“The me-rry-pen-nies in the mea-dow, silver by the niiiiiiiight,
Were hopped upon by mid-night imps who danced by pale moon-liiiiight!”
The sound of Fliss’s self-conscious warbling snapped Betty out of Fingerty’s story and into the present. She stared at the leathery-faced man, wishing she could stay immersed in his tale, but the tuneless singing grew louder and more urgent, which could only mean Granny was near.
“The mag-pie, oh that craf-ty crook, stole some to stuff his neeeest,
But dropped them in Ma’s cook-ing soup, I needn’t say the reeeeest!”
Betty stood up abruptly as Fingerty drained his glass. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to get back to work.”
“I was jest getting started,” Fingerty said, outraged.
“I know.” Betty was unable to keep the frustration from her voice. Clearly, Fingerty had merely scratched the surface of this dark chapter of Crowstone Tower. While it wasn’t enough to confirm whether Sorsha’s history was connected to the Widdershinses, the tower’s link to the curse made it entirely possible. More than that, she felt she was on the verge of learning something crucial, although perhaps this was just wishful thinking. Either way, she had to hear the rest of the story. The question was, when?
Fingerty looked tipsy now and seemed to have one quizzical eye on Betty and the other on Fliss. He stuck one finger in his ear, grimacing. “This what Bunny calls entertainment?”
“Bang-bang! went the privy door! Bang-bang! for two days!
And cackle-cackle went the jackdaws at the magpie’s naughty ways!”
“Er . . .” Betty spied Granny behind the counter, just as Fliss’s rendition reached its earsplitting finale. There was silence, then a few awkward claps before conversations resumed in their usual low hum. Betty made a pretense of wiping the table and collected the empty glass. “Thanks,” she told Fingerty, keeping her voice low. “Can I talk to you again sometime?”
Fingerty squinted at her, evidently smarting at being cut short. “Lips sealed tight unless the price is right.”
Betty glanced at Granny, who was busy telling a red-faced Fliss that her singing sounded like a cat being strangled. “Yes, of course. You’ll get more drinks on the house.”
She took the empty glass to the bar, Fingerty’s tale squirming in her mind like a nest of ants. She desperately wanted to tell Fliss what she had learned about the girl in the tower, but Granny was too close. She stood stoutly behind Fliss, eyes narrowed.
“Where’s Charlie?”
“Still in the yard, I think,” said Betty. “Sorting the bottles, like you said.”
“She’s taking her time,” said Granny, looking suspicious. “I hope she’s not burying more dead creatures. There’ll be more graves out there than there are on Lament at this rate!” She turned swiftly, heading for the back door.
“Great idea about the singing,” Fliss said sarcastically, glowering with humiliation. “Next time I’ll just break a glass to get your attention!”
“Your singing could do that anyway,” Betty said, only half aware of Fliss’s huff of indignance. She eyed Fingerty, wishing she could see into that gnarled head of his. There was no time to continue Sorsha’s tale now, and little time to make a decision about breaking Colton out—not if there was a risk he could be moved. And if Fingerty didn’t have the answers, they needed Colton. Yet perhaps Fingerty could help with that, too . . .
With Granny gone for another minute or two in search of Charlie, Betty decided to risk it.
“What now?” Fingerty said, scowling as she returned.
“One more thing,” Betty said hurriedly. “I heard that you were . . . um, inside for helping folks escape from Torment.”
“Oh, yer did, did yer?”
She ignored the meanness in his voice and rushed on. “I was wondering how . . . how you got away with it.”
“Fact I got caught suggests I wasn’t very good at it,” he sneered. “No one gets away with it forever.”
“I meant the ones before. I’ve heard there were lots, before you got caught—”
Fingerty’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Now, yer listen, girly,” he hissed. “I don’t know what yer mixed up in and I don’t care, but take my advice: Yer stay away from the Sorrow Isles. Ain’t nothing but bad luck.”
Betty twisted out of his grasp. “If you can’t tell me how you did it, then tell me how you got caught.”
He shook his head, chuckling suddenly. “Yer stubborn as they come, girl.”
“And you’re as mean as everyone says,” Betty retorted, rubbing her wrist. She glanced at the counter. Fliss was pulling ale but watching nervously. There was still no sign of Granny.
