The Thirteen Treasures Part 2

When she had seen him last, the previous summer, Fabian had been roasting insects by deflecting sunlight through a magnifying gla.s.s and recording the time they took to burn in a brown leather-bound book that he carried everywhere with him. When questioned, his distracted reply was, 'Research.'

His odd appearance now suggested more of the same. He was dressed entirely in green except for brown boots and a hat. He had attached a number of sprigs of twigs and leaves to the hat and the top he was wearing in some sort of camouflage attempt, and clipped to his gla.s.ses was a handmade device consisting of two magnifying gla.s.s lenses held together by wire and tape.

'So what are you doing?' Tanya asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. 'Capturing more helpless creatures to torture and kill?'

Fabian shrugged. 'Actually, it's more of an . . . observational project.'

'What are you observing?'

He grinned aggravatingly. 'What were you burying in the garden?'

'A dead mouse,' she said, half expecting him to ask her to dig it up so he could experiment on it.

For a few seconds he simply stared at her.

'Sad,' he said eventually. 'You could've given it to Spitfire to munch on.'

They stood glaring at each other until their eyes watered, neither wanting to be the first to blink or break their gaze. Fortunately Tanya was good at it, having had plenty of practice with the kids at school. Fabian was the first to look away. She felt mildly smug over her small victory as she marched back into the house, leaving Fabian glowering as he clambered back up into the tree.

Back inside, Tanya headed for her room. She was almost upon the first stair when she noticed that the door to a room on the right that was usually locked was ajar, allowing a c.h.i.n.k of light into the darkened hallway. She drew back from the stairs and crept towards the room. There was no sound from inside. Tanya pushed the door open gingerly and stepped into the room, then met with a wonderful sight.

Books in their hundreds lined the walls from floor to ceiling, ranging almost every subject imaginable. A huge writing desk sat in the corner by the window, thickly coated in a layer of dust. Stacked on top of it were even more books.

She pulled several out from the shelves. Clouds of dust flew up as she flicked through them; it was obvious that they had remained untouched for many years. As her finger trailed the spines she saw that some of them were extremely old, dating back to the late eighteenth century. She opened the first, curiously t.i.tled Myth and Magic Through the Ages, and searched through the index until she found what she was looking for.

'Faeries,' she whispered aloud. 'Mythical beings of legend and folklore, also known as fairies, fayre, fey or the little folk. The word "faerie" comes from the French, and first came into use in England from the Tudor period, with references featuring in literature through the ages.

'It was widely believed that if a fey child was born ugly, sick or deformed, the faeries would steal a healthy mortal child and leave the faerie child in its place. These stolen children were known as changelings.

'In past times it was commonplace to leave gifts for the faeries. People believed that by leaving food out for the little folk, their kindness would be repaid with good luck.

'Protection from bothersome faeries included various simple methods and devices such as salt, wearing the colour red or turning clothing inside out, an iron nail in the pocket, or being near running water.'

'Faeries,' Tanya whispered, running her finger lightly over the old-fas.h.i.+oned spelling on the page. It seemed to suit them somehow, these strange creatures that hounded her.

She fumbled in the top drawer of the desk, finding nothing but some old papers and a few curled-up insects. She slammed it shut. The second drawer of the desk was either locked or jammed, but in the third she found a sc.r.a.p of paper, a pen and an antiquated silver charm bracelet. Intrigued, she lifted the strange piece of jewellery from the drawer. It was heavy and cold to the touch, and though it was tarnished the fine workmans.h.i.+p was clear to see. Each charm had been beautifully and lovingly crafted. She set it on the table, wondering how long it had lain in the drawer, undisturbed, and who the last person to wear it had been.

She turned back to the sc.r.a.p of paper and began to write, then hesitated. If the fairies found it there was no telling what they might do this time. She did not doubt for a second that Gredin was capable of turning her into a gibbering wreck with no memory.

But I didn't write it, she told herself. I'm just copying it. He didn't say anything about that.

She scribbled down the pa.s.sage from the book word for word, then folded the paper carefully and put it in her pocket, before casting her eyes hungrily down the rest of the page. 'See also Faerie Glamour, The Thirteen Treasures, Faerie Courts: Seelie and Unseelie. All right . . . let's see,' she murmured, turning the pages once more.

'Faerie Glamour: a magical illusion so powerful it can fool an onlooker into believing what they see is real; a mask of deception which can make that which is hideous a thing of beauty. Glamour allows for change of shape, size or form; the ability to masquerade as an animal: commonly birds or creatures of the air or even humans.

