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  Clicker-click.

  He remembered Aunt Mitza’s parting instruction: “Say good-bye, Oskar Sarn. Say good-bye.”

  Oskar knew the answer: they had come for Tod.

  THE RACE

  Click-click-clicker-click.

  Oskar felt a rising terror. He decided that the only way to stop the panic was to see what was above him. The reality could be no worse than the images that were filling his head. Very slowly, Oskar looked up—and wished he hadn’t.

  Oskar’s night vision showed him far more than he wished to see. Three beings, with wide, flat heads like those of a giant snake, stood at the top of the dune. Taller than a man, whip-thin yet muscular and as eerily white as deep-sea denizens that had never seen the light, they were half crouched on two powerful back legs; their smaller front legs—which had almost human hands—were off the ground, giving them an air of indecision. Their big heads were nodding in time with their click-clicker-clicks and a sudden dart of a forked black tongue, glistening with slime, made Oskar’s mouth go dry with fear.

  Oskar recognized the creatures at once as Garmin. There was a drawing of them in one of his favorite books, Magykal, Mystikal and Mythikal Creatures: Facts. He was shocked. He had no idea Garmin actually existed.

  Clicker-click. Clicker-click.

  But the Garmin were as real as he was. Oskar could see the page in his book as though it were in front of him:

  Garmin

  Predator. Extruder. Nonvenomous. Nocturnal. Cave-dwelling.

  Covering: White skin. Minimal hair.

  Oskar took a little comfort from “nonvenomous,” but that was outweighed by “predator.” He was trying to remember what “extruder” meant when another shower of earth came flying down. Suddenly the Garmin took off, their powerful back legs sending them leaping swiftly across the top of the dunes—heading for Tod’s house. A stab of fear ran through Oskar. The Garmin were going so fast that they would be there in no time at all. Oskar knew he had to get to Tod before the creatures did.

  Oskar’s only chance of reaching Tod first was to take the Burrows—direct routes through the dunes. Many were roofed over with planks and some actually burrowed through the sand. The Garmin would have to run up and down the hills, but by using the Burrows, Oskar could cut straight through. He raced off at top speed and was soon heading for the nearest Burrow. Oskar’s parents had forbidden him to use the Burrows, as there had been a lethal sand-snake infestation some years earlier, but right then, Oskar didn’t care about sand snakes. He reached the mouth of the Burrow, took his light stick from his pocket, snapped it open and dived inside. The dim green light of the stick showed just enough to stop him from cannoning into the sandy walls and, he hoped, to scare any remaining sand snakes away. Barefoot, Oskar ran fast, feeling the damp sand cold beneath his feet and hearing the muffled thub-thubber-thub of his footsteps. He was soon out of the Burrow and into the night air, heading for the next one, careering into a steep-sided canyon between two dunes, the sharp-edged grass cutting his legs as he ran. But Oskar felt nothing—nothing except for the terror of being too late.

  Three long minutes later, Oskar emerged from a particularly low Burrow onto the old cinder track that led up from the rock pools at the end of the fishing beach. He paused very briefly to catch his breath and orient himself: Tod’s house should just be visible from here, he thought. And sure enough, it was. To Oskar’s surprise, the tall house standing alone was remarkably easy to spot—it was lit up like a MidWinter Feast tree, with candles blazing in every window.

  Oskar was puzzled. Aunt Mitza was notoriously stingy—even at the dark of the moon she allowed only one window to be lit, but now every window had a whole line of candles blazing away on its sill, and the house shone like a beacon in the night. Suddenly, Oskar understood. The reason the house looked like a beacon was because that was exactly what it was: a beacon showing the Garmin where to come. Aunt Mitza had planned it all. Feeling sick with fear, Oskar raced up the track and hurtled down into a dark and particularly deep Burrow. Some thirty seconds later, he was pushing open a trapdoor and staggering out into the undercroft below Tod’s house.

  Oskar snapped his light stick closed and shoved it into his pocket. He stared at the brilliant window-shaped pools of light that the candles cast onto the sand surrounding the undercroft and listened hard for any clicks. All was silent. A sudden creak in the floorboards above sent his heart pounding until he realized it was just heavy-footed Aunt Mitza moving across the room. Oskar knew he had to act quickly. Skirting the raised brick top of the icehouse, he padded soft and fast across the earthen floor of the undercroft, all the while listening, listening, listening. The sudden flap of a fishing net against the side of the house as the wind caught it made him stop dead—until he realized what it was and stole on.