“Meaner,” Fingerty snapped. “But you’ve got guts, and I like that. All right, that I’ll tell yer. Distraction. That’s how. It was the one rule I always followed, and it always worked. Until the time I was careless.”
“What kind of distraction?”
“Anything. A brawl in the prison, the ferry stuck on the marshes. Yer divert attention from what’s really going on.” He gave a cunning smile. “Folks have no love for the warders. They’ll do anything if the price is right.” The smile slid off his face as he settled back in his chair. “Now go away and leave me in peace. I’ve said enough for one day.”
“Until next time, then,” Betty said.
“Can’t wait,” Fingerty muttered sarcastically.
She returned to the counter just as Granny came back in from the yard, shooing Charlie upstairs into the warm.
“Well?” Fliss asked.
Betty went to sit on a barstool, then yelped and jumped away as five pinpricks pierced her bottom. She glared down into lazily blinking yellow eyes and realized she had almost sat on Oi. She remained standing, speaking quickly of what Fingerty had told her; about Sorsha and her half sister, Prue, living on Torment and the strange abilities of Sorsha’s that marked her as different.
“But how does any of this link to the Widdershinses?” Fliss asked, eyeing Fingerty doubtfully.
“I don’t know for sure, but somehow, all this is connected—I can just feel it. Sorsha ended up in that tower, which is where Colton says the curse began, too. And let’s not forget she fell from it . . . just like the stones. Fliss, I really think he might have the answer we need.”
“But what about Fingerty?” Fliss whispered. “If you think what he knows is connected, he’s the safer option, where we’re not risking our necks!”
“We need time to get to what he knows, time Colton might not have! And Colton seems convinced he knows how to break the curse.”
Fliss’s bottom lip wobbled. “And if he doesn’t?”
Betty let out a shaky breath. “Then I guess we spend our days staring at these walls and stinking of beer.”
“Maybe stinking of beer isn’t so bad.” Fliss sniffed herself and sighed. “Or maybe it is. So . . . how? And when?” She gulped. “Oh, cripes. We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
“Fingerty said when he smuggled people off Torment he always used a distraction. That’s what we need,” said Betty. “So we won’t be missed.”
“What kind of distraction?”
“A rowdy night here, one where Granny wants us safely out the way, would be ideal.”
“You mean . . . something like Old Man Crosswick’s release?” Fliss said uneasily.
“Yes.”
“But that’s tonight!”
Betty nodded, anticipation thrumming in her chest like a second heart.
“I know. But if more prisoners are being moved soon, like that warder said, then we’ve no time to lose.”
“What are you two whispering about?”
Betty jumped. Granny had appeared soundlessly at the door to the bar, her shrewd eyes upon them. The girls sprang apart guiltily.
“Nothing,” they chorused.
“Hmm.” Granny stamped over to them, lowering her voice. “I think I can guess.”
Betty stiffened—surely Granny couldn’t have heard much over the hum of conversations around them.
“As much as I’m sad that you both now have the burden of you-know-what on your shoulders, at least some good has come of it,” Granny said, smiling wistfully. “The two of you huddled together and whispering, just like you used to,” she continued. “I haven’t seen that in a long time.” There was a forced cheer in her voice, a looking-on-the-bright-side tone, and Betty thought she knew why. Speaking about the curse might have brought Fliss and Betty together again, but it was the reason for the distance between them in the first place.
“Now then,” said Granny. “Betty, you can get the dinner on upstairs, and watch Charlie while you’re up there.” She glared at Oi, who was loitering on the counter, sniffing drops of spilled beer. “Fliss, feed that mangy cat before it starts eating the customers.”
Betty glanced back as she headed for the stairs. Fliss caught her eye and the two shared a conspiratorial look that, despite the circumstances, sent a thrilling tingle through Betty. The Widdershins sisters had business to attend to.
It wasn’t until later that they got their chance. Betty was scouring a stubborn pan when Granny emerged from the bathroom with a freshly scrubbed Charlie.
“Keep still, child!” Granny was saying. “I need to comb out that birds’ nest of a head of yours before it dries!”