'For a faery to successfully pose as a mortal requires a considerable amount of power, yet often it is their behaviour which may alert the more wary human to the deception. Speech may be stilted, old-fas.h.i.+oned or rhyming. Similarly, clothing may be out of date or inappropriate. Natural forms acorns or pebbles enchanted with a glamour of their own to appear as coins, for example may also be used in payment for goods, only to return to their original state hours or days later.'

Tanya snapped the book shut, breathless with the excitement of the discovery. She gathered the remaining books she'd selected into her arms, ready to leave, when a small book propped on the desk caught her eye. It was A Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare, lavishly ill.u.s.trated. Curious, she set her books down and reached for it. As she leafed through the pages a loose sheet of paper floated to the floor. She knelt and saw that it was a cutting from a local gazette, dated the twenty-second of June, just over fifty years old. It was faded and yellow with age. MISSING GIRL, read the headline, in bold letters. A hunt was launched yesterday for the daughter of a local reverend who failed to return home last night. Police are baffled by the disappearance of Morwenna Bloom, aged fourteen, who vanished after walking in Hangman's Wood yesterday evening, seemingly without trace.

A police spokesman revealed that there are major concerns for the safety of the girl, last seen by a sixteen-year-old local boy near the notorious Hangman's Catacombs, which have claimed several lives over the years and are a well-known suicide spot. Police questioned the boy, who was later released without charge. Once again, local residents are appealing for the holes to be fenced off in the interest of safety.

Tanya slipped the cutting back into the pages.

The Hangman's Catacombs lay deep in the forest behind the manor, plunging down into the earth and winding into underground tunnels that went on for miles. It was believed that the holes were natural caves, though there was some speculation that they were old chalk mines. Only in recent years had railings been constructed around each entrance to prevent people from falling into them, but still, Warwick repeatedly forbade Fabian and Tanya to go any further than the brook that ran along the edge of the woods. Tanya had never felt any inclination to venture into the forest anyway. The teeming population of fairies sure to dwell there was deterrent enough.

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

She jumped and spun round. Her grandmother stood in the doorway.

'What are you doing in here?'

Tanya gulped noisily, knowing guilt must be written all over her face.

'I was just . . . the door was open, and I just wanted to look at your books.'

Florence walked into the room and pulled a book from one of the shelves.

'Some of these are very old,' she said, tracing a line in the dusty cover. 'Some have been here since the house was built, just over two hundred years ago.'

Tanya fidgeted. She had been expecting to get told off.

'I found this,' she said, taking the newspaper cutting out of the book again. 'It's about a girl who went missing fifty years ago.'

A strange look crossed her grandmother's face, something almost like fear. But then too quickly it was gone, replaced by her usual impa.s.sive expression.

'She was my age . . . we went to the same school. Her father was the reverend of the little church nearby.'

'Were you friends with her?'

'Yes,' said Florence. 'For a time, when we were younger.' She stopped abruptly, looking troubled. 'We . . . drifted apart.'

'Was she found?' Tanya asked.

'No,' said Florence. 'She was never seen again.' She placed the cutting on the table and blew at a cobweb. 'This room could do with a good clearing out. Warwick promised me he would do it weeks ago, but he still hasn't got around to it.'

'Perhaps I could help,' Tanya offered, thinking of the opportunities it would create to search for more information.

Florence eyed her, her expression unreadable.

'Thank you. I'm sure Warwick would appreciate your help.'

Her slate-grey eyes lingered on the charm bracelet.

'I wondered where this had disappeared to,' she said, lifting the bracelet up to the light. The tarnished charms sparkled faintly in the sun.

'Does it belong to you?' Tanya asked.

'Yes,' said Florence. 'It's an old heirloom. It's been in the family for years.'

Tanya looked at the bracelet properly, counting the silver charms. There were thirteen of the curious little things. Each was ornate and exquisite; the more striking amongst them a key, a jewelled goblet, and a tiny candelabrum.

'It's beautiful,' she said.

'It's a heavy, awkward thing,' said her grandmother. 'I haven't worn it in a very long time.' A faraway look came into her eyes. 'In past times, people treasured charms such as these. They wore them to ward off evil like talismans for luck and protection.' Unexpectedly, she handed the bracelet to Tanya. 'Perhaps you might like to have it? There's some silver cleaner under the sink that'll bring it up like new.'

'Oh,' said Tanya, taken aback. 'Thank you.' She fastened the bracelet onto her skinny wrist, confused by her grandmother's uncharacteristic generosity.