  Oskar reached the tree-trunk stilt at the front left-hand corner of the house, which was nearest to Tod’s attic window. Carved into all PathFinder house stilts and continuing up the round corner posts on the sides of the houses were shallow footholds, cut so that nets could be easily hung up to dry. Oskar remembered Dan Moon scrambling up the very same stilt to hang out his nets after the day’s fishing, cheerfully calling down to him and asking how he was. Oskar felt sad remembering Dan. Like Tod, he still found it hard to believe he was gone.

  Silent as a cat, Oskar swung himself up onto a foothold and began to climb. Soon he was level with the first floor, where not so long ago, he had been having supper. Suddenly, in the window that faced the Far, Oskar saw the dark shape of Aunt Mitza outlined against the light, standing still and watchful, staring out into the night.

  Like a lizard in the sun when a shadow passes over it, Oskar froze. He clung to the corner post, waiting for Aunt Mitza to go. But Aunt Mitza stood motionless—apart from her head, which she turned in quick, anxious movements. Soon Oskar’s fingers and toes began to go numb and he knew he had to move or fall. Praying that Aunt Mitza didn’t look around just then, he took a deep breath and carried on up, swinging from side to side, his bare feet finding the footholds, left . . . right . . . left . . . right, his strong hands pulling him ever upward.

  Tod’s house was four stories high if you counted the undercroft and the attic. By the time Oskar reached the bargeboard that ran below the reed-thatched roof, the muscles in his arms and legs were burning and his fingers were raw and bleeding from two broken nails. But Oskar felt nothing but triumph—he had made it.

  Clinging to a net hook, his feet resting on the rim of the porthole that lit the attic stairs, Oskar considered how he was going to get across to Tod’s window. It was only a short distance—no more than eight feet—but there was nothing to hold on to. Trying not to think of the drop below, Oskar put his right foot into the curve of the nearest net hook and levered himself up so he lay flat upon the thatch. Then, determined not to look down, he inched his way, crablike, along the spiky reeds and was soon within arm’s length of Tod’s little dormer window. But, as he leaned across to get a handhold on the windowsill, Oskar’s heart leaped into his mouth. Far below, he glimpsed three white shapes flitting across a pool of window light on the ground.

  Click-clicker-click.

  The Garmin were here.

  GARMIN

  Alice TodHunter Moon was not a girl given to screaming. But it took all of Tod’s nerve—plus her determination that Aunt Mitza was never going to hear her scream—not to yell out loud when she saw a bloody hand with broken nails clawing at her window. Tod picked up a net hook and advanced toward the window, ready to smash the hand away. She swung the hook back and was about to bring it crashing through the glass when Oskar’s pale face—his mouth open in dismay as he saw the net hook swinging his way—came into view on the other side of the window.

  With a deep thud, the net hook buried itself in the thick upright in the middle of the casement window and a shocked Oskar lost his grip and began to slide down the thatch. Tod threw open the window and in one easy, practiced movement she grabbed hold of Oskar’s shi
rt, pulled him in and deposited him on the floor—she had landed fish bigger than Oskar Sarn many times. He lay winded, staring up at Tod in much the same manner as her last Gooper fish had done.

  Tod dropped to the floor. “Oskie!” she said. “Oskie, hey, what are you doing?”

  “Tod,” Oskar gasped. “You—we—we’ve got to get out of here. The things that came for Ferdie—they’re Garmin, and they’ve come for you. They’re here.”

  Tod went cold. She jumped up, pulled Oskar to his feet and headed toward the attic ladder, dragging Oskar with her. Oskar protested. “No, no,” he whispered. “The window. Out of the window!” Tod did not hear. She was already on the ladder, climbing down like a monkey and beckoning urgently to Oskar to hurry up. Oskar had no option but to follow. He swung himself after her and as Tod stepped onto the landing below, Oskar jumped lightly from the ladder and grabbed her.

  “Tod. Stop. Listen. They’re inside the house.”

  Tod went pale. From the floor below came Aunt Mitza’s familiar low growl followed by a terrifying new sound for Tod—a rapid series of click-click-clicker-click-click-click-click. Goose bumps went running over Tod and Oskar. The clicks were utterly inhuman—and frighteningly close.

