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smoke which gave the tilder ham its distinctive flavour. It was this smoke, rather than blood, which had stained the slaughterers’ skin.
    Not a single part of the tilder was wasted. The bones were dried and used like wood; the fat was used for cooking, for oil-lamps and candles, and for greasing the cogs of the tarp rollers; the coarse fur was spun into rope, and the antlers were carved into all kinds of objects – from cutlery to cupboard handles. It was the leather, however, which was the most valuable part of the animal.
    ‘This is where the hide is rilked,’ said Gristle.
    Twig watched the red-faced men and women pummelling the hides with large round stones. ‘I've heard this sound before,’ he said. ‘When the wind is from the north-west.’
    ‘It softens the leather,’ Sinew explained. ‘Makes it easier to mould.’
    ‘And these,’ said Gristle, moving on, ‘are the tanning vats. We use only the finest leadwood bark,’ he added proudly.
    Twig sniffed at the steaming vats. It was the smell he'd noticed when he was floating above the village.
    ‘That's why our leather's so popular,’ said Sinew.
    ‘The best in the Deepwoods,’ said Gristle. ‘Even the sky pirates use it.’
    Twig spun round. ‘You deal with the sky pirates?’ he said.
    ‘Our best customers,’ said Gristle. ‘They don't come often, but when they do visit they take whatever we've got.’
    Twig nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Once again, he saw himself standing at the prow of a pirate ship, with the moon above and the wind in his hair, sailing across the sky.
    ‘Will they be back soon?’ he asked at last.
    ‘The sky pirates?’ said Gristle, and shook his head. ‘It's not long since they were last here. They won't be back for a while now.’
    Twig sighed. He suddenly felt immensely weary. Sinew noticed his eye-lids growing heavy. She took him by the arm.
    ‘Come,’ she said. ‘You must rest. Ma-Tatum will know where you're to sleep.’
    This time, Twig did not argue. Almost dead on his feet, he followed Sinew and Gristle to their hut. Inside, a woman was mixing something red in a bowl. She looked up. ‘Twig!’ she said, and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I've been wanting to see you.’ She bustled her way towards him and enfolded him in her stubby arms. The top of her head pressed against Twig's chin.
    ‘Thank you, Pale One,’ she sobbed. ‘Thank you so much.’ Then she pulled herself away and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘Take no notice,’ she sniffed. ‘I'm just a silly old woman…’
    ‘Ma-Tatum,’ said Sinew. ‘Twig needs to sleep.’
    ‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘I've already put some extra bedding in the hammock. But before that, there are one or two important things I…’ She began rummaging furiously through a chest of drawers, and the air was soon filled with the things she was not looking for. ‘Ah, here we are!’ she exclaimed at last, and handed Twig a large furry waistcoat. ‘Try it on,’ she said.
    Twig slipped the waistcoat over his leather jacket. It fitted perfectly. ‘It's so warm,’ he said.
    ‘It's a hammelhornskin waistcoat,’ she told him, as she did up the toggles at the front. ‘Our speciality,’ she added, ‘and not for sale.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Twig,’ she said. ‘I would like you to accept it as a token of my gratitude for bringing Gristle back to me, safe and sound.’
    Twig was overwhelmed. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I…’

    ‘Stroke it,’ said Gristle.
    ‘What?’ said Twig.
    ‘Stroke it,’ he repeated, and giggled excitedly.
    Twig ran his palm down over the fleecy fur. It was soft and thick. ‘Very nice,’ he said.

    ‘Now the other way,’ Gristle persisted.
    Twig did as he was told. This time the fur bristled and stiffened. ‘YOW!’ he cried, and Gristle and Sinew burst out laughing. Even Ma-Tatum was smiling. ‘It's like needles,’ said Twig, sucking at his hand.
    ‘Dead or alive, you should never rub a