Fliss looked up from the sock she was mending. “Oh, Charlie, you look so sweet under all that dirt. Like a little pink piglet!”
Charlie stuck her tongue out as Granny chased her into the bedroom, brandishing a comb.
“My turn!” Fliss declared, throwing down the sock. Betty groaned. Bath day was only once a week, but Fliss took forever, and always left bits of dried lavender and rose petals stuck to the tub. She’d been hoping Fliss would wait until later to get her bath, for it would have been a chance for the two of them to plan while Granny was busy with Charlie, but evidently Fliss had other ideas.
Betty looked up to the shelf above the sink for some salt to help her scrub, then jumped back with a scream, dropping the pan at her feet with a loud clang.
There, hovering in midair over the sink like an apparition, was a hazy, shimmering image of Fliss’s face. “Boo!” it said.
Betty gaped, her heart smashing against her ribcage. Could this be something to do with . . . ?
“Betty?” Granny called. “What’s all that racket?”
A finger appeared in front of Fliss’s wavering face. “Shh! Don’t tell Granny—I’m using the mirror!”
“Betty?”
“Er . . . everything’s fine, Granny,” Betty called. “Just me being clumsy!” She peered at the image of Fliss, suspended ghostlike before her. Now that she had recovered from the surprise, she could see soapsuds in her sister’s hair. “You really do look strange, you know, floating there like that. How did you make it work?”
“I just looked into the mirror and thought of you,” said Fliss. There was a sense of jubilation about her, the same way Betty had felt when she had used the nesting dolls. “And there you were, reflected back at me.”
“Is this the first time you’ve used it?”
Fliss looked slightly guilty. “It’s the first time I’ve used it to speak to anyone, but I’ve . . . I’ve watched people a few times, without them knowing.”
“Felicity Widdershins!” Betty exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. “Like who? Let me guess . . . Jack Humble?”
“No!” Fliss blustered. “Well, once.” Annoyance crossed her face. “He was sweet-talking that awful Fay, you know the one who works in the fishmonger’s?” She pursed her lips. “So that’s the end of that.” She paused. “I thought about using it to see Father, but I’ve never quite managed to go through with it.”
“Not even now that you know he’s not in Crowstone?”
“Especially now.” Fliss bit her lip. “If he’s somewhere worse, I wouldn’t want to see.”
Betty thought of the leech emblem on Father’s letters. It was hard to imagine prisons worse than Crowstone. Her thoughts returned to Colton. “As soon as Granny’s busy with the Crosswicks, we get that bag.”
In the pause that followed she realized she could no longer hear Bunny’s voice. “Darn it, I think Granny’s finished with Charlie. You’d better put that mirror down in case she comes in here and sees what we’re up to.”
“To be continued,” said Fliss in a spooky voice, then, “Oh, bother. I’ve been in here so long I’m wrinkling up like a raisin.”
The apparition-like image of Fliss’s face vanished, and Betty was left with the far less exciting sight of the blackened tin she was still scrubbing.
After Betty had bathed and washed her hair, which dried to a spectacular frizz, Granny settled Charlie to sleep and returned downstairs. At once, Betty and Fliss sprang into action.
“My room, quickly,” said Fliss.
Fliss’s room was smaller than the one Betty and Charlie shared, and far tidier, which was just as well, due to the fussy trinkets, homemade rose-water scent, and love notes everywhere.
“Got the bag yet?” Betty asked.
Fliss shook her head. “Still need to find it. But I thought it’d be sensible to look in on Colton before . . . before we do this.”
Betty nodded. “You’re right. There’s no point in us arriving in his cell if the warders are patrolling; we need to know our timing’s right.”
Fliss took the mermaid mirror from her dressing table.
Leaning over it, she whispered, “Let me see Colton.”
At once a hazy mist clouded the mirror’s surface. Betty leaned closer, wide-eyed and feeling slightly guilty, like she was listening at a door. The glass cleared, revealing a tiny, darkened cell with an iron-barred door. A hunched figure lay shivering on a thin mattress. His teeth were chattering and his eyes were closed, lips moving in what Betty could only guess was a silent prayer. Thin lines had been scratched into the wall next to him: all the days he had spent there. Betty looked away. It was easy to see why Colton was desperate to get out.
