Betty sat rigid with shock and confusion. Next to her, Charlie was also frozen, her hand clamped around Betty’s arm.
Bunny hadn’t been on the boat when they’d left; Betty was convinced of it—but now she had doubts. Could Granny have disguised herself? It was impossible that she could have boarded without them seeing her otherwise . . . but then why would she have let the boat leave? It made no sense.
“Granny?” Betty whispered. Already, through the folds of her disbelief, she knew what this meant. Any future glimmers of freedom were in tatters, as impossible to grab as the swirling mist. “How did you . . . Where did you come from?”
“Never you mind.” Granny glowered down at her. She looked half mad, with her gray hair flying loose from its bun and her shabby coat and shawl and Wellington boots horribly mismatched. Worse still, Granny had brought the ugly old carpetbag she insisted on carrying everywhere, though goodness knew why. Betty began to feel grateful for the fog. It was, at least, a screen against curious eyes. Clearly the only things that awaited her audaciousness were embarrassment and confusion, not adventure. She needed a new motto.
“Return this boat!” Granny demanded. “We’re getting off!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” the ferryman snapped, not looking up from the wind rose compass he was bent over.
Other passengers squinted, their eyes flickering over what they could see of Granny’s strange appearance as though they were trying to work out what kind of Halloween costume this was. Betty cringed.
“Hurry up, please,” Granny repeated loudly. “This is no place for children!”
“You’re the one who brought ’em!” the ferryman said, annoyed. Then he frowned. “Although, come to think of it, I never saw you get on . . .”
“Nonsense. I’ve been here all along!”
But she can’t have been! Betty thought, bewildered. Or she would have said something sooner. She bit back a frustrated growl. All that sneaking about, all that effort, for nothing! She didn’t feel like a big adventurer now. She felt like a silly little girl. And the worst of it was there was a tiny part of her that was relieved, because in those misty moments before Granny had appeared, Betty had been scared.
“But, Granny,” Charlie whispered. “You haven’t!”
“Shush,” said Granny, in a not-at-all-quiet voice.
The ferryman peered closer at Bunny. “I remember the girls getting on, but not you. You didn’t pay your fare!”
“I most certainly did.” Granny’s voice cooled a few degrees. “Or do you suppose that I swam out here fully clothed and boarded the boat still dry, by some miracle?” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t get lippy with me, young man. I know your father!”
The ferryman looked more alarmed about that than he did about the fog.
“He’s in for it now,” Charlie said in a small voice.
“No,” Granny snapped. “You two are in for it when you get home. And this time you’ll be getting more than you bargained for.”
Betty gulped. She should have known better than to try to trick Granny—after all, she’d never managed to before. And now some other unpleasant thing was in store, to add to her already ruined birthday. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Granny didn’t answer. Instead, she said to the ferryman, in an even sterner voice, “Now, I suggest you stop quibbling and get these cold, damp people back to safety. I expect many of them will want to know why the ferry was permitted to leave in the first place if a fog was expected.”
“B-but it wasn’t . . .” the ferryman objected.
“Then you must be terribly inexperienced,” Granny said coldly. “Or too fond of money.” She looked away pointedly.
The ferryman stopped protesting and, after consulting the wind rose once more, began rowing meekly. No one said a word for the entire journey back to shore, but Betty could feel the tension building in Granny. She might be silent now, but once they were off the boat, she would have plenty to say. Well, so did Betty. Something extraordinary had just happened, and neither Granny’s temper nor her punishment was going to stop Betty from asking questions.
Just how had Granny gotten on that boat? True, she had always possessed an uncanny knack for tracking the girls down. If they spent too long on an errand or wandered farther than they should while out mushroom picking, it was a running joke that Granny would pop up like a sniffer dog. But this time Betty found nothing funny—or logical—about it. Instead, she felt a creeping sense of uneasiness.
When they docked, Betty and Charlie were shivering, both from the freezing air nipping at their ankles and from the shock of being caught. Granny looked the opposite: hot and cross and a bit dragonlike, with her breath coming in quick bursts that misted the air. She made them wait until everyone else had gotten off before they clambered ashore and headed for the lanes leading to the Poacher’s Pocket. Betty looked back at the Misty Marshes. Sometimes the fog would come all the way up onto the land, wreathing its way through the streets. Tonight, however, the fog stayed at the fringes of the water, hovering like a marsh creature protecting its lair. When she was certain the other passengers were gone and the Widdershinses were alone, Betty spoke.