  But Tod still seemed not to understand. “Aunt Mitza!” she whispered. “They’ll get her.”

  Oskar shook his head with a grim smile. “No, Tod. Aunt Mitza fixed this up. They’ll get you.”

  Tod looked horrified.

  A flight of open stairs led down to the kitchen. Suddenly, a bulky Aunt Mitza–shaped shadow, thrown into sharp definition by the blazing candles in the room below, moved across the bottom step.

  Oskar was beginning to panic. “Tod,” he whispered, “we’ve got to get out.” Tod understood now. She grabbed hold of Oskar and propelled him through one of the two doors leading off the landing. As they hurried into the room, the stairs shook—Aunt Mitza was on her way. And on her heels, they both knew, were the Garmin.

  The room smelled musty. It contained the big bed that Tod’s parents had once shared and a small chair strewn with Aunt Mitza’s clothes. Its flimsy door shook as Aunt Mitza crossed the landing. Tod was hurrying across to the farthest window when something happened that froze them to the spot: a heavy Aunt Mitza footstep loosened the latch and the bedroom door swung slowly open.

  Tod and Oskar stared at each other in panic. Through the opening they saw Aunt Mitza’s broad back. She was facing three-quarters away from them, holding a candle and looking down the stairs. Tod—who had spent many frightening evenings sizing up her step-aunt—stared at Aunt Mitza, trying to anticipate her next move. Never before had it been so important to get it right. From the solid immovability of Aunt Mitza’s stance, Tod guessed that she was too preoccupied with the Garmin to bother about an annoying door. But Tod also knew that any movement would catch Aunt Mitza’s eye—they must tough it out, stay stone-still and hope. Tod glanced at Oskar and she could see he had come to the same conclusion.

  From the shadows, Tod and Oskar heard the soft thub-thub of paw pads. Aunt Mitza raised her arm to hold the candle high to guide them, and it was now that Tod saw the Garmin for the first time. With some difficulty, she controlled a shiver that welled up from deep inside her. Aunt Mitza stepped back, crowded out by the huge creatures. She pointed at the ladder leading to Tod’s attic room and one of the Garmin let go a thin stream of dribble from its mouth, as if excited by the prospect ahead. Surprisingly agile for its size, the Garmin headed up the ladder. The other two followed it, their huge, flat heads nodding with each step. Oskar clenched his fists. It made him feel sick to think that if he had been a few minutes later, right now Tod would be facing these creatures alone.

  Aunt Mitza moved to the foot of the ladder and gazed upward, waiting, Oskar knew, for Tod’s scream. This was their chance.

  He turned to Tod and mouthed, Let’s get out of here!

  GONE

  Tod slipped the catch on the bedroom window and swung it open. The salt-scented night air swept into the musty room, and Oskar looked at Tod anxiously. Surely Aunt Mitza would smell the sea?

  But out on the landing, Aunt Mitza had other things to worry about. She could hear the heavy thudding of running, jumping, padding paws as the Garmin paced the room, looking for their prey, she could hear the splintering of wood as furniture was hurled to the floor and increasingly loud click-clicker-clicks. But she could hear no shrieks, no screams, no pleas for help. Nothing. Aunt Mitza knew enough about her step-niece to expect her to put up a fight. A worm of worry began to gnaw at her. Why was it taking so long?

  By now Tod was out of the window, out into the rain that was coming in from the sea, out and swinging across to the fishing net that hung down the back of the house. Quickly, Oskar followed. As he scrabbled onto the net he heard the heavy thub-thub of the Garmin leaping down the attic steps. Then came a series of low, threatening clicks, quickly followed by Aunt Mitza’s voice, sharp with panic: “She is up there. I promise you. She must be hiding in her secret cupboard. She’s a devious little madam. I’ll go up and get her.”

  As Aunt Mitza’s hurried ascent of the ladder sent the window rattling, Oskar quickly clambered down after Tod, who was waiting for him below. He grabbed hold of Tod’s hand and dragged her to the undercroft and trapdoor to the Burrow entrance. Tod shuddered. She hated the Burrows.

  “Not down there,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” hissed Oskar. “We have to.”

