20 
As they’d discussed, Leo had reported Ottilie’s sighting of the hooded figure to the directorate. A few days later, Captain Lyre himself asked for an account of things, and Ottilie was called to his chambers after a particularly productive hunt that hoisted her up to thirty-eighth on the ranking wall.
Captain Lyre had fresh flowers everywhere: on the desk, by the window, hanging from hooks on the walls. Aside from the flowers, the only other feature of the room was an ancient painting of a brown duck behind the door.
‘So, more secrets,’ he said, with a smile.
Ottilie’s mind raced. Did he know about their training sessions? Is that why he had asked to see her?
‘Why didn’t you report it sooner?’ He twirled a long finger around the tip of his black beard.
She let out a shaky breath of relief. He was talking only about what she had seen. But she still didn’t know how to answer. She hadn’t said anything because she didn’t trust the Hunt. That was the truth.
‘I didn’t know what – who – it was. I didn’t know if the Hunt knew, or whether they were supposed to. I don’t know. I worried about speaking up after … after everything.’ It wasn’t a lie.
‘You listen to me, Ottilie,’ he said, leaning across his desk. ‘You can always come to me. About anything.’ His brown eyes crinkled. He seemed so warm, so genuine. Ottilie felt a pinch of resentment.
‘Our petition, did you … what did you do with it?’
Captain Lyre’s face was unreadable. ‘I passed it on to Conductor Edderfed,’ he said evenly.
‘Was there a vote?’
He shook his head.
‘Did he even read it?’
‘I don’t know, Ottilie. But’ – he met her eyes – ‘you mustn’t draw attention to yourself. Recent events, strange occurrences and this person you saw … they’re talking witchcraft.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘We must all prepare for the worst.’ He paused, looking her right in the eye. ‘But be careful.’
He knew.
‘There have been several more reports of dead animals since you and Leonard found the driftdog,’ he said gravely. ‘We’ve examined them and concluded that something has indeed been eating hearts.’
Ottilie’s insides churned. It was one thing to suspect it, but quite another to find out it was real.
‘But how?’ she asked. ‘They never eat anything – now they’re attacking animals and eating hearts. Why?’
She remembered the carcasses at Jungle Bay. They had been so decayed, and it was too dark to see properly, but it was possible that their hearts had been eaten too.
Captain Lyre’s eyes darkened. ‘The legends speak of a creature the ancients called a bloodbeast – it began as a dredretch but became something other, something that feasted on hearts. Legends are reliably unspecific, so we can’t be sure if they ate animals or humans or both. We don’t know where that name came from, or indeed anything more about them,’ he said. ‘But if they are here in the Narroway, I would imagine that your mysterious lurker is involved somehow. Now’ – he leaned back in his chair – ‘I need anything you can tell me … stature, height, did you get a sense of age?’
She picked fruitlessly through her memories. The figure was often too far away to get an accurate sense of height, and Ottilie was either in the dark, overcome with dredretch sickness or in mortal peril during every encounter.
Captain Lyre entwined his spidery fingers and frowned. She couldn’t help but feel she had disappointed him. Finally, he dismissed her and she was reaching for the door, but something stopped her. Captain Lyre’s cane rested in a stand to her right. The silver bird head had come loose and she caught sight of a sharp edge beneath. The cane sheathed a blade with a familiar subtle gleam. If Captain Lyre was under the impression that he couldn’t harm dredretches, why was he armed with a salt-forged weapon?
Clearly, she was not the only one who questioned the rule of innocence. But Captain Lyre himself peddled the story. Why did he go along with it? Ottilie walked away feeling more confused than ever. Still, the meeting had made one thing clear. Training in secret was the right thing to do.
In a fortnight, fifteen girls grew to twenty-three, then thirty-one, then forty. There were sculkies, gardeners, stablehands, beekeepers and many more. The Hunt kept them busy, and not everyone was available on the same nights. This was for the best, Ottilie decided. So many could not meet regularly without rousing suspicion and their numbers were only increasing. The training sessions happened three times a week. When Ottilie and Leo were unavailable, Ned and Gully took over, then Scoot and Bayo.
Ramona was almost always there. ‘This is more important than anything,’ she said, as they prepared for that night’s session. Her red hair was braided away from her face, and her eyes shadowed. ‘Something’s happening here, and we need to be ready for it, all of us.’
‘They’re talking about witches,’ said Ottilie, lowering her voice. ‘Did you know that?’
Ramona’s frown deepened. ‘Nothing’s been said to us specifically, not about witchcraft, but Voilies has been blathering on about it ever since that tapestry caught fire.’ She picked up a spear. ‘Come on, we should start.’