So desperate he’d say anything to escape? Uncomfortable, Betty kept the doubt unspoken. She was desperate, too, she reminded herself. The stakes for her and her family were just the same: freedom, and a new life without this curse they didn’t deserve.
Silently, Fliss turned the mirror face-down, breaking the vision. “I can’t help feeling sorry for him.”
“Me either,” Betty admitted. She let out a slow breath. “He’s alone. Let’s go now.”
“Keep a lookout,” said Fliss. “I’ll search Granny’s things.”
They left Fliss’s room. Betty stood in her own doorway, shifting from one foot to the other in a nervous dance. Her eyes were on Charlie curled up asleep, her ears concentrating on the stairs and any sign of Granny. By now the Crosswick gathering was in full swing. Someone had struck up a fiddle, and a drunken chorus was being brayed. The building rattled and thrummed, as though humming along.
Earlier, after Charlie had gone to sleep, Betty had stuffed rolled-up blankets under Fliss’s bedcovers and her own to make shapes like two sleeping figures. At a quick glance they were convincing enough, and Granny’s eyesight was poor anyway. Tucked under Betty’s blankets was a note for the morning, when it would become evident that the two girls were gone, though Betty planned to be back way before then.
Granny, it said, we’re sorry. We’ve taken your bag and gone to break the curse. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Please don’t come looking for us, and please don’t be too angry. Betty & Fliss.
Would Charlie be the one to find it, or would it be Granny, wondering why her two eldest granddaughters couldn’t be roused the following morning? Betty hugged herself guiltily and gazed past Charlie to the window. Through the gappy curtains the sky was navy blue, dotted with bright stars. There would likely be a frost later; already the air was chilly. She thought of the prison, and of Colton in darkness and silence. It was probably best that he didn’t know when to expect them.
A muffled squeal sent her abandoning her post and skidding into Granny’s room.
“What’s the matter?”
“Found it.” Fliss was on her hands and knees, scuttling backwards. “It’s under the bed, but there’s a huge . . .” She trailed off, and gazed past Betty with a shocked, sheepish look on her face.
Betty whirled around. Charlie blinked at them sleepily, barefoot and rubbing her eyes.
“What you doing?”
“N-nothing,” Fliss stammered. “Just putting some things of Granny’s away. Come on now, poppet. Back to bed.”
“You’re not putting nothing away,” Charlie said stubbornly. She regarded each of them with suspicion, wide awake now. “You’re looking for the bag.”
Betty and Fliss exchanged glances, unsure what to say.
“I could’ve told you where it was.” Charlie kneeled and crawled under the bed, then emerged with the bag and a thick cobweb stuck to her arm. “This what you were scared of?” she asked, flicking the web away scornfully.
Fliss pursed her lips. “Give it here.”
Charlie shrugged and tossed it at her feet. “What do you want it for?”
Betty sighed. “Look, we need to go somewhere. There’s something important we have to do, and—”
“Are you going to the prison again?”
Betty and Fliss shared stricken glances. Charlie might only be six, but she was sharp.
“I’m coming, too,” Charlie announced. “I can keep a secret.”
Betty shook her head. The memory of being trapped on the ferry in swirling mist, and how foolish she’d been to put Charlie in that situation, was all too fresh. “Oh, no, you’re not. It’s dangerous.”
“Then you need me!” Charlie said fiercely. “I can help! I’m not scared of anything.” She made a face at Fliss. “Even spiders!”
There was a long silence; then finally Betty nodded. “Go and get dressed.”
Fliss stared at her incredulously as Charlie skipped past her in a tangle of hair and bare limbs.
“You can’t be serious!”
Betty shook her head, picking up the bag. “I’m not,” she whispered as the wardrobe in the next room creaked. “Quick, grab our coats.”
Fliss vanished, returning seconds later with thick overcoats. They shrugged into them, breathing fast. Fliss wound a thin scarf around the mermaid mirror and tucked it in her coat pocket. “Got everything? The nesting dolls? Keys?”
Betty nodded, linking arms with Fliss at the exact moment Charlie came hurtling down the hall. She stopped in the doorway, open-mouthed.
