Chapter 2
Kitty Muirhead
MY EYES STRAIN THROUGH THE darkness, looking round the kirkyard as I push open the squat wooden gate. I must be bloody daft – there’s nobody here. I should be at home in my bed, instead of traipsing around out here in the middle of the night.
The moon casts a misty light over the irregular rows of gravestones behind the kirk building.
Part of me is relieved to find it empty but then I remember why I’m here.
That bitch Dilly Bhraggie deserves to pay for what she did.
I see her smug sneer as she passes me on the lane in the clachan.
I have to wipe that superior look off her face.
I want people to look at me with respect – and I want Ma to be proud of me.
Her sickness is getting worse and it could be my last chance to make her glad I’m her daughter.
But I shake away thoughts of her weak body, the cough that won’t be soothed.
It will be do me no good to dwell on that.
I’m here to get what I need. And this is where you come to get what you need.
Just look at Finn Drummie. The clachan eejit is now foreman of the saltpans after John Gunn’s accident.
Except everyone knows it was no accident.
John Gunn had worked at the saltpans since he was a lad – there’s no way he’d fall into the fire like that.
There was nobody else in the saltpan hoose that day, so what happened?
Finn Drummie cursed him, that’s what happened.
Cursed him here in the kirkyard at Culmaily with the help of the Devil himself, so he could take the foreman job.
He might have damned his eternal soul – the thought makes me shudder – but eternity feels a long way away and I have too many days of this to endure before I get there.
Money in his pocket and respect from the clachan – why shouldn’t I have the same?
I’ve been imagining revenge on Dilly Bhraggie for months, wiping that smile off her face when she sees me in a fine gown walking down the lane. Perhaps she might even lose her job, or worse, like Finn did to John Gunn. The thought makes me smile.
But still, I didn’t know I was going to come here tonight until I found myself putting on Ma’s old thick hooded cloak, leaving her sleeping on her cot by the hearth, praying she wouldn’t wake herself up with that hacking cough and find me gone.
I slipped out of the hoose and took the back road towards Culmaily.
I peer across the graves to the low wall that surrounds the kirkyard, into the trees. There’s nobody here. What a let-down – just like everything else. Of course there’s nothing happening.
I really believed it. There’ve been whispers around the clachan for months that something unnatural happens after dark in the Culmaily kirkyard.
Most of the whispers are fearful, disgusted, appalled.
But some are tantalising; hard to resist. Talk of a man who leads the unnatural happenings – a man who threatens to change the rightful order of things – and the rumours made my mouth water.
The rightful order of things can go to hell.
After he took John Gunn’s job at the saltpans, I asked Finn Drummie about it. He looked at me for a long time, a frown on his face, as if assessing my suitability. Then he spoke. ‘Come to Culmaily kirkyard at midnight on the next full moon – he’ll be there.’
That was all the instruction I got.
I fold my arms inside Ma’s cloak to keep out the night.
What was I expecting, a welcoming party?
But I soak up the silence for a moment; it’s nice to be in the quiet.
Between the clanging of the saltpans, Ma’s coughing and the bletherskites in the clachan, life’s so noisy.
Despite the darkness and the cauld tonight, there’s something comforting about the quiet kirkyard.
Thoughts of my humiliation at Dunrobin don’t loom so large.
I’ve come all this way, I might as well have a keek around afore I head home. Picking my way over the uneven ground, I tread carefully between the graves.
There’s a sound – over by the wall at the far end of the kirkyard.
Is it a footstep? I turn quickly but there’s nobody there.
My heart is thumping in my chest. There must be a cloud over the full moon because I’m sure it just got darker.
And then I see it, walking slowly forward out of the night.
Thick, strong body held taut, a creature is stalking me, its shining yellow eyes illuminated by the moonlight, fixed straight onto mine. A wolf.
I’ve seen them afore, of course. Sutherland is overrun with these beasts. But always at a distance, shapes in the landscape, never this close, and I’ve never locked eyes with one – until now.
It’s massive, so tall its head is as high as my chest, and there’s a cleverness, a calculating look behind those eyes. I can’t look away. The creature strides towards me, mouth curling upwards to reveal large pointed white teeth, and I stumble back, fighting to keep my balance.