“How did you do that, Granny? How did you get on that boat without us seeing you? It’s not possible.”
“I was on it the whole time,” Granny answered shortly. “But you were so caught up in your little adventure you didn’t see me.”
Betty stared, trying to read Granny’s face. All she saw there was anger, something that normally stopped her from asking too many questions or answering back . . . but tonight wasn’t normal. Her hopes and plans had all been dashed. She had nothing else to lose by saying what she really thought, even at the risk of being punished with extra chores. “I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t have waited all that time before saying something to us.”
“I wanted to see if you’d actually do it,” Granny snapped, but she still didn’t quite sound truthful. “Or whether you’d come to your senses and turn back.”
“Come to my senses?” Betty’s face grew hotter as her temper rose—or perhaps it was the sting from Granny’s harsh words.
“Bringing Charlie out here like this was stupid and irresponsible. Anything could have happened!”
“Exactly,” Betty muttered. She ignored the prickle of shame, unable to hold her tongue now that she had begun. “We might have even had some fun.”
Granny ignored Betty, pulling her shawl tighter around her. She jabbed a finger between Betty’s shoulders, prodding her along the lane. “I thought I could count on you, Betty Widdershins. I thought you could be trusted, but it looks like I was wrong.”
“That’s not fair!” Betty’s voice rose, carrying through the night. “All right, I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. But, come on, Granny! Wanting a bit of freedom . . . that’s not a crime, and you know I’d never let Charlie come to harm—”
“I know that’s what you think,” Granny cut in. “But you’re thirteen years old! You know nothing of the world. There’s plenty out there that could harm you, things you don’t know about . . .”
“I never will if you don’t let me.” Betty spoke quietly now, but with as much defiance as she dared to show. Granny’s fierceness was normally enough to stop her from answering back, as well as a feeling of not wanting to be a bigger burden than she and Charlie already were—but enough was enough. She waited for her grandmother to protest, to make the usual promises about taking the girls on trips or holidays . . . but this time Granny didn’t. She looked terribly tired, then, and even older than usual.
A guilty, worried lump rose in Betty’s throat. Granny was, after all, the one who had looked out for Betty and her sisters. If she hadn’t been there to take them in, the girls would have ended up in the orphanage or worse, split up and homed with strangers. Betty pushed the thought away. Being grateful shouldn’t stop her from getting some answers.
“You say you can’t trust me now, but you never have—not to go out of Crowstone, anyway.”
Granny stamped over the cobbles. “Leave it, Betty. This isn’t the time or the place.” She set off at a pace, one hand clutching her shawl and the other carrying the traveling bag. Betty grabbed Charlie’s hand and hurried after Granny, determined not to be brushed off so easily. “How did you find out?”
“The flyer,” Granny said brusquely.
Betty closed her eyes in dismay. Earlier that day, Fliss had seen a hidden flyer fall out of Betty’s cloak and had picked it up, frowning.
“What’s this? A Halloween Fayre in Marshfoot?”
“Oh,” Betty had said, her heartbeat quickening. “I asked if we could go, but Granny said no, of course.”
“Of course,” Fliss had echoed, holding the flyer a fraction too long before handing it back.
“Fliss snitched on us, then?” Betty fumed. “Or did she just leave it for you to find?”
Granny avoided the question, pausing to hitch up her stocking. “It’s lucky you didn’t cover your tracks more carefully.”
“Lucky?” Betty stopped in the middle of the road. Lucky was the last thing she felt after having her adventure snatched away. Why didn’t Fliss want to escape the everyday drudgery, or care about Granny controlling them anymore?
Granny halted up ahead. “Stop dawdling!” she scolded.
“Come on, Betty,” Charlie begged. “I’m cold!”
Betty released her sister’s hand, her own slowly forming a fist at her side. Keeping the Halloween Fayre flyer had been careless, and now it would be harder than ever to plan any secret trips, with Granny watching her every move. But plan she would, and next time the scheme would be flawless. Heck, next time she might not come back at all.
Footsteps cut across the silence; then Granny was in front of her.
“Stop sulking. And I don’t want any trouble when you get back. None of this is Fliss’s fault.”
“No.” Betty uncurled her fists. “It’s yours.”
“I beg your pardon?” Granny said. Her voice was dangerously low, but Betty persisted. All her pent-up resentment and frustration, all the times she’d been told to stay close to home—the way Fliss had shut her out recently—it all came pouring out.