Betty’s skin crawled with shame. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
“No!” Charlie roared. “You can’t!”
Betty flipped the bag inside out. “Prisoner five-one-three!”
She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the sickening whoosh . . . but it never came.
“Er, Betty?” Fliss said doubtfully.
Betty opened her eyes. Charlie was staring at them with an injured expression. She stomped up to Betty.
“You said I could come. If you don’t let me, I’ll shout for Granny!”
“You won’t!” Betty retorted. She was cross now, both at being discovered and at the bag’s failure to work. “I’ll lock you in the creepy cupboard if I have to!”
“Beast!” Charlie’s mouth dropped open in horror. “You always leave me out!”
Betty sighed, regretting her threat already. “Charlie, we just can’t take you.” She stared at the bag, its musty old lining hanging inside out. “Anyway, I don’t think we can even use it without Granny— Hey!”
Charlie had snatched the bag and, quick as a fox, plunged the lining back in, then out again. “My room!” she shouted.
Air sucked past Betty’s ankles. In the next eye blink, Charlie vanished and a gleeful giggle rang out from the girls’ bedroom. Betty stepped toward the door, but there was another whoosh and Charlie reappeared, grinning.
“See? I can do it!”
“And we can’t,” Betty said slowly as Granny’s explanation came back to her. An item couldn’t be swapped, because it simply wouldn’t work unless it was the one you owned.
Charlie danced a jubilant jig. “Ain’t your bag, so it won’t work for you.”
“Ain’t yours, either!” Betty snapped. “I mean, isn’t!”
“Yet,” Charlie said smugly.
Betty glanced at Fliss. Her older sister stared back helplessly.
“What’ll we do? We can’t take her with us!”
“Can, can, can!” sang Charlie, twirling around with the bag.
“Our whole plan depends on that bag,” Betty said desperately. “Besides Granny, Charlie’s the only one who can work it.” She took a deep breath, thinking. “We have to take her.”
“No!” Fliss whispered. “We really, really can’t . . .”
“Looks like you really, really have to,” said Charlie.
“Only until we get Colton out,” Betty said. “The bag is fast. We’ll get him to Lament, find out what he knows, then come back here in the shake of a feather. After that he’s on his own.”
Charlie stopped twirling. “Who’s Colton?”
“Someone who can help us break the curse,” Betty told her.
“Let’s wait,” Fliss begged. “Think of another plan, the dolls—”
“No,” Betty argued. “Not now that Charlie knows. She could blab to Granny.”
“Yep,” Charlie agreed. “Sometimes things just pop out!” Downstairs, there was a surge of voices.
“Let’s go while it’s rowdy. If it goes to plan, we could be back before closing time.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Fliss snapped. “What then?”
Betty didn’t know what then, but she tried to sound brave by saying, “We’ve got the bag, the dolls, and the mirror. We’d have to be pretty unlucky for things to go wrong.”
“Because the Widdershinses are known for our luck,” Fliss muttered.
Betty bundled Charlie’s coat on. “Charlie, listen. This is going to be a real adventure. Not one of our silly pretending games. So I need you to do as we say. And if we tell you to come back, you must come straight back. Promise?”
Charlie nodded vigorously, ready to agree to just about anything.
Betty swallowed down a hard lump in her throat. Everything would be all right. They would be the ones to break the wretched Widdershins curse. This would be worth it; it had to be. “Victory favors the valiant,” she whispered, trying to draw strength from another of her invented mottos. Hopefully this one would stick.
“Ready?” she asked, more nervous than she had ever been. Another enthusiastic nod came from Charlie. Fliss twitched like a hunted bunny. Betty stood in the middle, one arm through Fliss’s and the other firmly linked with Charlie’s. “Take us to Crowstone Prison, Prisoner five-one-three,” she instructed, as another swell of noise rose from downstairs.
Charlie nodded, eager to please. She cleared her throat and spoke in a firm voice: “Crowstone Prison, prisoner five-three-one!”
In the time it took for Betty to shout “No!” Charlie had whipped the bag inside out. All Betty could feel was her hair flying past her ears and her insides churning as she realized that before they had even arrived, their plan had already gone terribly wrong.