13 Treasures Page 3

  It was tiny, the smallest she had ever come across, smaller even than her little finger. Its minute hands were pressed flat against the glass, and only one of its wings was intact. The other was smeared across the windshield.

  Tanya gagged and turned away. She had never seen anything dead before, aside from a cat that had also been hit by a car, and other smaller creatures that Spitfire had killed. A fairy was different somehow.

  Consequently, her appetite was ruined. Tanya stirred her soup, nauseated, unable to stop thinking about the broken, lifeless body on the car outside. Much as she detested fairies, she could not find it in herself to just leave it there like a squashed insect. She decided then and there to give it a decent burial as soon as she got the chance.

  Lunch was served at the oak table in the kitchen, which had not been neglected like most of the other rooms. Its activity and warmth had attracted a cantankerous old brownie, more often than not asleep in the tea caddy, and a shy little hearthfay who busied herself keeping plates warm and ensuring that pots did not boil over. Tanya had never managed to get a proper look at her, for she moved like lightning, darting from one darkened corner to the next. All Tanya had ever glimpsed were long, spindly fingers, a dish-cloth dress, and a curtain of red-brown hair that she hid behind.

  During the autumn and winter when the fire was lit, she was most commonly found warming herself on the hearth behind the coal bin. In warmer months when there was no fire, the hearthfay sought out any other source of heat in the kitchen, with the exception of the microwave, which seemed to scare her.

  One feature of the kitchen Tanya particularly liked was a set of stairs in an alcove next to the fire-place that spiraled upward and around to the first and second floors. It was now blocked off at the point where it disappeared around the corner, having not been used for some time. Years ago it had been used by servants to take trays of food and other such items back and forth quickly from the kitchen, and Tanya thought it a shame that it had been filled in, for she had always longed to explore it.

  A small window nestled in the brickwork of the alcove, and the steps currently served as shelves to store items of kitchenware. On winter evenings when the fiery embers glowed in the grate, the alcove was filled with an almost ghostly light. But now, not even the mysterious staircase could lift her spirits.

  “Not hungry?”

  Tanya looked up and saw that her grandmother was watching her intently. Her thin face was accentuated by white hair that was scraped into a severe knot at her nape.

  “I’m a bit tired,” Tanya lied, glimpsing spindly fingers warming themselves against the recently boiled kettle. “Where’s Fabian?”

  “He’s around somewhere. His school holidays started last week, so at least you’ll be company for each other.”

  Tanya’s heart sank to new depths. Having Fabian for company was a hideous thought—he tended to latch onto her whenever she visited, following her about incessantly. He seemed to be a bit of a loner, never bringing friends home, and he had little regard for other people’s privacy. Most of the time she could tolerate him in small doses—but two weeks was different. She slumped down in her chair and pushed her bowl away. Things were going from bad to worse.

  After lunch Tanya helped tidy up, using the opportunity to pilfer a few items in order to bury the fairy. When her grandmother’s back was turned she tore a piece of cardboard off a cereal box and slipped it into her pocket, then emptied a box of matches into the trash can and pocketed the box.

  Her grandmother’s car was parked at the side of the house, overlooked by a number of windows, the majority of which were in empty rooms; so the chances of being seen were slim. The only threat was Warwick. He had a tiny den at the side of the house that he was forever popping into and out of to fetch tools and gardening equipment. At the moment he was nowhere to be seen, so Tanya decided to take her chances.

  Using the cardboard, she scraped the fairy away from the glass and eased it into the matchbox, trying, not very successfully, to avoid looking at the dried blood trailing from the creature’s nose, nor the sickening angle at which its head was lolling. She attempted to get the wing that had been ripped away into the matchbox, but this proved more difficult than she had anticipated, and so she abandoned the task. It would simply have to be buried with one wing.