With a stiff nod Florence left the room, leaving the door open behind her. Reluctantly, Tanya followed. There was no sign of her grandmother. She hesitated, then quickly re-entered the room and grabbed the Myth and Magic Through the Ages book, closing the library door softly behind her. Up on the first-floor landing a faint scuttling could be heard from inside the grandfather clock, and as she drew nearer she thought she could hear the lodgers quarrelling. She paused to try and listen to what they were saying but the voices stopped immediately, so she crept onwards, past the staircase and into the kitchen.

Having barely eaten at lunch, Tanya was ravenous. After making herself a sandwich she filled a tall gla.s.s with orange juice, then sat down and ate in silence until a strange sound caught her attention. A m.u.f.fled snoring was coming from the direction of the tea caddy, and she suddenly remembered the brownie living there. It was a foul-tempered little creature, breaking crocks and souring milk when it was displeased, which was often.

When she had finished her food and drained the pulpy remnants of her juice, she washed and dried her plate, careful not to make too much noise for fear of waking the brownie, then tiptoed out of the kitchen. The hallway was empty, although it seemed Fabian had been along at some point, as a number of leaves and twigs were strewn across the floor. She climbed the staircase up to the first floor, then went into her room, checking the corridor was clear before locking the door behind her. Normally, she did not bother to lock herself in, but on this occasion it was necessary as she did not want anyone to see what she was about to do.

Carefully, she knelt before the fireplace and rolled back the carpet, exposing the rough, unpolished wood beneath. Using her fingernails, she prised up the loose floorboard that no one else knew about and heaved it aside to reveal a s.p.a.ce below that was large enough to hold a s...o...b..x a s.p.a.ce she had discovered when she was seven years old. It had been her secret hiding place ever since. She checked for spiders, then lifted out the box and removed the lid. Inside were a couple of stories she had written, a few family photographs and a bulging old diary. She clenched her jaw. The fairies evidently had yet to discover this one.

She pulled the notes out of her pocket and read through them again, before placing them at the bottom of the box. After fixing the floorboard back in position, she unfurled the carpet and tucked the book from downstairs beneath the blanket at the foot of her bed, her head full of the potential wealth of information awaiting her in the library downstairs.

It was only later, when she got up and went over to the dressing table, that she noticed the black feather on the floor, like that which would belong to a bird from the crow family. A raven, perhaps.

5.

ICKEY END WAS A SMALL MARKET town, and the kind of place where people took their dogs to the grooming parlour and washed their cars dutifully every Sunday morning, and neighbours vied to see who could build up the most extensive collection of garden gnomes. It was also the kind of town where everybody knew everybody and if you were a stranger curtains would twitch as you walked past.

It did, however, have a marvellous high street in which there were so many interesting and unusual shops it would take an entire day to look around properly. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Sat.u.r.days there was a market in the square, where traders shouted to sell their wares and customers haggled to get a good deal. Rich colours were always in abundance, from the glistening silver scales of freshly-caught fish to the vibrant hues of ripe fruit, and at the right time in the morning the scent of freshly-baked meat pies and apple tarts wafted deliciously through the air.

Numerous antique and curiosity shops stood in the back streets, away from the hustle and bustle of the high street. It was these kinds of shops that Tanya could quite happily spend hours in.

Tuesday morning, she woke early and walked half a mile to the dilapidated bus shelter, eager to escape the gloom of the manor, if only for a few hours. Unfortunately there was a catch. Her grandmother had only allowed her to go on the condition that Fabian accompanied her.

The journey to Tickey End took around fifteen minutes and was a pleasant, scenic route, although the air always reeked of manure from the nearby fields. After leaving the bus they headed for the square, where the market was already teeming with a jostling crowd.

Soon after arriving, Tanya spotted a stall that was selling fabrics, silks and ribbons in every colour of the rainbow. Her fingers lingered on a tray of silk scarves, the sort girls had been tying in their hair since the beginning of summer in an ever-growing trend. The pretty Asian girl on the stall was wearing a turquoise scarf of the same design. Never one for trends or fas.h.i.+on, Tanya was just about to move away when she spotted one in red. Remembering the pa.s.sage in the book she had found, she pa.s.sed the scarf to the girl and delved into her pocket.

Fabian sn.i.g.g.e.red. 'I always had you down as more of a tomboy,' he said.

Tanya ignored him. When the girl handed her the brown paper bag and her change, she immediately put the scarf on, eager to determine whether there had been any truth in the old book. They moved on through the market; Fabian pausing to admire some science fiction comics, and Tanya spending the last of her change on a huge marrow bone for Oberon to gnaw upon her return. It clunked uncomfortably against her leg in the carrier bag as she walked.

