Roses a.b

chapter 46

Her feet sank into the muddied ground of the pumpkin patch. Mist swirled around her, clinging to her skin. The patch felt like a place that had never known light or warmth. She wished she'd kept Hatta's coat, wished she hadn't let her emotions carry her away, even if he had been insufferable at the time.

To her left she could see the enormous pumpkin with its carved-bar windows. Mary Ann's cries had quieted, but Ash could still hear her sobs carrying over the otherwise-silent patch.

To her right was the cottage, this time without the smell of wood smoke and the welcoming light behind the windows. It seemed deserted.

She could no longer see Peter in the distance.

Picking up her skirts, Ashley trampled through the overgrown vines, hurrying towards the pumpkin where Mary Ann was being kept prisoner, casting terrified glances over her shoulder at every noise. The shrieking wind. The rustle of leaves. The squish and slurp of her nicest boots pulling from the mud.

The Sisters' refrain haunted her thoughts.

Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,

Had a pet and couldn't feed her;

Caught a maid who had meant well –

What became of her, no one can tell.

She tripped suddenly and fell, sprawling into a mud puddle. Her hands sank to her wrists, filth coating the front of her dress. Ash sat panting for a moment, feeling the hectic thrum of blood in her veins. Her teeth chattered. Pushing back on to her knees, she glanced around again and tried to catch her breath.

Still no sign of Peter.

Then her eyes took in the uneven ground that had caused her to trip.

Ashley scurried backward, hoping her eyes were mistaken – but no. It was a footprint planted into the mud, the edges dried and cracked. It could have been days old, or weeks, undisturbed until Ash had tumbled into it.

A three-clawed footprint was pressed into the mud. The puncture of talons dug deep holes into the ground. Pumpkins and vines had been crushed beneath the weight of some enormous creature.

Heart galloping, Ash scrambled to her feet and wiped her hands as well as she could on her ruined gown.

Mary Ann's cries had dwindled to sniffs and wavering gasps.

Ash lifted her skirt and ran the rest of the way.

'Mary Ann,' she whispered, throwing herself at the window with its pumpkin-flesh slats. 'Mary Ann! It's me!'

The sniffling quieted and Mary Ann appeared at the window, her eyes bloodshot. 'Ash?'

'Are you all right?'

Mary Ann pushed her hand through the bars, reaching for her. 'It's Peter. He put me in here and he—he has' – her voice broke – 'the Jabberwock.'

Jabberwock.

Somehow, Ash had already known it. The beastly footprint. Peter's determination to have the Vorpal Sword from her. The tiny wooden horse from the Lion's hat.

Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater . . .

Ash shook her head to clear it of the haunting melody. 'How do I get you out of there?'

'There's a door in the roof that opens,' said Mary Ann, pointing up.

Ash stepped back and paced around the pumpkin until she saw it, the jagged saw-cut that made a small square opening beside the pumpkin's prickly stem.