The cavernous barn had space enough for all of them and it was a large group that night; luckily Preddy had come along to help. They kept their glow sticks buried between old grain bags and rotting bales of hay, cautious of the light slipping through cracks and catching the eyes of the wall watchers by the east gate. They were far enough away that Ottilie wasn’t worried about sound carrying, but lights were easy to spot from a distance.
The stables seemed less spooky now. It was as if with every lively, hopeful new member of their squad, the living had begun to outnumber the dead. Despite winter’s arrival, the air around the stables no longer chilled to the bone, and the eerie mist that hovered perpetually in the yard seemed merely a glimmering moonlit veil. Even Hero, who had initially put many of the girls on edge, had become a welcome, almost comforting, presence. She had taken to curling up in the corner of the barn, snacking on her fish or sleeping soundly as they trained.
Ramona had managed to salvage some untipped spears and Ottilie and Leo had got their hands on some clubs. The bows, cutlasses and other salt weapons were precious, and difficult to remove without anyone noticing. Emergency weapon stores had been set up all around the fort after the second wyler attack, but they were located in busy areas and Ottilie was loath to leave them understocked. Still, they managed to swipe a small knife for every new recruit to keep on them.
‘We’re going to have to divide into two,’ said Ramona. ‘Spears with me and Noel, clubs with Leo and Ottilie.’
Ottilie moved through their group, offering help when she knew the fix, and learning herself when she didn’t.
‘Don’t let your shoulder lift like that,’ barked Leo. ‘It has to come from here.’ He jabbed Skip in the stomach with his club.
Skip knocked his club away. She looked ready to punch him. For a moment, Ottilie considered holding her back, but Skip simply gritted her teeth and practised the move again.
Over on the other side of the barn, Ottilie saw Ramona pacing between spears, offering gentle yet firm advice. When it came to teaching, she and Leo couldn’t have been more different.
‘Clubs are the easiest,’ said Leo, louder than necessary. ‘Learn how to swing with enough force and you can stop most smaller dredretches with one hit.’
‘It’s a good thing to learn,’ Ottilie added. ‘Because once you know how to do it, you can use anything heavy you can get your hands on.’
‘I was just about to say that, Ott,’ Leo muttered.
‘Well, now you don’t have to, Leo,’ she muttered back.
Beside her, Alba chuckled. Leo clenched his jaw and crossed the group to criticise Fawn.
Preddy wandered over to them. ‘Look.’ He pointed back to Gracie Moravec. Ottilie turned. Gracie had detached herself from Ramona’s group and was practising throwing her knife into a bale of hay, hitting the same spot over and over with freakish accuracy.
‘She must have used one before,’ he said, looking impressed and a little afraid.
‘And used it a lot,’ said Ottilie, feeling very disturbed. ‘I can’t do that. Skip,’ she whispered, beckoning her over. ‘What do you know about Gracie’s background?’
Skip glared over at Gracie. ‘They say she’s a Laklander.’
‘But that doesn’t mean anything,’ said Ottilie, glancing sideways at Alba.
‘They always say that about fair-haired people,’ said Preddy, running his hand over his own wheat-gold hair. ‘My mother hated that about me … I was the only one of my brothers. Some of them had it when they were young, but it darkened. Not mine, though.’
She felt the sudden urge to give Preddy a hug. He never said much about his parents, but when he did, it wasn’t good.
Skip wasn’t paying him any attention. ‘I heard a rumour that she had to come here because she was on the run,’ she said darkly.
‘But isn’t that sort of the same reason you came here?’ said Ottilie.
‘Maybe,’ said Skip, shrugging irritably. ‘For stealing some pearls and a bit of cheese.’
‘A whole chest of pearls, I heard.’ Preddy smiled.
‘How did you know that? Who’s talking about me?’
‘Probably the same people who are talking about her,’ said Ottilie, pointing at Gracie. ‘What else do you know?’
‘Well, I heard she had a habit of laming horses – but that wasn’t the worst. They say she tried to push a boy off a cliff near Scarpy Village.’
Ottilie felt a strange jolt. ‘She’s from Scarpy Village?’ She knew Scarpy Village. It was north of the Swamp Hollows, near the mouth of the River Hook.
‘Somewhere around there,’ said Skip.
Preddy paled. ‘Do you think it’s true?’
‘No way to know,’ said Skip. ‘She doesn’t exactly talk much. Where’s her evil twin? That witch loves to talk.’ ‘We shouldn’t call her a witch, Skip,’ said Ottilie. She felt guilty for ever using it now that they were all under suspicion.
She looked around – Maeve wasn’t there. In fact, Ottilie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her. She watched Gracie tossing the knife over and over, and a cold pricking crawled over her skin.