  The back garden was an overgrown mass of bushes and brambles that had not been tended to in a long time. After trampling through and sustaining several cuts to her arms from the thorns, she found a plant with tiny yellow flowers at the base of a horse chestnut tree, and began to dig. Oberon, who had followed her outside, observed with delight before joining in enthusiastically. He dug several holes nearby at remarkable speed, showering Tanya with dirt, then sat patiently beside her, his wet nose coated with a layer of dark brown earth.

  When her own hole was deep enough, she plucked a single flower from the plant and laid it in the matchbox with the fairy, before placing the box in the earth and filling the hole back in. Afterward her fingernails were caked with dirt, but she did feel a little better. She wandered back around to the side of the house and stood in the shade of a towering oak tree, rinsing her hands under an outdoor tap. As she turned to go back inside, a figure leapt out of the tree and landed about two feet away from her.

  “Hello,” said Fabian. “What are you doing?”

  “Me?” Tanya said indignantly, as her thumping heart returned to its normal pace. “What are you doing hiding in trees and jumping out at people? You scared me half to death!”

  “Sorry,” said Fabian, grinning in a way that infuriated her.

  Tanya glared at him and wiped her hands on her jeans. At twelve, Fabian was a few months younger than she was, but in the year since she had last seen him he had shot up by several inches and now towered over her. Apart from this his appearance remained largely unchanged. He was a spindly-looking boy whose head seemed too large in proportion to the rest of his body. His sandy hair was thick and wavy, and as well as flopping unmanageably in all directions, was in need of a good trim. Unlike his father, Fabian was pale and pasty, reflecting a life spent indoors with his nose crammed in one scientific book after another. Propped on his thin, straight nose, thick spectacles magnified a pair of intelligent blue eyes.

  Tanya’s mother didn’t like Fabian much. She found him insolent, and it annoyed her that he tended to call adults by their first names, including his father and Amos, which Tanya had to admit even she found odd.

  When she had seen him last, the previous summer, Fabian had been roasting insects by deflecting sunlight through a magnifying glass 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 glasses was a handmade device consisting of two magnifying glass 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 t
he 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 chink of light into the darkened hallway. She drew back from the stairs and crept toward 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 by the hundreds lined the walls from floor to ceiling, covering 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 titled 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 IF THEY LEFT 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 CARRYING SALT, WEARING THE COLOR RED, OR TURNING CLOTHING INSIDE OUT, KEEPING AN IRON NAIL IN THE POCKET, OR BEING NEAR RUNNING WATER.”

  “Faeries,” Tanya whispered, running her finger lightly over the old-fashioned 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 scrap of paper, a pen, and an antiquated silver charm bracelet. Intrigued, she lifted the strange piece of jewelry from the drawer.

  It was heavy and cold to the touch; and though it was tarnished, the fine workmanship 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 scrap 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 passage 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 ONLOOKERS 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 FAERIE TO SUCCESSFULLY POSE AS A MORTAL REQUIRESACONSIDERABLEAMOUNTOFPOWER, YET OFTEN IT IS THEIR BEHAVIOR THAT MAY ALERT THE MORE WARY HUMAN TO THE DECEPTION. SPEECH MAY BE STILTED, OLD-FASHIONED, 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 into her arms the remaining books she’d selected, ready to leave, when a small book propped on the desk caught her eye. It was A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare, lavishly illustrated. 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 clipping from a local gazette, dated June 22nd, 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, AGE FOURTEEN, WHO VANISHED AFTER WALKING IN HANGMAN’S WOOD YESTERDAY EVENING, SEEMINGLY WITHOUT A 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 clipping 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 farther 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 around. 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 clipping out of the book again. “It’s about a girl who disappeared 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 impassive 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 clipping 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-gray 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 among them a key, a jeweled 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 make it 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 reentered 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 quarreling. She paused to try and listen to what they were saying, but the voices stopped immediately, so she crept onward, past the staircase and into the kitchen.

  Having barely eaten at lunch, Tanya was ravenous. After making herself a sandwich she filled a tall glass with orange juice, then sat down and ate in silence until a strange sound caught her attention. A muffled 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.