The Lantern Moon by Maeve Friel Page B

Annie, pushing a finger down at the back of her tough leather boots to rub her heel. ‘I’ve got a new blister.’
    William looked at them both in exasperation. He was stronger than they were and would have preferred to press on but he knew the weather and the landscape were against them all, even if the little ones had not been so worn out. They would have to find shelter and rest up until the weather cleared.
    â€˜Wait there,’ he said. ‘Don’t move.’ He pressed his finger against his lips, warning them not to call out after him, and walked off down through the trees. About twenty minutes later he was back.
    â€˜There’s a ruined abbey down in the valley,’ he said. ‘We’ll stop there tonight.’
    Sam and Annie followed him out of the little wood, anddown into the valley towards the ruins of an old monastery. Its roof had fallen in almost entirely and its nave and sidechapels were overgrown with nettles, brambles and all variety of weeds, some of them waist-high. Free-standing stone pillars that once had supported the weight of the roof soared sixty feet up to the heavy snow-laden skies. Crumbling staircases led nowhere. Sam ran wildly through the arched doorways, climbed up on the sills of graceful vaulted windows and peered into the long deserted dovecote where, centuries earlier, monks had reared pigeons for their winter pies.
    Annie stood still under the gaunt grey ruins, convinced that there were eyes watching her, people ready to pounce the moment she let down her guard. There was a doorway opposite her. Its door had long since disappeared but the frame had been blocked up with piles of fallen masonry. As she watched, the twitching snout of a fox appeared at a gap at the bottom of the rubble. She stood stock still, the stillest thing for miles around. The fox nudged aside a stone, sniffed the air, came out from under cover, then, too late, spotted her. Their eyes met for a moment and then it was off, running like a demon out of the ruins and across the meadow to the hill beyond.
    Annie knelt down and peered into the hole where the fox had emerged. There was another room behind and, dimly visible behind a round column, she could see a flight of stairs leading down underground.
    â€˜William,’ she called. ‘Come and see.’
    With bare hands so cold they were almost too numb to feel the pain, all three cleared a hole big enough to crawl through into the room behind. The steps led down to the crypt, a low, dark basement whose walls felt damp and clammy to the touch, but the floor was dry and at least its roof provided shelter from the wind and sleet. They bedded down for their third night on the run, carrying down armfuls of bracken to lay on the floor, but it was hardly more comfortable than the night in the stable. The crypt was draughty and Annie, unable to sleep, lay petrified, listening to the patter of small feet criss-crossing the floor and the eerie screams of owls as they glided under the abandoned stone archways. She felt hungry, homeless and friendless and secretly wished they had never set out on this adventure. She could hear William tossing about and knew he was awake and thinking too. Sam’s breathing was deep and even as a baby’s.
    â€˜We can’t go on like this, William,’ she said. ‘It’s worse than being a wild animal. Perhaps we should give ourselves up.’
    â€˜No! They have you down for a thief, Annie; don’t you understand? You wouldn’t be put in the workhouse. They could hang you like they were going to hang father. And Bessell would whip Sam within an inch of his life if he laid hands on him again.’
    â€˜I told you. I’m going to sea,’ said Sam quietly in the darkness. ‘I shan’t ever give myself up.’
    â€˜I’m afraid, William,’ said Annie.
    â€˜I’m just hungry,’ said Sam. ‘I can’t think of anything but my empty