“Fliss used to want to explore as much as I do,” said Betty. Cold air hit her cheeks as she pulled off the mask. “She used to plan all the places she was going to visit . . . but not anymore. She’s sixteen! She should be allowed to go wherever she wants. But she’s given up, because of you.”
All of a sudden Granny seemed to shrink in her baggy clothes as the anger went out of her. “That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not.” Tears pricked Betty’s eyes. “All your stories and what ifs have stopped Fliss from trying. You’ve squashed the adventure out of her. I won’t let that happen to me, or to Charlie.”
Granny shook her head, a strand of hair unraveling as if Granny herself was coming undone. “It’s not like that.”
“Then explain,” said Betty, hardly believing the words that were pouring out of her. “Why all the broken promises and excuses? You act so tough, but maybe you’re the one who’s too scared to leave!”
Granny lowered her eyes, unable to meet Betty’s. “We’ve been out of Crowstone plenty of times. You were just too young to remember.”
“I don’t believe you,” Betty said. Her voice hardened as she became more certain. Now that she really thought about it, there had always been something odd about Granny’s reluctance to let them go anywhere. And her hold only seemed to tighten as the girls got older. It felt all wrong. “I’d remember. And wouldn’t there be pictures, memories of special days out? There’s nothing!”
Granny didn’t answer.
“Betty,” Charlie whispered. “Please stop it. I want to go home.”
“Why?” Betty said bitterly. “What’s the big rush? Home is all there ever is!” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the prison. “We’re no better off than the prisoners in there.” She glanced around at the crooked little streets, hating them. “And it might not be tonight, but I’ll escape this place. There’s more to life than Crowstone.”
“No, there isn’t.” Granny’s eyes were haunted. “There’s no leaving this place. Not for us.” Her words dangled in the air like sharp little needles. Charlie began to cry.
“N-not for us?” Betty echoed. Surely Granny was just trying to scare them again. How could they not be able to leave?
“You think you’re ready for the truth?” Granny asked sadly.
Betty stared back helplessly. She wasn’t sure, not now that Granny was as good as admitting that Betty had been right all along. But all she could do was nod.
“Very well.” Granny nodded slowly. “I’ll tell you. No more secrets.” She shuffled closer, resting her hand on Betty’s cheek. “But I warn you, it’s nothing good.”
Charlie huddled closer into her, crying harder. Betty’s mouth went dry. Was this somehow linked to their rat-bag father? Were they being punished along with him, forbidden to leave, like the people on Torment? It was all she could think of.
“What is it? Tell me!”
“Not here.” Granny lowered her hand, her jowls wobbling as she glanced about. “This’ll only be a short journey, but I need you both to keep your wits about you. We mustn’t be seen.”
“Not seen? Granny, I don’t—”
“You don’t need to understand. Just hold on.” Granny hooked her arm through Betty’s, the carpetbag dangling from her wrist. “Link your arm with Charlie’s. That’s it—nice and tight. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
Betty wondered if she had finally sent her grandmother loopy. Why else would she be acting so peculiar? “Granny, you’re scaring me.”
“Yes, well. I can’t help that, and you were going to find out sooner or later.” Granny tightened her hold on Betty’s arm. The familiar smell of her, of tobacco and beer, was warming in the chilly air. “Ready?”
“For what?” Betty asked, bewildered, as Granny opened her bag.
Her grandmother didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into the monstrous carpetbag and turned it inside out, saying in a crisp voice: “Poacher’s Pocket!”
Betty’s insides gave an enormous lurch, like she had fallen from a great height. Her ears were popping and her eyes were forced closed as a huge gust of icy air rushed past her, knocking her off her feet. She heard Granny gasp and Charlie do a funny little moan, but kept hold of them both as tightly as she could. Her balance was gone, her feet finding nothing but air.
“Granny!” she wailed, her eyes flying open as she toppled backwards. She landed with a bump, arms still locked with her grandmother and Charlie. Hard cobbles bit into her bottom, and the whistling wind had been replaced with rowdy voices and laughter. Betty looked up in amazement to see that the three of them were sitting in the doorway outside the Poacher’s Pocket.
“Not one of my better landings, I admit, but I’m not used to passengers.” Granny released Betty’s arm and got to her feet. “Oof, me hips.” After dusting herself off, she checked over the carpetbag and then snapped the clasp shut with a nod. “Home.”