The wolf comes closer. There’s a restrained strength to its movements that tells me it could tear me limb from limb without pausing for breath.
I turn and start to run – and immediately collide slap-bang into a figure standing behind me.
‘Good of you to join us. Kitty Muirhead, is it? I was told we might have a new recruit this evening.’
The man’s voice is loud and mocking. Arms reach out from beneath his cloak; hands grasp my arms firmly and hold me in place. A hood casts a long shadow over his face.
‘What are you doing?’ I struggle to free myself. ‘We’re not safe. There’s a wolf . . .’ I try to turn, to see if the creature is continuing its advance, but the man holds me firm.
A low laugh comes from his hooded face. ‘There’s a wolf, she says.’ His voice has the clipped, fancy accent of the family at Dunrobin. This is no eejit from the clachan.
From around the kirkyard comes laughter.
There are more people here. Where did they all come from?
And why aren’t they afraid of the beast?
I writhe in the man’s grasp, looking one way and then the other as figures approach from every direction, all wearing long dark robes that conceal their faces, bodies and clothing.
Their laughter is a distorted sound in the darkness.
I wonder for a moment if Finn Drummie is among them – he must be.
‘Why are you laughing? It’s huge, it could kill you all.’
The man holds me fast – his face close to mine but still shrouded in shadow.
His laughter stops suddenly, and just as quickly, all the figures fall silent.
He moves his face closer; there’s wine on his breath, whiskers around a thin mouth.
Then he lets out a howl – a loud, piercing shriek that fills my ears and tears through my skull; the howl of a wolf coming from the hooded face of this man.
The sound rings out for a long time – one continuous sharp sound – until it is painful.
I try to move back, away from the noise, but his grip is as tight as ever.
The howl ends in a low moan and as the kirkyard falls quiet, there’s a rustling at my side. I freeze and cast my eyes downward. The wolf is there, next to me and staring up at the hooded figure. Ears flat against its head, it gives a whimper of submission.
The man laughs again. ‘I don’t think we need fear, do we?
’ He releases one of his hands from my arm and reaches out to the beast – it licks his fingers like a tame dog.
I’m frozen still. There’s no need for him to hold me now; I wouldn’t move a muscle even if I could.
Who is this man, who can tame the wild wolves of Sutherland?
He’ll be there, Finn said. This must be he. The Devil. The one who will help me.
‘Now,’ he says. ‘Enough fun. We have serious work to do tonight. Has everyone brought their tools?’
The assembled figures murmur their assent, some holding up metal objects, pickaxes, spades and blacksmiths’ nippers. Panic spreads through my body – not caused by the creature at my side this time. Why would these folk bring metal tools to a kirkyard at night?
The man points to a low flat grave a short distance away. Less overgrown than its neighbours, it looks more recently dug. ‘I’ve selected this grave for our purpose this evening,’ he says.
My blood runs cauld. ‘No, you can’t mean . . .’ Despite my terror, I’m ashamed of my naivety. I need to get a grip on myself – I wanted to come here.
The laughter returns now. This twisted congregation takes pleasure in my fear.
His voice is harsh. ‘What did you think was going to happen when you came to meet the Devil in the dead of night? I can give you whatever you want – but there are tasks to be completed first.’
The truth is, I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. Part of me wishes I’d stayed at home. But I fight back my disgust; if this is what it takes to get some money in my pocket and wipe the pity and disappointment from Ma’s eyes, so be it. I step forward.
‘Who are you?’
‘Me?’ A grin returns to his lips. ‘My name is Jamie Bogge.’
My body’s a mass of creeping dread. But somewhere, underneath all of that is something else.
Something curious and warm. I can give you whatever you want.
I’ve been let down afore, many times – maybe it’s all a lie.
But what if he speaks the truth? Ma’s not getting any better this time.
If she leaves me, I really will be all alone in the world.
I look around at the hooded figures. Jamie takes a thick metal shovel from one of them and holds it out. As he steps towards me, his hood slips to reveal more of his face. Oh my God, I ken this man. I ken him from Dunrobin. Maybe he does have the powers he claims.
As the hooded figures form a circle around me, I know it’s too late to go back now. I step forward and take the shovel from his outstretched hand.