It turned out to be a scorcher of a day. After walking around Tickey End for two hours, Tanya's feet were raw in the new summer sandals her mother had bought her.

'What time is it?' she asked Fabian, after looking at her wrist automatically yet again before remembering her watch was gone. True to form, the drain-dweller had stolen it that morning from the side of the bathtub.

'Quarter to twelve,' Fabian replied. 'We've got half an hour before the next bus.'

Tanya nodded, flexing her sore feet. She did not want to walk around for much longer. However, she was more anxious to get back to the manor for another reason she had arranged to help Warwick clear out the library that afternoon.

They headed into Wishbone Walk, Tanya's favourite street in Tickey End. All the buildings were old and uneven, and it was crammed with the quaint little shops that she so loved. There were also numerous little pubs and inns dotted along the way, which would be filled with raucous laughter later in the day.

Fabian mopped his brow, humming a little tune that he would break from every so often to share a snippet of local gossip. Despite herself, Tanya was enjoying listening to him, though she would never admit to it. Fabian was a mine of information and had a gift for storytelling: something Tanya had noticed a long time ago. When relating an incident that was of interest to him, Fabian's eyes lit up and he became animated, reminding Tanya of an overly enthusiastic schoolteacher or an actor on stage. He suddenly pointed to a pub called the Spiral Staircase.

'The garden of that pub caved in last winter. All the rain must have weakened the earth . . . it was the catacombs underneath, see. Lucky it never happened in the summer, when people would have been sitting out there. Now a lot of the residents have had to take out a special insurance in case it happens to them. And this little inn here is really old did I ever tell you about the secret pa.s.sage that runs from underneath it all the way to the manor?'

'Only about a million times,' Tanya said with a groan. 'I can't believe you still believe in those secret pa.s.sages. It's such rubbish.'

'It's not rubbis.h.!.+' Fabian protested. 'It's true . . . there was a tunnel leading to the manor, it's in the local history books. But it's been blocked off, or caved in none of the books agree on which. It was common with big old buildings, they had secret tunnels to escape through, in case of invasions. There was meant to be another one as well, leading to the church.'

'All those times you had me on wild goose chases, trying to find your secret pa.s.sages,' Tanya snorted. 'We never found a thing. Someone probably just made the whole thing up to try and make Tickey End seem interesting.'

'Well, it was fun looking for them,' said Fabian, 'even if we never found anything.'

'I suppose it pa.s.sed a few rainy afternoons,' Tanya said ungraciously. 'Anyway, my grandmother and your father have always said that there aren't any tunnels that it's all rumours.'

'They would say that,' Fabian said darkly. 'They don't want us snooping around looking for them. And if anyone knows the secrets of the house, it's Warwick.'

'Why do you call him and Amos by their first names?' Tanya asked. 'Why don't you call Warwick "Dad"?'

Fabian shrugged. 'I used to, when I was little.'

'So why not now?'

'I don't know. I just . . . don't.'

'But it's odd,' Tanya persisted. 'And you know it annoys him.'

The ghost of a smile that crossed Fabian's lips told her that this was exactly the desired effect. It vanished as he smoothly changed the subject.

'Now there's a place that gives me the creeps,' he continued, as they walked further along the lane. 'The old children's home.'

Tanya followed his eyes to a ramshackle building set back from the road. It was obviously derelict, its windows either broken or boarded up and its brickwork crumbling. The barbed wire fence that surrounded it made it look cold and cruel and desolate. She wondered how she had never noticed it before.

'It just looks sad to me,' she said. 'But buildings like that usually are. Care homes aren't exactly the happiest of places.'

Fabian shook his head. 'I didn't mean because it was a care home I meant because of what went on there . . . the disappearances.'

'Disappearances?'

'Some kids went missing from there just over a year ago, babies and toddlers mainly. Never older than about two or three. There was a huge investigation and it got closed down.'

A chill wrapped itself around Tanya's heart as she remembered the newspaper cutting about the missing girl she had found in the library. It seemed that Tickey End had a history of its children vanis.h.i.+ng into thin air.

They lapsed into silence, continuing along the lane. Tanya peered into shop windows here and there, trying to take her mind off the children's home. On the corner of the street a tiny shop was set back from the rest. Tanya recognised it as a shabby, nameless little place with blanked out windows and peeling paintwork that had stood empty for the past year. Now, however, it was evidently under new management, for not only had it been given a fresh coat of paint but it also had a name: Pandora's Box. Instantly intrigued, Tanya called to Fabian, who was kneeling down and sketching something in his notebook.

'I'm just going in here.'