The Glass Demon by Helen Grant

Author:Helen Grant [Helen Grant]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing
Published: 2009-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To my dismay, the topic of the lift to school had not been forgotten, and after Polly and I had cleared away the lunch things Tuesday insisted that I set off to look for the farm. I started from the spot where Michel had surprised me the first time we met, setting off in the direction of his vague wave. There were two possible tracks, both of them nothing but packed earth with a sprinkling of gravel here and there. At the side of the tracks were drainage ditches which were overgrown with brambles and ferns, and beyond them the dark damp undergrowth overhung with trees. On impulse I took the right-hand track. After about two hundred metres it split, the main track continuing ahead and a smaller, muddier track leading off to the right. In the fork of the intersection there was an object which I recognized as a shrine – a thing like a little glass-fronted hut on a red stone plinth. Behind the glass was a relief carving of a man and a stag. My gaze dropped to some lettering cut into the stone plinth. ST HUBERTUS, I read. I peered at the figure again. Someone had put a candle in a red plastic holder into the shrine, but it had long since burned down, giving the shrine a rather forlorn look.

‘Well, St Hubertus – which way do I go?’ I muttered.

The carved figure was facing right, his outstretched hands pointing towards the stag as though blessing it. I decided to take the right-hand turn again.

It was rather hard going and my shoes were quickly caked in mud. Still, I was hopeful that the track might take me to the farm; I could see the marks of other shoes in the mud. This was somehow comforting, as it meant that other people had passed this way and might even be close by. There was no doubt about it, the forest made me feel distinctly uncomfortable, though it was hard to say why. I had not seen a single living thing since I left the castle, and certainly not a dangerous wild boar or the intimidating bulk of a stag. It was silent apart from the rustle of leaves in the wind and the occasional distant chirp of a bird high up in the treetops. I scanned the undergrowth but could see nothing moving.

‘Idiot,’ I whispered, hugging myself.

I went on, trying to keep to the side of the path where the ground was drier. Ahead, the path continued in a straight line for about a hundred metres and then seemed to curve away to the right. I looked down at my filthy shoes, looked back up again, and a dog had appeared on the track up ahead. I jumped, then relaxed; it was just a dog after all. No. It was not just a dog – it was a very large, very powerful and aggressive-looking dog, and it had seen me. For a second it paused, its great muzzle snuffing the air, scenting the presence of an intruder.

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