LITMIR.BIZ

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She squinted and eyed Rye and Quinn carefully. “You’re positive you haven’t seen anything out in those bogs?”

      “Nothing,” Quinn said, his eyes wide. “Have you, Rye?”

      Rye shook her head. She hadn’t seen anything. But she was sure she had heard something last night. A sound like nothing she had ever heard before.

      

      THAT NIGHT, LOTTIE went down without a fuss. Rye couldn’t have been more surprised. Lottie snuggled up with Mona Monster and began snoring fitfully under the covers as soon as Abby blew out the candles. Rye didn’t even need to lie down with her. Abby stoked the fire in the girls’ fireplace and they both slipped quietly from the room.

      Shady, on the other hand, was not in a restful mood. He paced the house like a caged bugbear, pawing at the floor and yowling. He climbed up their legs with his long claws. Finally, Abby locked him in her own bedroom.

      When Abby returned from her room, she was dressed in her heavy cloak, ready to leave.

      “I don’t know what’s got into him,” she said.

      Rye watched her mother throw a thick pack over her shoulder. Abby had washed her face and tied her hair in a neat ponytail. Rye held back a smile – Abby had used another blue hair ribbon. Rye thought her mother was quite beautiful despite her old age – she was almost thirty-one. The way folk around the village looked at Abby, they must have thought so too.

      “Whose shoes are these?” Abby asked.

      “Quinn’s,” Rye said.

      “How does someone forget his shoes?”

      Abby didn’t wait for an answer. Rye could see in her mother’s body the same anxious energy that was setting Shady on edge tonight.

      “Now, Riley, I need you to listen for Lottie, understand? If she wakes up, you take good care of her.”

      “Yes, Mama.”

      Abby was preparing a lantern. “It’s very important that you stay inside. This is not a night for children to be traipsing about, not even in the yard. Don’t go and fuss with those pigeons. What’s House Rule Number Three?”

      “Lock your door with the Black Moon’s rise,” Rye sang, rolling her eyes. “Don’t come out until morning shines.”

      Abby smiled and knelt down.

      “I do realise I’m telling you to stay inside while I pack a bag,” she said. “But this is an important meeting with some very special customers. They only make it around this way once or twice a year. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

      Rye furrowed her brow. “Just … be careful.”

      Abby smiled and touched Rye’s cheek. “I’ll be fine, my darling. There’s nothing to worry about.”

      “You’re not worried about …” Rye’s voice trailed off.

      “About what?”

      Rye picked her fingernails. “Folly said someone saw a Bog Noblin in the bogs. Could it be true?”

      “I adore Folly as much as you do, but you must admit she’s never heard a story she couldn’t embellish.”

      Her mother’s answer was no answer at all.

      “But,” Rye said, “is it possible? I thought there were no Bog Noblins left.”

      “You were still crawling the last time a Bog Noblin threatened this village. Don’t fret over them now.”

      Rye wanted to ask about the terrible noise she’d heard but, given what she had planned for the evening, she thought it better not to mention that she’d been in the yard just the night before – well intentioned or not.

      Abby was almost ready now. Rye had run out of fingernails to pick. Something else remained on her mind.

      “Mama,” Rye said. “What about the Luck Uglies? Are you worried about them?”

      Abby flinched, as if Rye had pricked her with a pin. She seemed to catch herself and resumed lacing her boots.

      “Riley, dear, why would I be worried about them?”

      “Well, the Black Moon. Isn’t that when they come out?”

      “Where did you hear such a thing?”

      Rye shrugged. “I don’t know … around. I think I read it somewhere.”

      She hadn’t got to that bit in Tam’s Tome yet, but everyone knew the Luck Uglies once prowled the village on Black Moons, the darkest nights of every month. They wore frightening masks to conceal their real identities, stalking the streets in small packs or flying from the rooftops like bats.

      “Darling, you don’t need to worry about any Luck Uglies any more,” Abby said, standing up. “They’re gone. Forever. Earl Longchance made sure of that.” Her voice was flat.

      Still, Rye was worried. She vividly remembered her fleeting glimpse of the masked gargoyle on the rooftops. She harboured no illusion that it was a statue come to life, nor a mere figment of her imagination. Could it have been a Luck Ugly?

      Abby picked up her lantern and pulled the cloak of her hood over her head.

      “Riley,” she said, “follow the House Rules and I assure you that no Bog Noblin or Luck Ugly will ever trouble this family.”

      The way she said it, Rye couldn’t help but believe her.

      Abby opened the front door and carefully covered her lantern with a sheath to dim the light. A chilly wind rushed in from outside. In her cloak and hood, Rye’s mother was almost unrecognisable. The pinched rise in her shoulders seemed to soften. Her eyes flickered with excitement under her hood. In Abby’s room, Shady scratched at the door furiously.

      “You may want to leave Shady in there. I don’t know what’s got into him.”

      She blew Rye a kiss with her hand. Rye pretended to catch it.

      “Be good, my love,” Abby said, and disappeared into the night.

      “I don’t know about this,” Quinn said.

      “Don’t worry about it,” Rye said. “Lottie’s fast asleep. She never wakes up once she’s gone down.”

      Rye was determined to meet Folly at the Dead Fish Inn, but didn’t want to leave Lottie alone. It had taken a lot of convincing, but Quinn had agreed to come over and stay at the O’Chanters’ house until Rye returned. Rye and Quinn had signalled to each other with their lanterns when Abby had gone and Angus was asleep, and then Quinn ran down the street.

      “Aren’t you afraid to go out?” Quinn said.

      “You made it, didn’t you?” Rye said.

      “I’m only three houses away. You’re going to the other side of the village.”

      “I’ll be fine,” Rye said, trying to convince herself. She pulled her cloak round her shoulders and her hood over her head. “Thanks for your help, Quinn.”

      “You owe me. And hurry back. How am I going to explain this if your mother gets home before you?”

      Rye grabbed her lantern. “I won’t be late. Remember, don’t let Shady out.”

      Rye herself had never been out on the Black Moon. It was forbidden for women and children under the Laws of Longchance. Normally it was a half-hour walk to Folly’s house. Rye intended to go as fast as she could to minimise her time on the streets.

      Mud Puddle Lane was dark under the best of circumstances,

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