  Tod watched Oskar pull up the trapdoor and disappear into the dark, then she took a deep breath and followed him down the short ladder. The Burrow was as horrible as Tod had expected, but Oskar led the way in a very capable manner, and his light stick gave her some reassurance that she was not about to step on a sand snake. She followed Oskar as he headed steadily on through the cave-cold sand, and a few minutes later they emerged at the cinder track.

  The rising wind and sharp spikes of rain took their breath away as they turned to look back at Tod’s house. The lights still blazed out and nothing seemed to have changed. Tod stared at her home, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but it gave her no clues.

  “C’mon,” said Oskar. “We’re not safe here. Follow me.”

  Tod nodded, but did not move. Oskar grabbed her hand and pulled. “Tod,” he said urgently. “Please. Come on.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” But still Tod stood, mesmerized by her house.

  And then a thin, terrified scream cut through the night. It flew out of the house, across the dark and windswept dunes, and it made the hairs on Oskar’s neck stand on end.

  The scream set Tod free. She and Oskar set off at a sprint, they hurtled down into the main Burrow, which was wide enough for two, and they did not stop until Oskar skidded to a halt at the tenth exit and jerked his thumb at a ladder that led upward. He shot up the ladder, pushed open the trapdoor and waited as Tod tumbled out behind him.

  Oskar let the trapdoor drop with a bang and sighed with relief. He was home. Safe. He took Tod’s hand and led her out from the undercroft toward the outside steps. As they emerged from the shadows, the steps shook and two big feet came into view.

  “Jerra!” Oskar called out.

  Oskar’s big brother spun around, a surprised look on his round, sunburned face. “Hey, Osk—what’re you doing here? You’re meant to be at Tod’s. Mum will have a fit if she knows you came back on your own.” Jerra stopped, aware now that Oskar was not alone. “Who’s that?” he asked.

  Tod stepped forward. “Me,” she said. “Hello, Jerra.”

  “Hey, Tod,” Jerra said. Puzzled, because he knew very well that Tod was not allowed out, he asked, “What you doing here?” And then, quickly, “Oh. I mean, it’s really nice to see you. Really great, but you’re not usually—”

  “Shut up, Jerra,” Oskar interrupted. “We’ve got to get inside. Fast. And bar the door.”

  Jerra looked shocked—Oskar was usually so calm. “Okay, Oskie,” he said.

  Surprised at how shaky her legs su
ddenly felt, Tod climbed the steps and stepped uncertainly into the welcoming candlelit room. Oskar’s mother was busy at the kitchen end of the room, but at the unfamiliar footstep on the threshold she turned around. Her face lit up when she saw Tod. She put down a bunch of sea kale she was chopping and, wiping her hands on her apron as she went, hurried over to Tod and enveloped her in a hug.

  It was too much for Tod. To her dismay, tears welled up in her eyes. Since her father had disappeared, Tod had tried not to cry. She was afraid that if she started she might never stop.

  The noisy entrance of Oskar and Jerra saved her. “Ma, we’ve got to bar the door,” Jerra said, picking up the iron bar that hung ready on the wall.

  “And the windows,” said Oskar, hurrying across the room.

  Rosie Sarn stared at her sons in dismay. “Oh my days,” she said. “What has happened?”

  LIGHT OF DAY

  Tod woke slowly. It took her a while to understand why the gray light of dawn was coming into her room in the wrong place, why the howling wind was not making her window frame rattle and why the sea sounded so much quieter. A few long, drowsy minutes later, she remembered. She was in Ferdie’s room—in Ferdie’s bed. Warily, Tod opened her eyes and gazed around the plain, wood-shuttered room. She looked down at the floor just to check that Ferdie was not lying on the little spare trundle bed like she always used to in the happy days before Dan Moon had disappeared, when Tod had been allowed to sleep over at the Sarns’.

  But there was no trundle bed and no Ferdie. Tod slumped back on the pillow and stared up at the wooden ceiling, from which hung the intricate kites that Ferdie used to sew and decorate. Something caught Tod’s eye: a tiny, green felt dragon on the end of a little chain dangling on a hook just above her head. Tod reached out to stroke it. This was Ferdie’s lucky mascot—she had carried it everywhere with her and kept it beside her at night. But Ferdie had had no time to grab her dragon the night she was taken by the Garmin. The thought of how horrific it must have been for Ferdie swept over Tod and mingled with her own terror of the night before. She knew she had been very lucky. Oskar had done for her what he had not been able to do for Ferdie.